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Archive for the ‘Devotional Works’ Category

Frigg

April 23, 2019 Leave a comment

You walk in majesty

Your keys’ heavy cadence

Announcing Asgard’s chief

 

Walls adorned with Your work

Skilled hands wove sacred stories

Erected each in power

 

The flax lays waiting

Gold threads of Úrðr gathered

Before Your distaff

 

About You handmaidens wait

At hand and heel attended

Your Will is done

 

Fensalir’s high seat

Holds hale the holy Vefarúrðr

Creation in Your hands

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A Beacon

April 15, 2019 Leave a comment

Across the water

Ancestors wail

As the grand cathedral burns

Fire climbing the wooden heights

Notre Dame engulfed

A beacon, reminding:

 

Remember well the past

Spires fall and wood smokes

Remember well the past

Books molder and memory decays

Remember well the past

For under stone and hewn wood a temple lies

 

The fires gutter and die

Tomorrow the assessments

Followed by work to do

Do not forget:

The Ancestors

The Dead

Many are still waiting

For others to hear Them

 

Tending

April 7, 2019 Leave a comment

You slipped around the Tree root

Gore upon Your belly

Undulating waves of human refuse

Rot

 

You kindled a fire in your throat

Crisped the edges

Snapped off the necrosis

Like a grilled carrot

 

Your shit is sweet soil

Decomposed pieces of the vilest souls

Renewing the ground of Yggdrasil

Filtering the aquifers of the Nine Worlds

 

Ratatoskr climbs into your lair

Bright eyes and open mouth

Eagle speaks through Him and stings you

Pricking Your pride

 

You send back a message

The ungrateful shit

The Tree He roosts in lives

By Your tireless tending

The Old Ancestors’ Ways

April 7, 2019 3 comments

You fear

The Old Ancestors’ ways

Steeped in blood? Yes.

If bloody Gods so repelled humanity

The crucifix would be barren

Jericho’s death knell would go unpraised

No Hajj would be taken up

 

No, what rankles

Is the old ways require sacrifice

Giving of oneself

Whatever one can

Oh yes there are the special offerings

First fruits

The best animal

Swords and spears bent, broken

Books full of sacred words

There are the gifts given equal in piety

Cups of water

Sacred herbs

Sweat and blood of oneself

Words offered up in earnest

 

You fear

For we are not most important

We are one among many

Skin, meat, blood, and bone living atop the Dead

Grass and mushrooms

Trees and mosses

Mice and bears

Ants and bees

Chickens and eagles

Fish and algae

Spirits eating spirits

Spirits offering spirits

Spirits thanking spirits

Spirits gifting spirits

Spirits fighting spirits

Spirits loving spirits

 

You fear

The Old Ancestors’ ways are lost

That we are merely grasping

Of course we are grasping!

We were ripped away from our Gods

We were ripped away from our Ancestors

We were ripped away from our spirits

Remember, though: They have been grasping for us, too

We are the living relationship over the wound-chasm

We are the living bridge between the Ancestors and descendants

We are the revivers of the Old Ancestors’ ways

We are the co-builders of the Ancestors’ ways

We are the co-builders of the descendants’ ways

 

Offer up that fear

That you will fail

That you are not enough

That you cannot be worthy

Offer up that fear

What stands between you

The Gods, Ancestors, and spirits

Grasp, grasp firm

For They are there

Revive what you can

Build the rest anew with Them

Ófnir

April 7, 2019 3 comments

You have a very odd way

Of lighting fires in my head

In the dead of night

Words come without bidding

Whispers and roars

Sometimes they slip through me

I cannot move my hands quick enough

So I carry paper, pens, phone

Even then I am sometimes not quick enough

It reminds me that at times

The poems and prayers I can never get down

Are for You and You alone

Niðöggr’s Work

March 19, 2019 Leave a comment

A dragon lies in Náströnd’s bowels,

Poison She gnaws from Yggdrasil’s root,

Drinks from Hvergelmir’s waters

 

The Serpent Hall roils

With screams of traitors

Oathbreakers wail in the seas

 

They bite without end

The flesh of the doomed

The spring is poisoned and cleansed

 

Niðöggr knows no rest from Her works

Ever filled are Her waves

Ever flows the Worlds’ wells

 

Tasting Dionysus

February 8, 2019 Leave a comment

I taste you in my wine press

Your body splits as the vice presses

Your flesh flows as it crushes

Your blood falls into my thirsty barrel

Each grape its own, each grape a taste of You

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