Atop The Cliffs - Occidental Poetry Journal

People get scared about AI/LLMs, I get it but what scares me is stuff like this thread: https://twitter.com/AngryTomtweets/status/1753905168599462175 Nightmare fuel.

I know I've been shilling my book - 6$ on Kindle but I also did read a short collection from another stunning English Poet and reviewed that here. Please support him as well and his book is only 2$ https://arthurpowell.substack.com/p/reviewing-englishman-the-poems-of I CRAWL ON THIS SOIL I crawl on this soil Nose, toes and fingertips In the dirt, I am part of this land In ways that you are not; You hate me for it, yes, But yes, you understand. I swim in this sea, Its searing cold Was made for me, The women of my tribe Adore it even more; But not you, no, Oh no, not yours. I claw these rocks, From bog to mountain top, My bones made from the same, My blood runs in rivers, From village to city; Your blood runs elsewhere, You should go there. ------------- This poem is perhaps the most serious of the first few, the others will make you chuckle in amusement but this poem has a seriousness to it. It is grounded in the sense of place that Noble Red is writing of. As an Englishman I appreciated it for not going into the trope of flowery pleasant land (which of course it is) but rather looking at that bleaker beauty we have. It also is an explicit call out to the unwelcome in our land.

The excellent Victor Van Brandt returns with this poem Tartarus https://www.atopthecliffs.com/poetry/2024/2/2/tartarus

Sketching

SOME SPICE WITH YOUR SLOP SIR? An essay taking to task the modern West's obsession with spiced 'ethnic' foods https://arthurpowell.substack.com/p/some-spice-with-your-slop-sir "European cuisine relies upon quality ingredients prepared simply. Is there any wonder we see a war upon our farmers? Is there any wonder that we see globalist propaganda trying to convince people that your home vegetable plot is worse for the climate?"

My new chapbook is only 6$ - less than the price of a beer in most places brewed by some soybeard who hates you! Barbaric Disciple did a really great review of it https://resavager.com/p/skirmishes-in-the-atrium-by-arthur "If you’re intimidated by poetry — as I am — don’t let that prevent you from checking out Skirmishes in the Atrium. This is a very short book, some 73 pages, and Powell has mixed in short essays in between to give break. You could read it in a single sitting, but I do not recommend this. That’s not what poetry is for. Many of the Founding Fathers read poetry and when they read poetry, they would read a poem or a couple of poems." Buy it now! https://a.co/d/benulAn

Blood Loyal Blood. It pulses and flows, Brightest of reds Rises in us Mist descends Nothing matters more The ancients knew and swore. Blood. What we are made of, Fathers and mothers We pass it on and preserve Loyal till the end Nothing matters more The ancients knew and swore. Blood. Nothing matters more. Spilt, Mixed, Shed, Nothing matters more The ancients knew and swore. --------------- The first poem from my new collection. Purchase your paperback copy here https://a.co/d/9C5nmRc Kindle edition: https://a.co/d/benulAn Also available in UK and Australian Amazon stores.

I know the poet who wrote the aforementioned and he was inspired by the ancient Yew trees that are in the UK. A bit of searching myself revealed an interesting group that looks to document and help look after these ancient trees https://www.ancient-yew.org/ I love finding out about these kind of things, uplifting and white pilling.

Ancient Yew What groweth under that ancient yew, Whose longbow yeomen served well and true? What green fields and estates tilled, Has she watched harvested and filled? Enclosures and exile, she saw arrive, Dark mills and mines thrived, and then, Withdrew. The wealth of the world she saw, Corrupt her sons, Choked and crowded by their law. A green and pleasant land, she watches, Fade away, and be forgotten. - Paul Washington https://www.atopthecliffs.com/poetry/2024/1/30/ancient-yew

Mastery is a never ending quest. A never ending pursuit. Competition breeds results. Answers to questions you never knew existed. This is why I love Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. It is a microcosm of war between nations. Strategy can defeat raw strength one day and be useless the next. It is a never ending game of acceleration where speed, power and intellect are in a constant race. Out think, out manuever, out strength. Being smashed and dominated is the only way forward in this game, it forces grit and guile. The cult jokes are real because it brings out something within many of us we never knew we lacked: controlled violence.

