Showing posts with label the old gods' libations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the old gods' libations. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 30, 2022

Under Repair

 
 
 
 
 


 
 
 
 
 
Greetings of the season to all! 
 
During the next few weeks, my aging (2013) computer is
going to be gutted, reformatted, tweaked and brought up to date so it can run the latest version of Windows. My son is in charge of all this, and I'm very grateful he has the skills I lack to do it.

When and if all is operational, I will be back. Til then, thanks to all of you who so generously share your poetry online, and who take the time to visit here and share your thoughts on my own.
 
As always this time of year, I wish for everyone the happiest of whatever holidays they celebrate, while I myself will be doing my best to

 
 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
.

Tuesday, October 25, 2022

Odin's Mead

 

 
 Odin's Mead


 I am not a jewel
fashioned for your collection
nor the paint-pot
for your ever-moving lips,
not the fertility
to your futility
not assumed erudition
to your chosen perdition.

I am not meant for
your wound of a mouth
bleeding hate-kindling for fire-hags
flaming sweet summer-country, 
not the heart-stake
vitriol will make,
not victory to be claimed
in a war too dirty to name.
 
I'm only the last
taste in the drinking horn
of some bright thing Other
a soft-foot step and fleet hand
pouring drunken snow
brewed by Ones who go
on spirit bones far stronger
but here walk free no longer.
 
I am only the bite
of the berry
dropping seeds from the bramble,
a tart taste in a season
of falling farewells,
a sapphire flicker
brief in the blue mirror,
 a gesturing ghost's fever
behind you forever;
 
a thrum too low to be clear
that only the silenced can hear. 


 
October 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 





 
 
 posted for earthweal's
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: I've recounted this myth before, but briefly to recap, in Norse mythology, the Poetic Mead or Mead of Poetry is a magical beverage made from the murdered body of a being created from the gods' spit which sealed the truce of the Aesir-Vanir war, and was stolen from the  jötnar guarding it by Odin in eagle form, who spits it out into sacred  golden vessels for those chosen by the gods. Whoever drinks from these is given the gifts of poetry and knowledge, and is transformed into a skald and scholar. Odin also releases some of the mead in his droppings as he flies. This anyone can drink, and is called 'the rhymester's share." 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: One of the golden horns of Gallehus, public domain
"The Gotlandic image stone Hammars (III). It is held to depict Odin in his eagle fetch (note the eagle's beard), Gunnlöð (holding the mead of poetry) and Suttungr." public domain 
 

Friday, October 7, 2022

Kleopatra Fantasia

 
 

Kleopatra Fantasia 
 
 
 
 
Cleopatra rides the rails
but never the bus
a foreigner now 
as she was in Caesar's city,
workmen shifting her from station
to museum, crated like so many
cans of beans.

She is silent as sand,
stilled limbs leafed in gold, a
treasure always in transit though
black as bitumen now, cat eyes
blind in an empty skull,
everything drawn out
but her dry heart.

She was bread once
and a circus too, lithe
as a lotus stem snaking up
to lay its white flower
on the cheek of Lake Mareotis,
rippling like a pneuma of rain
through the changing houses of Ptah.

Her tongue danced to a dozen
languages. Her mind was a library
of betrayals, each volume a loss
to Alexander's insane epigoni.
Her future was scribed from
the Books of Breathing and
ambition's killing text:
 
Caesar's smooth hand 
and Antony's sparking eye,
a brief breath of kingdoms, twins
of the sun and moon, all a mirage-
shimmer bright as sanctuary
whose telos was only vast silence 
 
flowing from
the open mouth of an asp.
 
 
 
October 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for
 
 
 
 and also linked at
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
a less distinguished follower or imitator of someone...
 
Books of Breathing: late Egyptian funerary texts simplified from the Book of the Dead

 
In the Egyptian process of mummification, all internal organs were removed except the heart, which was considered the seat of thought and identity.
 
The Ptolemaic pharaohs of Egypt, of which Cleopatra was the last, were crowned by the High Priest of Ptah, (creator god who made the world through the power of speech) at his temple in Memphis. They were more Greek than Egyptian, descendants of a general of Alexander the Great after his conquest there, and Cleopatra was the first and only one to learn the Egyptian language. According to Plutarch, she was fluent as well in Greek, Ethiopian, Hebrew, Arabic, Syrian, Median, Parthian, and Latin.
 
Cleopatra had four known children, including twins with Mark Antony, Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene.
 
