The Yule Goat

 

 

 

For some continuity in a chaotic time, I repost this Yule poem from 2011 and wish all the happiest of Yuletides, while we leave the New Year to fend for itself. 

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

The Cat in the Well~A Halloween Fantasia

It's here at last! Halloween, All Hallows, All Souls Day, The Day of the Dead, whatever you care to call it; my favorite holiday. To commemorate it, I repost this nice cozy horror poem, as I have every Halloween since it was first written, a little Verse Escape tradition. Enjoy!

The Cat in the Well

My name is not Odin (I forget my name) but I’ve lived

in the well for a mad moon’s making, alone with the roots,

the deep water oozing and lapping the bones’ sweet arch

that lifts my home, my tumulus a wet black mouth, alone

till the cat fell. My dying was long, my strength nearly gone

till the cat fell, till the cat came down the well.

Odin was a god (so I heard before this spell.) Death gave him back,
yet a well took him in, his eye for a drink from the frost giant’s blood

below Yggdrasil. I am not he, but a shrunken spriggan,

devil’s daughter, giants’ kin, hung here stranded in small skin

to guard what I can't spend when the faith gave way gave out gave in.

Even the dark forgets my names, forgets my games,

even the dark, till the one I played at with the fallen cat.

For when the cat fell, the light (so remote, so white) blazed

sudden, sure it could end the dead dream that crawls my veins

of a land where we once loomed large long gone;

because of that I let him live, alone of them all. He took my hands,

he took my tongue. He gave his eyes, I loth to stop what he’d begun.

He took my tongue the cat that fell, the cat come down the well.

So we climbed mossy walls (my cat tail lashing) dank with the muck

of an ancient thralling, slippery with uneaten grief, treasure slid wry,

each stone a stele for a life thrown away, each drop in the bucket red

until we came to the rim, and his amber eyes set in mine

began to shine, began to glow so all should know

the spirit cat was up from the well, with many another tale to tell;

the spirit cat that fell, the cat that came up from the well.

~October 26,2011

reposted October 31, 2015, slightly revised

Original notes:

I've mingled (or perhaps mangled) several different archetypes here: 

Odin, god of war, poetry,prophecy and magic in Norse myth traded his eye for a drink from Mimir's well, where the ancient wisdom of the frost giants was said to flow up from beneath the world tree Yggdrasil from the primordial void of Chaos. 

A spriggan is a mostly malevolent spirit from Cornish folklore, generally found guarding treasure in burial mounds or the like, believed to be small ghosts of an earlier race of giants. 

Cats, of course, were thought to be malignant, and often said to be familiars of witches or demons in medieval belief. Other cultures, such as the Ancient Egyptians, have held them sacred, and believed they possessed various magical qualities.

Special thanks to my son for the video he sent, which set me off on this particular trip, and to Brendan, for his input on the one-eyed god of the hanged.

Image: Cat on a Roof, by Ferdnando Botero, fair use via wikiart.org

Reposts for Christmas #3

In Hel's Hall

It was white-ice morning in Hel's Hall

in the ninth of the Nine Worlds, when

Odin donned the Hel-shoes, cast the runes

and rode to ask his questions of 

the dead. 

Because he was a god, twisted she rose 

from her ashen bed

and by force began to speak  

of what she knew:

So I found, said her blackened lips,

that cold is a serpent that holds, pushing its

ribbon-chest deep into mountain,

slow-cracking the heads of spirits within

for gold to brighten its rippling scales.

Will you hear more?

So I saw, moved her fleshless jaw,

that cold will grow wide and thicken,

dead weight in grey-white armor,

dead mouth kissing every shoulder, 

that the tree it blasts and circles

will shake down a harvest of lives

to grind out all you love.

So I found, rattled her dustdry throat,

that cold will make red daggers, hanging

scarlet borrowed blood to temper

oblivion's poppy snowflakes,

to pierce the heart of hearts

till red and white alike

vanish from sight.

So I saw, whispered the husk of Hel,

that snow will cover fire, 

that the white wolf no sword can kill

will eat desire, that you

are a basket of bones made for wildflowers

withering in a wind of empty hours.

Will you hear more?