“Homer was wrong in saying ‘Would that strife might perish from amongst gods and men.’ For if that were to occur, than all things would cease to exist.” — Heraclitus

The first sponsored result on this search. Fuck off.

Do you know how to stop severe bleeding? Can you apply a tourniquet to save your life or your wife or childss life? Can you pack a wound? No? Fix that. Take a class, or at the very least buy some training equipment and watch some YouTube videos. I just came back from a refresher course. It's grim stuff that you hope to never need to apply but it can happen. Trauma exists, from mass shooters, mass stabbings to just a regular car accident. You are your own first responder, no one is coming for you in a mass casualty event. I'll get back to the poetry posting but consider this a PSA on the Warrior side of the Warrior-Poet equation. Resources: https://www.stopthebleed.org/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMfEls2LC8c

Flame of Nations Amidst the forge of battle there a nation bore a blade, The spirit of a nation bore upon the backs of braves. But with the foemen vanquished and the bravest bellies full, Soon their arms grew weak, their armour rusted, blades grew dull. How long did Gaul and Roman, Saxon, Teuton, Norman strive To keep the flame of nations ever-burning and alive, Only finding when the war is won, no foeman to be seen, That it was only foemen keeping fighting spirit keen? Beowulf, Achilles, Romulus and Hengist found That the sport of war and glory was a tribe’s most fertile ground. Care less for culture’s conessieurs, the pluckers of the harp, And know it is our enemies who keep the best men sharp. The corpses of our Empires collapsed without a threat, Destruction of our enemies proving greatest regrets. So as a generation dies and eras draw to close, Let all of us be saved by honouring our worthy foes.

Hesse's most powerful poem to me though is this one To Children (Written end of 1914) You know nothing of time, You know only that, somewhere in the distance, A war is being fought, You whittle your wood into sword and shield and spear And play your game blissfully in the garden, Set up tents, Carry white bandages marked with the red cross. And if my wish for you has any power, So war will remain For you, always, only a dim legend, So you will never stand in the field And never die And never rush out of a house crumbling in fire. Nevertheless, you will be soldiers one day And one day you will know That the sweet breath of this life, The precious possession of the heartbeat, Is only a loan, and that whatever was lost In the past, and the heir you long for, And the farthest future, Rolls through your blood, And that for every hair on your head Somebody endured one struggle, one pain, one death. And you shall know that whatever is noble In your soul is always a warrior, Even though he bears no weapons, That every day a struggle and a destiny is waiting. Do not forget this! Think of the blood, the shambles, the ruin On which your own future reposes, And how, even more, upon death and sacrifice is built The tiniest happiness. Then your life will flame out more And one day gather even death into its arms

Herman Hesse is one of my favorite non-English poets. I own the James Wright translation, but what is nice is that as a partial German speaker the German poem is presented on the opposite page. Hesse has a bold simplicity in his poems (something I strive for) that makes them instantly accessible and poignant. For example: Across the Fields... Across the sky, the clouds move, Across the fields, the wind, Across the fields the lost child Of my mother wanders Across the street, leaves blow, Across the tress, birds cry - Across the mountains, far away, My home must be. -Hesse

My latest poetry chapbook is coming Feb 1 in paperback: Skirmishes in the Atrium The foreword was written by Lance Legion and the cover art done by Theodoric S. Taylor Pre-orders are open on Kindle! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CSTVVH71

Money and physique aren't impressive if you have no substance as a man. You need to become a warrior that stands for something. Have a life mission and a set of immutable principles you are willing to die for.

https://arthurpowell.substack.com/p/the-great-man-of-history-film-you "The history of Great Men is not dead yet. That is the takeaway from Michael Mann’s latest film, a biopic of the late great Enzo Ferrari. Ferrari does not attempt to tell the whole story of Enzo’s life but rather a snapshot of certain events centered around his affair and the 1957 Mille Miglia race that ended in the infamous death of The Marquess of Portago. It is overwhelmingly a dark film filled with loss and tragedy, the rawness of human emotion at all ends of the spectrum is on display. It is through this darkness though that we get to explore the greatness of Enzo Ferarri himself."