Friday, January 19, 2018

Friday 55 January 19 2018

Another Friday, another chance to remember and to work with the Friday 55, a meme for writers long maintained by a good man now departed, but for many of us still present in memory, Galen Hayes. Here we write for the pleasure of writing, with no rules other than that each example of prose or poetry contain 55 words, no more, no less. If you are in the mood for the exercise, link your example in the comments below, and I will be by to read and appreciate. The 55 will be alive from early Friday morning through Sunday morning. As always, comment moderation is off, but I reserve the right to apply the delete key to any passing trollish ones.

 My offering for this winter wild week in January ...

Winter Gods

tests the craven
and the brave
 limping calf, ravens' black eye-sparkle,
 days short of breath
at the knee
by snow-padded knife.

the gods hunt wild
calling where green light raids
the skyliving now.
follow the herds 
 howling the words to
godsongs of blood,

old hungers' lore,
scenting ahead
the last home.

 ~January 2018

Optional Musical Accompaniment

"...Who shall sing me
into deathsleep sling me
when I on the path to Hel go
I sought the songs
I sent the songs
then the deepest well
gave me tears so harsh
of Death-father's  wager..."

(from Helvegen, translated)

I've written of the Wild Hunt before; if you're unfamiliar with it, there is a quick reprise of most of the myths associated with it here. 

Images :Northern Lights in Iceland, The Wild Hunt, via internet, no authors known.
Fair Use.


  1. To hear the Great Hunt passing over was fateful, a foreboding (it was heard in the raging storm the night Macbeth murdered Duncan), the sky train carrying one already lost to the spear, arrowed already by the Great Hunter. When spectres of Paleolithic cold draw near (and its below 30 degrees this morning in Florida, for the second day in a row), surely the blood of the cold gods are surging hot through the veins of night ... The Hunt here gathers all in its net, both "craven" and "brave"; and though the encounter is mythic and primordial, the race is still ahead toward our "last home." Flint-edged truths for a cold winter's night., a kick-ass way to precipice this weekly 55 challenge. Amen.

    My 55:

    1. Thanks for the excellent comment, B--and the truths it carries--I'm very pleased you wrote in response to Helltrain--that one was like birthing a thorny brain, for sure--and wrote imo even closer to the poetic bone. Times are strange, everything seems to change, yet words retain their power if we can only find them.

  2. This writing brought to my mind the Valkyrie. And the bleakness of these shorter cold hearted days, longer nights where warriors musty hunt in the night--I am good with that.

    I am here

    1. That was a strong and truthful read, Mark--the comparison(or metaphor if you prefer) only too apt. Thanks for playing--always an extra-good 55 when any of the g-man's crew shows up.

  3. I wish I would have some amazing skies... we are only north enough to have the darkness but the northern light give us a pass. I know the north all too well though :-)

    Here is my concrete contribution

    1. Enjoyed this Bjorn--as a horticulturist by profession(back when I had one) I always want to hear what the trees have to say--and I know you know the north. Many thanks for adding to the 55 this week.

  4. Perhaps it would come as some relief in the current world where those who are alive behave as they do, to hear the hunt running wild of a night. I dug a ton of snow today and am chilled and tired...I popped out a 55 whisky calls...then sleep.

    1. This was a perfect way to start my day, Paul--thanks for the bittersweet--yet healing--words that make the old subject new when done right.

  5. I love what you did with the rhymes here, Hedge and the wild hunt is a firm favourite of mine. It awakens the imagination or stirs something of the inherited memory from my ancestors.

    1. My first draft was too long.. I chopped it up into little pieces and stuck it back together. I like it better now for being pruned (though I may be one word short).

    2. This is just exquisitely honed, Kerry. I agree that so often we have to cut to find what we really want to say (one of the reasons I have always leaned on the 55 and other short forms.) I don't count the words--except for my own, as I have a thing about it--but each one here did what it needed to do.

  6. Ya never know where these things come from... a tree

    1. This is just excellent, angie. So glad you joined us, and yes, you don't ever know what will sprout from the brain.

  7. As the temperature drops in the heart of mankind, in those that profess to lead us and other craven greedy souls, perhaps the spectre of a Wild Hunt might bring all to their senses – but I doubt it. I think we are all now well-locked in the hell to come. And that makes me afraid.

    Thank you for the link, which I need to read and to digest more in an effort to truly understand.

    On a brighter note – please find my 55:

    Cheers Joy.
    Anna :o]

  8. Lafayette, I am here. Like you, I have composed a sunny little ode to bluebirds and lollipops. ;-)

  9. This brings to mind the hunters I used to hear as a child. At night with their hounds they would pass so close to the house I could hear them talking. I recognized many of their voices as neighboring farmers. I think we all need to hear the call of the wild to explore, see what we've never seen. I only a hunter with my camera, but it is amazing what can be discovered if we but search.

    1. Oh, and this is my 55 this week.

    2. Thanks, Susie. As always, you bring your best.

  10. This brings to mind raptors riding the jet streams and hunting. Wonderful! I try yet again with this week's entry.

  11. The 55 is closed for this week. Thanks to all who played, and hope that you all had a kickass weekend.