Showing posts with label ragnarök. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ragnarök. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

Green Summer Country

 
 
 
 

 
 
Green Summer Country
 
 
"The sea turned to plain land, the snow on the mountain disappeared. In my eyes thousands of years fade like dust yet my heart is as before...I thought I had forgotten, but I remember everything" ~unknown, from the Mandarin

 
 I walk there in dreams,
the old summer country,
nave of a worship
where ice dies to green fire,
where we tended the world tree
whose roots wrap around
the well of the word;

where we bound the Great Wolf
with the trust of a god
made one-handed,
in the time when the mistletoe
was too young to swear oaths.
I walk there now, with
snow spirits warmed

in green shadow,
where the deer
sigh and surrender
to the arrow and its prayer,
where the Great Serpent gentled
belts the water around the wide land,
waves married to shore.
 
Where to eat is to be blessed
to love is to be whole
to suffer is to gain wisdom,
where bees make our wine,
where every leaf
hides the saga of a king.
My feet

wander lost, my throat blisters
when I wake to the Serpent unloosed,
the sea spoiled and untied,
the Wolf's bite tearing the snow 
from the mountains. My eyes
hold the dust of a thousand years
yet my heart

is the same.
I thought I had forgotten this;
I've forgotten nothing.



June 2022
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for earthweal's
Dreaming In Green hosted by Sherry Marr
 
 
 
 
 




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Notes: The poem references figures from Norse mythology; Ygdrasil, Fenris,Jormungandr,Tyr, the story of Baldur. The transcribed quote at the header I heard last night while watching a serialized Chinese television drama.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: The Glenn, 1936, ©Maxfield Parrish  Public Domain
Jormangand, the World Serpent © Aleski Briclot  via internet Fair Use
 

Saturday, December 4, 2021

Fenrir

 
 
 
 

 
 Fenrir
 
 
"..from where will a sun come into the smooth heaven
when Fenrir has assailed this one?"~Vafþrúðnismál
 
I.
 
They say the basilisk
walks her own wasteland,
each green thing that springs
corrupted by her breath,
 
each life that starts
turned to stone as
she spies it, so that she lives 
with nothing all her days.
 
She knows the sphinx
has long since forgotten
all riddles but the one
whose answer is sand.
 
 
II.
 
The wolf at the door
puts his paw on the child's neck.
His breath smells of tiny lives, 
his eyes are round as the moon.

He waits with her for the Ragnarök
to devour the world, to swallow the gods
to bring a new sun
to the skies we defile

but while waiting he smiles
his dog-smile, his tongue soft on her cheek.
From deep in the shadows 
the basilisk regrets
 
the power of myth, and
 the child
waits to grow
and run with the wolf.



December 2021




 
 
 
 
posted for Fireblossom
at
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Note: In Norse myth,  ragnarök refers not only to a time when gods and men will fight against monsters and jotuns and be destroyed, but also to the world which will follow, where the earth is purified and gods, nature and man are given a second chance.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Odin and Fenris, 1909 © Dorothy Hardy   Public Domain
Wolf and child, via The Sunday Muse  author unknown Fair Use
 

Monday, June 8, 2020

Ouroboros









Ouroboros




The girl who grew old
in her sleep keeps her eyes
on a chain, afraid to let them loose
from the fingerwork of dreams,
stringing the beads of her sanity.

The machinery must turn, not
roam across every face
of cruelty, of beauty, that
comes now in the crowd
whose Fahrenheit flies

towards the boiling heart of the sun.
Voices with stones, medicine hands
 on eyes seared blind in acid clouds;
gunshot, brickbat and burning
sweep our shuddering house.

Tiny assassins make up
the bed where we fear to lie down
with our dusty farewells.
The crone bleeds hidden
gold watering her marigolds,

sees again in the glinting blue stream
 the great ouroboros return; 
Jörmungandr opens his mouth
to lash his tail and break oceans.
Now is the time for devouring 

 as Fenris howls
for the gods to come out and die.




June 2020











posted for The Sunday Muse
and Kerry O'Connor's Skylover Word List















Process note: "In Norse mythology, Jörmungandr.. is a sea serpent, the middle child of the giantess Angrboða and Loki. According to the Prose Edda, Odin took Loki's three children by Angrboða—the wolf Fenrir, Hel, and Jörmungandr—and tossed Jörmungandr into the great ocean that encircles Midgard[our human world.]The serpent grew so large that it was able to surround the earth and grasp its own tail. .. When it releases its tail, Ragnarök [the last destroying battle of the old world, translated as Twilight or Doom of the Gods] will begin.  Jörmungandr is an example of an ouroboros,...an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail..The ouroboros is often interpreted as a symbol for eternal cyclic renewal or a cycle of life, death, and rebirth..." ~wikipedia, condensed.






Images: Title unknown, by Alexandra Dillon  Fair Use
Alchemical drawing of an ouroboros by Theodorus Pelecanos, 1478  Public Domain








Friday, December 27, 2019

Call of the Crow



Call of the Crow


The crow called,
What world is coming?
A world with no ease in the seeing

where the last battle
finds no ending, where gold eats up valor
where no sending of ravens
can swallow the feast.

