The faroes and their medieval customs

Thors harbour thats the capital
Of the Faroes
A craggy set of islands
Where there be
50,000 people throwbacks
From the norse days
Butchers of the beaches

A medieval bloodlust
An affliction
No benediction hear
I have to say
They hunt and murder
Pilot whales
Whole pods of them
Leaving long trails
Of blood and sinew everywhere
Purgatory pales

Into insignificance
For the anguish that one feels
For the grindadrap and the killings
And the blood lust it reveals
The hunts described as the living death
As the slaughtering takes place
On the beaches and the
Sea itself no living soul
Ought face

51 long fin pilot whales
Were savagely butchered,bthey
A family tree disposed of
Torn to shreds today
Who witness such unpleasantness
A waking nightmare comes
Crashing down on everyone
As we hear the dying drums

The heart beats of the ancestors
The thunder of which was THOR
The blood bath that is happening
As it did before
People of this century
But throwbacks of before
The “Grimur Kamban” evils
That obliterate the law

The natural world is reeling
Each grind creates a scene
Of what is darkening degradation
Distress dolour the mean
Spirited survivors of evil long ago
The phantoms rise and the demise
Of the angels still in tow

The butchers of the faroes
Such suffering we see
A frenzy of medieval lust
The depths of misery
The cries of aching parents
The sighs of veteran souls
The screams of little children
All of them with roles
Within the whale community
And are being slashed to death
Smothered in each others blood
And all fighting for breath

You cannot describe the agony
Not in this day and age
Its as if the viking hordes were back
You can sense the rage
Ill used and maltreated
The whales loyal to their pod
None of them will swim away
They are closer to their god

Than any of these so called humans
An island people who
Have sheep and salmon and wild birds and fish
But are clueless to
the suffering
Of these noble beasts
Wild souls of the sea
Highly intelligent beings
As downtrodden as they can be

Wounded heavy laden
With grief and angst and pain
Hearing their children screaming
To a terrible refrain
Victimized and threatened
Knifed and bleeding out
Even the pregant females
Are slaughtered in the rout

They endure the wrath of evil
Despondent every one
Broken hearted sorrowful
Thrashing in the sun
All are weeping buckets
Offended by the crime
Humiliated nauseated
Disgusted for the rhyme

How can there be a reason
These sheep islands realise
Salmon farming massive stocks
Why the the wild whales demise
Their lament screams through the heavens
Awakens the Norse Gods
The viking hordes defending
Slicing through the pods
The harshness and the roughness
The loathsomeness we see
The hatefulness for nature
And how it has to be
A constant threat to the living
Retards one has to feel
In what is a molestation of such
Which is altogether real

Its insufferable its intolerable
Its impossible to see
Buttock clenching torment
A bridge too far it be
Martyrs 51 of them
Felt their gall and spite
Tasted their base emotion
Nothing here is right
Its grinding gruelling vitriolic
Excruciating pain
Nipping gnawing throbbing
No one here dare gain

Any respect whatsoever
From this savagery abroad
Its ghastly to imagine
That there could be a reward
For all this awful terror
Committed as we see
By red knecks clothed and wading
In a sea of misery

Blood spattered sinew spattered
Surgeons of the sea
Tearing into living flesh
With such severity
An insanity of spirit
Flailing ugly stuff
Odious and disgusting
I have seen enough

My stomach it is churning
The chyme inside me dies
No remorse or contrition
I rue the day my eyes
Clamped upon this carnage
The joyless wretched sight
Of innocence just cut to ribbons
In its final flight

The wailing i can hear them
But the butchers are deafened and thick
Throwbacks from the centuries before
It doesnt click
With them they are insentient
Unlike the Pilot whales
Drowning inthe mercury and the PCB’s
Not tales
of fiction or of horror
But truths beyond regard
Consuming the flesh and blubber
The inner soul is scarred
Beyond their darkest nightmares
The pollution in the brain
As they march into the ocean
Ever more insane

Watch them like some army
Of vagabonds and spivvs
Marching into battle with their long knifes
Nothing gives
The loyalty and the courage
Of the vanquished trying hard
To safeguard all their siblings
Still trying to guard
Each other from the machinations
The hideousness around
The gracelessness the squalor
As one by one they are drowned

In massive blood loss sinew blubber
Intestines everywhere
Disfigurement, defacement deformity despair
Monsters really harridans
Thats the truth I see
Making out they are starving
Butt ugly actually
They have lost the plot completely
Throwbacks as I have said
They cannot see the obscenity
That is clearly in their head

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


HTML tags are not allowed.