Category Archives: Poetry

Wayward Children, Despicable Youths!

Wayward Children, Despicable Youths   by   Kristof von Kanwetzburg

Wayward children, despicable youths,

scared of your own shadows!

From your own reflections you flinch,

from every last bit of nostalgia you manage to escape

like smoke up the chimney,

afraid of getting burned by the red-hot embers of Truth below;

your souls are too vaporous,

too weak to handle the fire.

So you follow the easy trail of lies

to the beat of the drum and tambourine you march,

to inferior words written on palimpsest parchments,

to temporarily quench your thirst for a better memory,

a surrender to Tradition;

So you seek your “artifacts” your phony relics

scattered along the dis-orient cobblestone path of masonic deceit,

of “Egyptian” bunk and “Hindu” poppycock,

“Arab” humbug and “Chinese” junk –

Suez Canal Company flotsam and East India Company jetsam –

Illusions all, the umbilical cord of Zion,

intended to distract the Higher Man from the truth of his Polar origin,

to keep us from our origin, dignity…peace

Wayward children, despicable youths –

how easily you’re led astray.


Council for the New Moon

Council for the New Moon by Lothar Stengel von Rutkowski (from Songs Of The Reich – Chapter: The Reich In Ruins)

Warning! Warning!

Do not give your Spirit to

The People!

Do not put your heart nor body

In their hands!

People change;

The greatest love

Suddenly vanishes;

Friends reduced

To caricatures.

Children changed

Into strangers…


Hakenkreuz, Thou Sacred Cross

New poem by Kamerad Kristof von Kanwetzburg

Hakenkreuz, Thou Sacred Cross

 

Hakenkreuz, thou sacred cross,

tell us your origin;

precosmogonic egg,

or single bead of sweat from Wotan’s brow?

We know you represent All-Father,

Avatar and Führer, All in One –

as such, you revolve both ways,

propelled by the carefully placed force

of your holiest emanations,

the grand-runes:

Ar, Tyr, Odal, Sig (Ger)

– “Artyros,” the way of clockwise expansion –

Ger, Odal, Tyr, Ar

– “Gota,” the way of counterclockwise return –

In your midst, oh sacred Fylfot,

dwell your immediate offspring,

a Husband and Wife,

Total Man and Total Woman;

there they sit, in the Polar center,

the double Hagal rune, entwined,

eternally fixed,

as the rocks of the Externsteine,

presiding in majesty like Poseidon on his throne;

resplendently defiant like sacred Helgoland,

jutting out of the deep… there they sit:

Rasse und Vaterrecht

(Anima et Animus),

jealously guarding their four children

Ar, Tyr, Odal, SigGer (Reggis)

and their twelve grandchildren:

Idee, Träger, Verbreiter (born of Ar-Kultur);

Volk, Führer, Staat (sired by Tyr-ein);

Blut, Boden, Erbe (the fruit of Odal’s loins);

Nicht-Wucher, Arbeit, Sozialismus (SigGer’s pride and joy).

Intently the All-Father watches the dance of his Blood,

from within the darkest depths of the Invisible Light,

to the luciferous clarity of its casting shadow,

from below and beyond;

the Black Sun binding all in super Ehrean Communion,

Invisible, Holy, visible, unholy…

We, the Elite, biding our time,

waiting our turn in unison,

for the days of Final Victory,

striving only to make Our Father proud.


Siegfried’s Death by Kurt Eggers

Siegfrieds Death

by Kurt Eggers

Horned man,

Who once defeated the Dragon,

Whose helm

Of Victory wore light frost:

Horned man,

Your armour

Had a breach

Into which the enemy’s

Throwing Spear penetrated.

Horned man:

Your fate is command:

Folk become whole!

Folk become German!

Then the enemies’

Murder plan fails!

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Fever Poem

Fever Poem VII   by  Knut Hamsun

 

Now howls the autumnal wind

like a rain soaked dog against my

window,

Within my blood there stirs a frost

colder than the winds outside.

It unfolds within me

And reeks of poisonous blossoms.

The odour seeps out into the weather

from my nostrils.

It blooms in the garden of Hate.

It boils, it boils. I try

to no avail to fall into slumber,

I hear the flag line eternally

chattering and chattering against the

pole,

It staggers by doors, sneaks

on its toes, steps along the passage,

My pulse beating in barks

like a baying hellhound.

It boils, it boils, it boils.