A Turn of Times
Three kyrielles
By A Boy of Five |
|||
|---|---|---|---|
|
A Boy of Five Laid at My Door A Stick He Had And Had Cared for. He had Removed The Bark All Through. The Child, My Lord, May Have The Clue. I Took It Up And Made It Clean, for Him And Any to Be Seen, And for to Show What Children Do. The Child, My Lord, May Have The Clue. The First of All, That Boy Did Rule, The Pointing Stick was His First Tool – The First He Made, That Little New. The Child, My Lord, May Have The Clue. I Made A Ladder of That View He Gave Me as My Vision New. I Thought, Man Needs A Table Too. The Child, My Lord, May Have The Clue. And It Took Off, by Senses, Which The Adult Had, on Seconds Rich. The Stick He Gave Made My Sight New. The Child, My Lord, May Have The Clue. .·: † :·.
|
|||
|
I Give My Praise |
|||
|---|---|---|---|
|
There Is So Much To Think About, of What Makes Proud And What Makes Stout. Though, What to Keep in Mind Is Graze. To Thee, My Lord, I Give My Praise. It Is A Dream, To Make It So That Beaten Path Is Way to Go. Though, If, The Being Valued Ways. To Thee, My Lord, I Give My Praise. One Will Be Sheep, One Will Be Goat. And, Leading to Is Life of Throat. There Is A Destiny To Face. To Thee, My Lord, I Give My Praise. One Cannot Paradise Arrange. When Life Is Ending, Life Will Change. The Christian, Lord, Thou Will Amaze. To Thee, My Lord, I Give My Praise. Though, We Can Make Up What To Save, And Let Life Be What Spirit Gave. Let Life on Earth The Good Track Trace: To Thee, My Lord, I Give My Praise. .·: † :·.
|
|||
|
In Honour of Thy Grace |
|||
|---|---|---|---|
|
By Living, There Is Calling Got, for Some To Be, To Be A Lot, And Not to Leave without A Trace. My Lord, in Honour of Thy Grace. By Living, There Is Mercy Won, by Knowledge of The Being One, by Knowledge of The Thing to Face. My Lord, in Honour of Thy Grace. By Being, We Are Not Alone And Must Not Face on Our Own A Deck of Cards as One or Ace. My Lord, in Honour of Thy Grace. As One Thrown Out Some Hit The Grade, And Horror of It All Is Made. By Language, Though, One Has A Place. My Lord, in Honour of Thy Grace. As One by All A Seldom Thing Is Made, And That Thing Life Will Bring, As Number One. So Is The Case. My Lord, in Honour of Thy Grace. .·: † :·.
|
|||
|
Content list
Contact information
ADDRESS
Anders Woje Ellingsen
Rådyrveien 25 B
7082 Kattem
Norway
TELEPHONE
+47 905 59 772
poet.on.view@gmail.com
WEB SITE
Information
My name is Anders Woje Ellingsen. I am Norwegian. The name Anders is Scandinavian for Andrew. English is my second language, learned in school. I was born in 1963.
All poems are by Anders Woje Ellingsen. The sound is by Suno.
No comments:
Post a Comment