Then the One-Eyed shucked his Hel-shoes

jumped back in Sleipnir's saddle,

and fled the Ninth World, 

where words torn from the dead

had frozen on his tongue.

~January 2013
 revisions, December 2014

originally  posted for   real toads

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Worldbuilding

Kerry O'Connor has asked us to write around the subject of alternative worlds. Here I've reached into the the realm of Norse myth, and as usual, taken a few liberties with the tales of the Old Gods.

Process notes: In Norse mythology, Hel was the realm of those dead who had not died in battle, and also the name of the female figure who ruled it. It was where Odin the One-eyed, first of the Aesir and god of poetry, war, death, wisdom and wandering, journeyed to raise a dead Seeress to tell him of the future. She prophesies the events of Ragnarök,* the twilight, or perhaps re-making, of the gods, where the children of the antagonistic god of disorder and mischief, Loki, the Midgard Serpent and Fenrir the Wolf, will battle the gods, and the World Tree will 'shake and groan.' 

Hel-shoes (helskór) were put on the Norse dead to walk the road to the Otherworld.

Sleipnir is Odin's magical eight-legged horse.

* I probably ought to add that following the events of Ragnarök, the  völva also prophesies that a beautiful new world will emerge, where men and gods live in peace and plenty. Some believe that this a post-Christian introduction, but regardless, it satisfies the happily ever after need we humans have.

In Hel's Hall

In Hel's Hall

It was white-ice morning in Hel's Hall

in the ninth of the Nine Worlds, when

Odin donned the Hel-shoes, cast the runes

and rode to ask his questions of 

the dead. 

Because he was a god, twisted she rose 

from her ashen bed

and by force began to speak  

of what she knew:

So I found, said the blackened lips,

that cold is a serpent that holds, pushing its

ribbon-chest deep into mountain,

slow-cracking the heads of the spirits within

for gold to brighten its rippling scales.

Will you hear more?

So I saw, moved the fleshless jaw,

cold grow wide and thicken,

putting on its grey-white armor,

that its dead mouth kisses every shoulder, 

that the tree it circles

will shake down a harvest of lives

to grind out all you love.

So I found, rattled the dustdry throat,

that cold will make red daggers, hanging

scarlet borrowed blood to temper

oblivion's poppy snowflakes,

to pierce the heart of hearts

till red and white alike

vanish from sight.

So I saw, whispered the husk of Hel,

that snow will cover fire, 

that the white wolf no sword can kill

will eat desire, that you

are a basket of bones made for wildflowers

withering in a wind of empty hours.

Will you hear more?

Then the One-Eyed shucked his Hel-shoes

jumped back in Sleipnir's saddle,

and fled the Ninth World, 

where the wisdom he begged

had frozen on his tongue.

~January 2013

 posted for   real toads

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge: Worldbuilding

Kerry O'Connor has asked us to write around the subject of alternative worlds. Here I've reached into the the realm of Norse myth, and as usual, taken a few liberties with the tales of the Old Gods.

Process notes: In Norse mythology, Hel was the realm of those dead who had not died in battle, and also the name of the female figure who ruled it. It was where Odin the One-eyed, first of the Aesir and god of poetry, war, death, wisdom and wandering, journeyed to raise a dead Seeress to tell him of the future. She prophesies the events of Ragnarök,* the twilight, or perhaps re-making, of the gods, where the children of the antagonistic god of disorder and mischief, Loki, the Midgard Serpent and Fenrir the Wolf, will battle the gods, and the World Tree will 'shake and groan.' 

Hel-shoes (helskór) were put on the Norse dead to walk the road to the Otherworld.

Sleipnir is Odin's magical eight-legged horse.

* I probably ought to add that following the events of Ragnarök, the  völva also prophesies that a beautiful new world will emerge, where men and gods live in peace and plenty. Some believe that this a post-Christian introduction, but regardless, it satisfies the happily ever after need we humans have.

Image: Odin Rides to Hel, by W.G. Collingwood 
Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Crows

Crows

The  crows come down

from their high spy tower,

a gypsy synchronicity of black

but they tell me nothing

any more, beaks macerating silence,

eyes shiny blank as linoleum;

no answers, only sharp corvine curses,

cracks as they pry the suet butterfly

from her metal corset

and convene in iron symmetry

a privacy of devouring.