The endless list of wars and civil wars which Cleopatra was directly involved in over the tumultuous course of her 39 years is too long to begin to reprise here, but you can read about them and what is known of her complex life in detail here on wikipedia








 
 
Images:A posthumous painted portrait of Cleopatra VII of Ptolemaic Egypt from Roman Herculaneum, made during the 1st century AD source here 
A raised relief depiction of a woman dated to the early 1st century AD and thought to depict Cleopatra or Cleopatra Selene II, Queen of Mauretania, daughter of Cleopatra VII of Egypt and Mark Antony. source here

Sunday, June 5, 2022

Breaking The Stone

 
 

 
Breaking The Stone
 
 
When I left the forest for a wilderness
of pillars, hexed by a tinsel covenant,
the moon cried for me. Pines sparked with
white gems of her longing. Minerva's owl
called my name three times; still
I chose the thrown shadows of a fire
that burned just out of my sight.
 
Sixteen years I followed shadows,
ate them, dressed in them, became
what was cast in front of me instead of
its birthing light. Stone I owned held no fire,
only chill when my foot left its face.The
pulling promise that scorched my hand
never could be grasped.

At last like a widow's first laugh,
there came the reaping breath of what is,
carousing down columns to lift
my short hairs with the brush
of owl's wings above me,
spread wide to carry me home.
Then the orphan moon

put away her tears
and blazed in the lavender sky.
Pine-wind recited in the meter of stars,
and I was their matchstick,
Gaia's fuse for a flameless firework
filling the amaranthine wood
against the dark end.
 
In my hand
I took the gift-feather
from the owl that called my name
and with it, wand and talisman,
without any heat at all,
I broke the stone.
 

June 2022
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
a draft poem for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: This poem could use some additional work, but I am posting it in its infant form til I can find what else it needs.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Owl and Pillars, author unknown, via Sunday Muse Fair Use  Image source 
Owl and Moon, ©Alan Perry, via internet Fair Use

Wednesday, March 23, 2022

Song Of The Weavers


 
Song Of The Weavers
 
 
 
 
The Norns speak all they know
in pleaching and binding, in winding
on the spindle green thread from the Northlights,
white wool from the southern sugarmoon
as it sets in blood-orange dustfall.
 
Their rhythm curls out from
the tangleroot nest under the world tree
where they refresh the well
season to season, age to age, and all that was
and is to be is formed in their throats' call.
 
They have grown each feather
on the black raven's backs 
of thought and memory
and taken the Allfather's eye
for their balladry.
 
A hard hand makes a rock-hard life,
but their cloud-boned fingers can weave
hard lives into blooms made to jump up in sheaves
as velvet as rabbits, full-hearted sweet
as the last peach on the summertree.
 
They fire the wicker man's burn
and rain his ash into the fields
to weep for the rye
they will color again
in May's breath-dancing fly.
 
I only sit under the cooling stars
in the holiness of night with the 
owls' down floating, in the bright foundry of day
with the tongues of grass leaning
into the singing of their wild living cry.
 
 
 
 
March 2022
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for earthweal's
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: The Three Norns, 1911, © Arthur Rackham    Public Domain
Northern Lights Over Iceland, author unknown, via internet  Fair Use

Sunday, February 13, 2022

Lincoln Frees The Owls

 

 
 Lincoln Frees The Owls


Your father had
a cloud of blackbirds,
your mother a wake
of buzzards. You
 
were more ambitious.
You wanted Athena's owls,
or else to play Lincoln. You
had the bones for it, and you
 
bought the hat, but feathers
stuck in your throat
when you began to speak
about emancipation.
 
The owls never complained
about the long hours
you made them be still
on your lap, the skinny mice
 
you gave them. (It was
unfortunate about the butterflies,
but an owl has to eat.)
In the end we left you, 
 
the owls and I, in front of
the Ford Theater where later
we would all find out
what it means to be really free.





February 2022





 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Thursday, February 3, 2022

Observed In The Wild

 
 

 
 
Observed In The Wild
 
 
 
 
I found you first in the green evening
a secret burn of elongated lines
sketched into the mural of bending pines
by wind's unseen ink, traveling the trail
on an old scent caught in the bracken;

then the adrenaline snap
of your head my way.

You called me from my campfire
to answer the brown beg in your eye,
to fall beneath you like aspen leaves
at your season's yellow turn,
as my own summer died around me.

