The Yule Goat

 

Happy Yule to All!

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.

 

 

The Gävle goat

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

Age of Forfeit

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Age of Forfeit

 

 

"..I deny the tastes and habits of the age.

 I am its punk debauche..A fierce lampoon

seeking to inherit what is necessary to forfeit.." 

~1959, Gregory Corso

 

 

 

Ten years old in '59

learning how to eat plastic

how to steal the eyes

of sorrow, how to watch the TV box

build the marshmallow engines of dreams;

learning how to flip forward and back,

an acrobat of lies, an appearance nun, bride-to-be of

Christ's money, of necrotic success, of tears

that can only come out at night.

Ten years old in '59

the decade of glorious acquisition,

born from war and set to marinate in flag-juice,

to memorize the ABC's: Avarice, Bombast, Consumption

at all costs. Eat cake on your birthday. Ignore

the bleached bones of beauty floating

in your corn flakes, the ghost-children, your peers,

who howled as they died in the split atom's vomit.

Don't look at

the malice behind the service.

Don't go too far. Don't grow your hair

or wander in the ruins of compassion;

there's no money there. Don't ask why you're 

starving on plenty, little girl, little pawn. Learn

to iron a shirt, feed the baby, please your man, work

in the cafe, at the office, behind the 

dimestore counter selling blood-paste 

for lyrically lying lips

or you'll be the joke,

the reject, the outcast forever

running for your life.

 

 

December 2021

 

 

 

 

posted for

Shay's Word List

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Fifties photographs, courtesy of Soren Larsen, © Frank Larson   Fair Use

 

The Crow-Mother

 

 

The Crow-Mother

 (a triquain)

 

 

As a child

I knew a crow-woman.

She loved shiny things, breathy south wind

and tall corn, green in the field of desire. She

wore onyx feathers grieving the time

when she had real words, not

just for me, 

but for everyone. She

was friend to doves unable to mourn,

a lover of small clouds which could never give rain,

a mother of all misplaced things: keys

coins and rings, strings, lost girls

life passed by.

December 2021

posted for Fireblossom

at The Sunday Muse

Note: the triquain is a counted syllable form based on threes. It normally consists of seven lines, each line increasing in syllables by three to twelve, then decreasing again by three to the close. This is a triquain swirl, which is slightly different in containing 13 lines. (3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3).

 

 

Images: Crow Prince Charming, © Rene Magritte   Fair Use

Crow woman cosplay, via Sunday Muse   Fair Use 

Sevenling: Owl In The Night

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Sevenling: Owl In The Night

Owl in the night

mouse in the grass

wind behind wide wings

like my own heart I feel you fly

my voice a mouse-cry

as wide wings beat the light from

the moon to my eye.

December 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

posted for Fireblossom

at The Sunday Muse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note on sevenlings if you haven't met one before: "The sevenling is a poem of seven lines inspired by the form of [a].. much translated short verse by Anna Akhmatova (1889 - 1966)...The first three lines should contain an element of three - three connected or contrasting statements, or a list of three details, names or possibilities..lines four to six should similarly contain an element of three connected directly or indirectly or not at all..The seventh line should act as a narrative summary or punchline or as an unusual juxtaposition..A sevenling should be titled Sevenling followed by the first few words in parentheses The tone of the sevenling should be mysterious, offbeat or disturbing, giving a feeling that only part of the story is being told.."~Roddy Lumsden

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Owl and Moon, ©Alan Perry All Rights Reserved Fair Use

birdperson image author unknown via Sunday Muse Fair Use

 

Kowboy Katzenjammer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Kowboy Katzenjammer

When Kowboy Katzenjammer

comes to Kittycon

he always brings his religion.

Sixgun and spurs

forecast high-noon confessions

and lavish donations.

He preaches tomcat gospel

to green-eyed kittens

in sharp ears and lazy ribbons,

offers his cardboard box

in the church of broken locks

to a fury of furries

 trading their fur

for a two-second purr.

 

 

 

 

December 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

posted for Fireblossom

at The Sunday Muse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note:This 55 uses the following words from Shay's Word List (Laura Nyro), which I did not include in my previous poem for that prompt: confession,forecast,fury,lazy,religion,tomcat

Image via Sunday Muse   Fair use

 

 

 

Starlorn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Starlorn

(a 55)

 

 

 

The black dog runs

on the wind that

reaps the world.

 

He bites starlorn

at the moon who knows

his teeth will find marrow.

 

Behind him comes

the scythe that cuts tomorrow

down to bone.

 

Moon must learn to bleed,

monkeys to eat snow,

man to live on tears

where the black dog runs.

 

December 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

posted for Dverse Poets

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Moonrise, 1884, © Stanislaw Maslowski   Public Domain

Wolf-Dog, manipulated, 1976 © Jamie Wyeth  Public Domain

Winter's Relic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Winter's Relic

Winter is on the steps

and in my hair. She croons

as she starves sparrows

rocks pigeons dead in the cradle.

Spare me her holy patience

her frost palimpsest on the window

her holiday coffins.

Feed me instead

on figs and sangria

scarlet under a firecracker sky

rippling with heat and Spanish moons.

 

Throw me on a bed white with

linen, not this nullity of snow that

 melts away beneath my fever.

Let me have something

besides these starving cats

under my skin, hear something besides the blues

they blow like a train-whistle from

 the feral saxophones of their  throats.

But if I open my eyes,

I see reflected only winter's relic;

a twist of shadow in the blizzard,

trying to hold back the wind,

while around me the plague

doctors work, looking for

blood from the stoned, and

the Fearless Captain stands at the door

overseeing our dispossession.

 

 

December 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 posted for

Shay's Word List

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Looking southwest from Five Barrows under Snow, ©James Ravellius Fair Use

The Snow Queen Flies through the Winter Skies, © Edmond Dulac   Public Domain 

Several Pleasures

 

 

 

 

 

 

Several Pleasures

 

 

 

I've never found anything perfect

except a flower once that never died.

It swiveled in the sun's slow swing

slept in snow, woke for the Bride

in spring, plush and wild each year from

drinking sky.

 

I've never had anything last

except that flying summer of love for light

where children briefly burned their hungry fear;

that spark became the wildfire of my life.

Its living fire keeps me whole tonight

protected from the winter-walking years.

I've never had a dime I didn't spend

except the gold we minted for love's pay.

Spendthrifts can lose a fortune in a day,

yet keep it all in a sun-vault of a safe

with two last coins for final fare on eyes

that see their dreams at last without disguise.

 

 

 

 

 December 2021

 

 

 

 

posted for dVerse Poets

Open Link

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Narcissus 'Sir Winston Churchill' © joyannjones 2014

Dancing couple, featured on the cover of Newsweek magazine, Woodstock Festival, Bethel, New York, 1969. © Jim Marshall Photography LLC  Fair Use