It's plain that I'm not Odin

though I've given more than my eye,

that the gossip of the green world

passes me by, the old feed of

voices an ejaculation of clouds,

alabaster riddles in indigo night

while I dream white dreams

in the periwinkles,

forgotten as Sleipnir's name

wondering if ragnarök

is still to come, or already

gathered up in the trees.

~December 2012

 Optional Musical Accompaniment

Posted for   real toads

Challenge:An Ink-Stained Wordlist

I had a lot of help with this one, first from Kerry's list of favorite toad words at the link above, then from the speaking photography of my friend Petteri Sulonen, whose picture, Crow Taking Flight with Frozen Treetops is at the header. 

Process notes: In Norse mythology, Odin possessed two ravens, Huginn and Muninn(Thought and Memory) who flew the world and brought him back its news. He also had a magical eight-legged horse named Sleipnir whom he rode between the worlds. Odin gave his eye under the world tree to learn the wisdom of the Frost Giants. You can click the tags 'odin' or 'Huginn and Mugin' below for more poems about these symbols.

Thanks, as always, Petteri, for the inspiration.

The Cat in The Well

First, to all in the path of Sandy, my heartfelt sympathy and concern, and hopes that you will be digging your way out of the mess and back to some sort of normal life as soon as possible. I hope everyone, especially all our friends and poetic connections throughout the fine spun web of the internet blogging community, is safe and well tonight.

In honor of Samhain/All Hallows, etc, I am reposting a  fanciful Halloween horror poem I wrote last year, and hope it will be diverting and distracting after all the real horrors and stress of the last few days for many. 

The Cat in the Well

A Halloween Fantasia

My name is not Odin (I forget my name) but I’ve lived

in the well for a mad moon’s making, alone with the roots

the deep water oozing and lapping the bones’ sweet arch

that lifts my home, my tumulus a wet black mouth, alone

till the cat fell. My dying was long, my strength nearly gone

till the cat fell, till the cat came down the well.

Odin was a god, (so I heard before this spell) death gave him back,
yet a well took him in, his eye for a drink from the frost giant’s blood

below the world tree. I am not he, but a shrunken spriggan,

devil’s daughter, giants’ kin hung here stranded in small skin

to guard what I can't spend, when the faith gave way gave out gave in.

Even the dark forgets my names, forgets my games,

even the dark, till the one I played at with the fallen cat.

Because when the cat fell the light (so remote, so far above) blazed

sudden and sure it could end the dead dream that crawls

through my veins of a land where we once loomed large long gone,

because of that I let him live, alone of them all. He took my hands,

he took my tongue, he gave his eyes, I loth to stop what he’d begun.

He took my tongue the cat that fell, the cat that came down the well.

So we climbed mossy walls (my cat tail lashing) dank with the muck

of an ancient thralling, slippery with uneaten grief, treasure slid wry,

each stone a stele for a life thrown away, each drop in the bucket red

until we came to the rim, and his amber eyes set in mine

began to shine, began to glow so all should know

the spirit cat was up from the well, with many another tale to tell;

the spirit cat that fell, the cat that came up from the well.

October 26,2011

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub




If you'd like to hear the poem read by the author, please click below:
 
the cat in the well by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

I've mingled (or perhaps mangled) several different archetypes here:

Odin, god of war, poetry,prophecy and magic in Norse myth traded his eye for a drink from Mimir's well, where the ancient wisdom of the frost giants was said to flow up from beneath the world tree Yygdrasil from the primordial void of Chaos.

A spriggan is a mostly malevolent spirit from Cornish folklore, generally found guarding treasure in burial mounds or the like, believed to be small ghosts of an earlier race of giants.

Cats, of course, were thought to be malignant, and often said to be familiars of witches or demons in medieval belief. Other cultures, such as the Ancient Egyptians, have held them sacred, and believed they possessed various magical qualities.

Special thanks to my son for the video he sent, which set me off on this particular trip, and to Brendan, wherever he has gone, for his past input on the one-eyed god of the hanged.



Image credits: Header, Lassie,Go Get Help, by Sean McTex, on flick'r
Photo of the Marilyn Collins sculpture in Parkland Walk, London, UK,  by Nflook via wikipedia,
Both shared under a Creative Commons License.