Pulled like gut to the crescent bow
of the reckless huntress, I chased you
through evergreen shadow, along bone-clean
clattered rockfall, dry creeks where
only the musk smell of hope drew me on

past the deadfalls and I would guess at your way
by the arrowhead and adder's mouth rising
in your wake. Too many years you ran ahead
to pleasure a dozen others who never
saw your winter,

but often when the itch was unbearable in
the time-crack of April's acid sun, you
came to me in the clearing, to rub the felt
from your horns on my shoulder and moan
my name like a sacrifice

low and heavy as the white bull
of Poseidon knee deep in the
sacred wave before the knife.




 February 2022
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for earthweal's
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Notes: Arrowhead (Sagittaria Latifolia) and the wild orchid known as green adder's mouth(Malaxis unifolia) are common North American wildflowers. Pardon the mixed metaphors of stag and bull which in time-honored fashion I ascribe to poetic license.You can read a quick synopsis of the myth of King Minos, his wife, the white bull sent him by Poseidon, its pursuit by Heracles and its eventual sacrifice by Theseus here.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Pine Forest II, 1901, © Gustav Klimt  Public Domain
Head of a Stag, 1634, © Diego Velazquez     Public Domain

Friday, December 24, 2021

The Yule Goat

 

Happy Yule to All!

Goat watching

Yule Goat



In December’s dark descent
across crackled breaking sky ice
slivered with dagger snow,
bells ring in whitened night, sharp
hooves stamp on the cloudcloth
shaking pearl dust stripes on
emerald spruces' candelabra arms,
turquoise and white pinwheels
circling their wands
of bitter bark raven haunted.

The god of thunders 
pulls the sun's shadow,
flickering hammer tucked
in his brace of clouds,
drives his twin goats
toward the time when day
and night are strait, equals at last
as Odin's wild hunt 
passes damned, mad,
howling overhead

The Snarler and the Grinder
fleet of foot, heedless of fate
run on; tonight's feast, tomorrow’s
feat, killed for meat this starveling
night, raised at dawn.
Spread the skins and 
let each bone 
fall with care so
those here reborn 
race again on the solar wind.

O bright black eye
split with too much knowledge
devil’s mask, canting voice
of the abyss, god's bearer, hunger's enemy
come bless us this Yule with your
yellow stare, ignite yourself
against the hag’s winter storm,
flute your flames through a straw ribcage. 
Watch us make the old dance new again
under the reckless stars.
 
 






December 2011




In Norse myth, Thor was not only provided with his mountain-shattering hammer Mjölnir, his magical, strength doubling belt Megingjörð, but a chariot in which he traveled through the sky pulled by two goats, Tanngrisnir (Old Norse "teeth-barer, snarler") and Tanngnjóstr (Old Norse "teeth grinder") spoken of in the Prose Edda, who could be slain for food at Thor's discretion then resurrected with the power of Mjölnir and returned to the traces.~ from wikipedia: 'The Yule Goat is one of the oldest Scandinavian and Northern European Yule and Christmas symbols and traditions. Originally denoting the goat that was slaughtered during the Germanic pagan festival of Yule, "Yule Goat" now typically refers to a goat-figure made of straw. It is also associated with the custom of wassailing, sometimes referred to as "going Yule Goat" in Scandinavia.' As always, I've taken a few liberties with the letter of the myths.You can read more about the folklore of the Yule Goat here  and the Wild Hunt here.





Images:
Header Photo: Goat watching, by DAV.es on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License 
Footer Photo: The Gävle goat burning, author unknown
All copyright belongs to the copyright holder

Wednesday, December 8, 2021

Winter's Ship

 
 
 

 
 
 
Winter's Ship
 (a 55)
 
 Oaks on the hillside
know wind's desire
fear nothing but fire
become ships in harbor
to ride the waves' wire.
 
In winter without color
midnights without number
sun  cold as axe-snarl
even passion must freeze
or build a way out.

Wind-eater, wave-runner
dragon-faced prowler
king's-welcome coffin;
last home like her first,
the earth roots remember.
 
 
 

December 2021








 
 
 
 
 posted for dVerse Poets Poetics:
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Historical Note: "The Gokstad ship is a 9th-century Viking ship found in a burial mound at Gokstad ..Vestfold, Norway It is the largest preserved Viking ship in Norway. It is also the largest Viking ship ever found...During the excavations, a human skeleton was found in a bed inside a timber-built burial chamber. The skeleton was that of a man aged approximately forty to fifty years old, of powerful build..; his identity is unknown. The bones of twelve horses, six dogs, and one peacock were found laid out around the man's body.." ~wikiedia
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Gokstadskipet, Vikingskipmuseet, Oslo, 2005, Karamell, shared under a Creative Commons License via wikimedia commons
Danish Winter Landscape, detail, 1838 © Johan Christian Dahl