Anticipating the Eclipse

the_wolves_pursuing_sol_and_mani

Ash in the air,
Smoke in the sky
Casting a jaundice hue
Across the high desert plains.

Sól is scared and nervous,
Constantly on the run from
Wild warg Sköll Fenrir-son,
Fated to swallow her whole,
When twilight falls on Asgard.

Rumors fly that the end is nigh,
Darkness shall fall upon the Earth,
The gods will fall where they stand,
All else awaiting rebirth.

Yet rumors lie, it cannot be denied,
Perhaps brother Máni
Is just driving too close
In the passing lane?

Redmond, Oregon – 08/19/2017

Pronunciation Key for Old Norse words:
Sól = soul (Old Norse, ‘sun’)
Sköll = Skole (Rhymes with “toll”)
Fenrir = FEN-rear
Máni = MAH-nee (Old Norse, ‘moon’)

Illustration: “The Wolves Pursuing Sol and Mani” (1909) by J. C. Dollman. Found at WikiMedia Commons.

Early Morning Greetings

Orion rise early, before morning,
Jeweled belt shining in the night,
Waving good-bye
As I leave for work.

Bright Selene peeks out
From mother Gaia’s shadow
While orange clad Eos
Prepares to unlock the gates
For Helios’ daily ride.

8/18/17

Óðrœrir (a Tanka)

Kvasir, the wisest
Born of Æsir and Vanir
Slain by jealous dwarves
Blood brewed into honey-wine:
Óðinn’s mead of poetry.

8/15/17

Pronunciation key and notes:
ð = “th” and in this
Óðrœrir = Oh-thur-or-ear (Old Norse, “Stirrer of Inspiration,” another name for the Mead of Poetry).
Kvasir = Kvas-ear (A Norse god created from the spittle of the Æsir and Vanir and considered the wisest of all creatures).
Æsir = Ice-ear (The Norse gods)
Vanir = Va-near (Another tribe of Norse gods)
Óðinn = oh-thin (Odin, leader of the Æsir)
You can read more about the Mead of Poetry here.

This is my response to Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge #46 – #Haiku #Tanka #Haibun: HONEY & WINE. I descided, given this week’s prompt words, to combine three of my favorite things: Tanka, Norse Mythology, and Mead!

Golden Dreams

Dreams of cities paved in gold
–Gold, shiny glittering rocks
That people rape the Earth to obtain
And kill each other to keep–
Reality of soul sucked cities
Bathed in blood;
Washed in tears.

Miserable misers in golden towers,
Pay prostitutes to take golden showers.

While gold-less commoners
Scratch, scrape and struggle
For stale day-old bread,
Drenched in disease and despair
In the gutters and factories
Slaves to rent, groceries,
And rabid materialism.

Shiny black boot heels
Pressing down on their throats,
Finger pointing down the
Rat infested alleyway
Toward the new neighbors,
Whispers in desperate ears,
“Its their fault you can’t stand up.”

8/13/17

How Hard Is It?

How hard is it
To condemn evil?
Yes, there are always
Two sides to every story,
But sometimes one side
Is just wrong.

8/13/17

Personal Goals (a senryu)

Nourish and flourish
Pride in being authentic
Have hate for no one.

8/10/17

My response to Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge # 45 – #Haiku #Haibun or #Tanka: Hate & Pride

Gentle Breeze (For Glen Campbell, (1936-2017)

glen-campbell-november-2015-alzheimers-update

Counting the dirty cracks in the sidewalk,
Listening to a great old song,
Echoing through my ears,
Whispered on a warm summer breeze
From a southern night, long ago.

Memory’s door is always open,
The path is free to tread:
A little boy singing with the radio,
Rhinestone dreams shared across the miles.

Bedrolls and sleeping bags,
Traveling down the line,
Spotlights and fan mail;
That subway token still inside my shoe.

The caress of your voice still lingers,
Transporting me across the miles,
Through the years,
And keeps you, forever, gentle on my mind.

8/9/17

Burrowers in the Deep

khazad in Cirth

Đwerȝaz, Twerg,
Dweorg, Dvergr,
Dvergar, Dwarrows,
Dwarfs; Dwarves

Svartálfar,
Ælfar who prefer the dark to the day,
Cave living,
Mine working,
Excavating precious gems and minerals
For their smiths.
Hammers, spears,
And enchanted golden wigs
Exported to Asgard?

Born of the blood of Brimir
And the bones of Bláinn,
Or maggots burrowing
In the flesh of Ymir’s corpse?

Dwellers of the dark fields of Niðavellir,
Mystic Myrkheim, darkness home,
In the comfort of the caves of Svartálfheim?
Short, stocky, ill tempered craftsmen,
Working the mines of Moria
In ancient Khazad-dûm?
Diminutive Disney dwarfs,
Thatch roof cottage in the Enchanted Forrest
Whistling their way to work?
Or massive men bearing the weight
Of the vault of the sky,
Scooped out jötunn skull,
On broad shoulders
Standing on the four corners
Of the compass rose?

8/8-8/9/17

Pronunciations and Notes
Đwerȝaz – Thwer-yaz (“th” as in father, Hypothetical Proto-Germanic)
Twerg – (Old High German)
Dweorg – Dwey-org (Old English)
Dvergr – D-verg (Old Norse)
Dvergar – D-verg-ar (Old Norse, plural)
Dwarrows – Hypothetical plural of Dwarf coined by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Dwarves – Alternate plural for “dwarf” popularized by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Svartálfar – Svart-al-far (Old Norse, “Black elves.” Used in the Eddas to refer to Dwarves).
Ælfar – Aylf-ar (A combination of the Old English ælf and the Old Norse plural alfar, Elves)
Brimir- Bry-meer
Ymir – Eye-Meer
Niðavellir – Nitha-vell-ear (“th” as in father)
Myrkheim – Merk-haym
Svartálfheim – Svart-alf-haym (“Black Elf-Home”)
Khazad-dûm – Kha-zad-doom (“kh” as in backhand, A Dwarvish realm in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth).
Jötunn – Yote-un (Old Norse, Giant)

The Runes at the top of the poem are the Cirth for Khazad, the Tolkien-Dwarves name for themselves.

A Shadow Falls

A shadow falls over Miðgarðr
From deep in the eastern mountains
To the western shores.
A light shines from Ælfheimr
Bearing the flame of Truth,
Beacon to the free peoples of Mannheimr
To stand against the Darkness
At the gates of doom.

The fight may be futile,
But the fight must be fought.
To die doing right,
Than to live surrendered to might.

8/5-8/6/17

Pronunciation Key
Miðgarðr = mith-garth (“th” as in father), Old Norse meaning the “middle yard,” or “middle enclosure” (refers to the world of men)
Ælfheimr = Ayf-haym, from the Old Norse meaning “Ælf (Elf) home”
Mannheimr = Man-haym, from the Old Norse meaning “Man (Human) home”

Shadow and Light

An old darkness
Weaves her webs,
Strands and cables
From rock to cliff
Covering the valley
From peak to peak,
A blackness no light can penetrate,
No eye can pierce.

Under cover of clouds
Of shadow, darkness, and void,
Led by her Master, full of
Ego, greed, and revenge.

Piercing, sucking dry
The light of the world,
Licking up the bleeding sap
From the trees of life.

The only light left,
Stolen away; hidden.
A world draped in darkness; marred.
Waiting to be healed.

8/5/17

This poem was inspired by Chapter 8 of Quenta Silmarillion, the third part of J. R. R. Tolkein‘s The Silmarillion.