The crow called,
what world do I see
where summer kills flowers
where kine have no milk
and die eating dust,

where women
gamble their worth,
and old men
bring false judgment;

where each child
is a reaver, each man
a betrayer,
blinding his own eyes;
 
where the sea can feed no one
not even a gull,
where poison is flowing
deep in the well.

The crow called,
I shall, I shall
see it all,
but no more
any world that is dear to me.


~April 2015





Poem 27 for April--unlinked, and a total self-indulgence.
Reposted and lightly re-edited today, December 27, 2019 for Sherry's last prompt
at 
The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads





Process notes: This poem is drawn directly from a 9th century(?) prophecy(below) I happened on that reminded me very strongly of the description of the final days before the Ragnarök in Völuspá. Bleak as these prophecies are, I also see them as vital warnings, informing us so perhaps their dire ends can somehow be averted, foretelling as they do elements of a personal disintegration which leads to the more universal one.

This prophecy is Celtic, and spoken by the goddess Babd, the war goddess aspect of The Morrigan, who often takes the form of a crow:



I  shall not see a world that will be dear to me.
Summer without flowers,
Kine will be without milk,
Women without modesty,
Men without valour,
Captures without a king.

... ... ...

Woods without mast,
Sea without produce,

... ... ...

Wrong judgments of old men,
False precedents of brethren,
Every man a betrayer,
Every boy a reaver.
Son will enter his father's bed,
Father will enter his son's bed,
Everyone will be his brother's brother-in-law.

... ... ...

An evil time!
Son will deceive his father,

Daughter will deceive her mother.

prophecy of the goddess Badb,  from "The Second Battle of Mag Tuired"

~wikipedia








Image: Crow in flight at Isfahan, Iran, 2012, shared under a creative commons license
via wikimedia commons     Manipulated.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Lost At Sea


Lost At Sea



The moon mocks a sailor
on the surface, bobbing and breeching.
Boiling in darkness
the sweet arch of coral
clings with its bones to the breast of a giant,
crumbling to a legend
in its poison bath.

The antic fishes
with their calico colors
paint fading murals in a
melting palace, then rise grey
in their bloat to bleach clouded tides.
The sun's spear drives home
through a broken shield

splits the skin of the ice
so it roams without purpose,
a white wolf with Fenrir's breath
that moving southward slowly starves.
In this wreckage and wrack that's the prize for destroyers
who sold all their flowers to dance in an oil slick
and all the world had

for the price of
a mess of pottage, is there one soul left
who can make a new day?



~July 2017




 For Brendan's changing earth



Images: Untitled marinescape, by Zdislaw Beksinski   Fair Use
Edward G Robinson watches a film of flowers before death, from the 1973 movie Soylent Green
Public domain


Process note: "A mess of pottage is something immediately attractive but of little value taken foolishly and carelessly in exchange for something more distant and perhaps less tangible but immensely more valuable. The phrase alludes to Esau's sale of his birthright for a meal ("mess") of lentil stew ("pottage") in Genesis 25:29-34 and connotes shortsightedness and misplaced priorities..."~wikipedia



Sunday, April 2, 2017

Longship





Longship



A dream that runs
like a deer in a wolfpack:

men cluster round me,
coyotes by streetlight,
streams of bright coins
pour from their mouths.

They dig  up the world-tree;
I steal it back, water its
 hole big as the moon.
It bobs like a bottle:

dead wood floating
goes to make a live longship.



~April 2017























Images: Yggdrasil, Longboat with lightning, authors unknown, via google image search


Monday, April 27, 2015

Call Of The Crow



Call of the Crow


The crow called,
what world is coming?
A world with no ease in the seeing

where the last battle
finds no ending, a capture of dead without any king;
where no sending of ravens
can swallow the feast.

The crow called,
what world do I see
where summer kills flowers
where kine have no milk
and die eating dust,

where women
no longer know their worth,
where old men bring false judgment.
where each child
is a reaver, each soul
a betrayer of brothers,
a killer deceiver, blinding his own eyes;
 
where the sea can feed no one
not even herself,
where poison is flowing
deep in the well.

I see it all,
called the crow
nothing dear 
will be left to me.


~April 2015





Poem 27 for April--unlinked, and a total self-indulgence.





Process notes: This poem is drawn directly from a 9th century(?) prophecy(below) I happened on that reminded me very strongly of the description of the final days before the Ragnarök in Völuspá. Bleak as these prophecies are, I also see them as vital warnings, informing us so perhaps their dire ends can somehow be averted, foretelling as they do elements of a personal disintegration which leads to the more universal one.

This prophecy is Celtic, and spoken by the goddess Babd, the war goddess aspect of The Morrigan, who often takes the form of a crow:



I  shall not see a world that will be dear to me.
Summer without flowers,
Kine will be without milk,
Women without modesty,
Men without valour,
Captures without a king.

... ... ...

Woods without mast,
Sea without produce,

... ... ...

Wrong judgments of old men,
False precedents of brehons,
Every man a betrayer,
Every boy a reaver.
Son will enter his father's bed,
Father will enter his son's bed,
Everyone will be his brother's brother-in-law.

... ... ...

An evil time!
Son will deceive his father,

Daughter will deceive her mother.

prophecy of the goddess Badb,  from "The Second Battle of Mag Tuired"

~wikipedia








Image: Crow in flight at Isfahan, Iran, 2012, shared under a creative commons license
via wikimedia commons     Manipulated.