Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, had a hammer named Mjölnir. Mjölnir was considered a fierce weapon that could level mountains and summon lightning with every blow. In this poetry blog, every Thursday, (Thor’s Day), Mjölnir will forge only song - sing of the mysteries and beauties of the world.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

THE AUTHOR

We were going to
talk by phone

but she had to
finish her nails

first. So I waited,
patiently. I measured 

time in my mind
as a gloss

teased, stroke
after stroke,

slowly across
tiny cuticle screens,

where phosphors swam
to the surface

to make light. These were
the minutes I saw,

I counted. But no call
came. No message

either. Nails done,
yet? I wrote, texted

reaching across 
the void. Free to 

talk now? The phone was
no longer a phone,

a tablet, rather, to a false 
telepathy. Writing 

my grandfather’s
eulogy—deep in it,

she wrote back. Can’t
talk tonight. Then I

realized how prolific
she was, how

much she had
authored that evening:

a pedicure, a eulogy
and silence.

And that was why
I loved her, why

she was the light 
of my life that day.



Thursday, August 2, 2018

ERASE AS YOU GO

No tracks, no trace.
Erase as you go.

Any evidence left
will suggest

you were there.
Be like the wind

that clears away
the footsteps in the sand.

Thursday, July 26, 2018

SUMMER SEEDLINGS

1.
Arms of a schoolgirl,
pendulums of glee—
swinging all the way home

2.
A green garden hose, a song—
a man singing, looping
coils within coils

3.
A candy in a green wrapper
is the girl’s “hello”
to the man on the bus

4.
A man swings his nine iron on the platform,
a train approaches
early morning commute

Thursday, July 19, 2018

HANDS

When they touch what they touch the hands 
are no longer hands—sculptor becomes the sculpted.
In them they carry, like memory, baptismal waters, 
a feathered grace, kiss as healing thread. Eyes
that surprise. Praise: a surrounding sound.
They are what they are because the playa fired them 
in its kiln. Because the angels took them in 
as orphans and suffused them with a light as bright
as sun off sword—held by a knight brigadined to love.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

SUMMER SIGHTINGS

1.
so strange and estranged
when tethered to their machines—
strangers on a train

2.
a woman tattooed
on the arm of a woman
who am I looking at?

3.
trunk and branch,
one spindly line, bending
beneath a stone bridge

4.
a summer gust, a dry leaf—
a scuttling claw
along the pavement


Thursday, July 5, 2018

CAR WASH

Two hippies
and a mongrel dog
on a leash.
White man,
black woman,
both with ponytails.
The man attempts
to heel and sit the dog.
It is a pitiful show
of his authority.
The woman heads to
the convenience store
to get the couple a snack
while they wait
for their truck
to be touchlessly washed.
An attendant maneuvers
their pick-up around
the busy lot.
A tall, thin black man,
head in a stocking,
long leather jacket
to the knees,
struts and swaggers,
swings his arms.
The bottom cuff 
of his jacket catches
the fender of the couple’s truck
jerking him backwards.
In one swift move
he unhooks himself, his stride
barely broken. 
He struts and swaggers on.
That would’ve been some ride,
he says smiling
to those watching.
The woman exists the store
with Ben & Jerry’s ice cream bars
in her hands, her man
is still trying to get the dog 
to follow his command.
The woman walks up to the pooch,
lifts her palm face up,
says sit, the dog goes down.
The woman looks up 
and suddenly screams.
Her pick-up is up against
a metal pole and the driver,
an attendant, is driving unawares.
The pole is scraping the side door.
The driver keeps driving.
Oh my go! Oh my god!
she screams, a death scream.
Oh my go! Oh my god!
She runs over to her truck.
The driver, a Hispanic man,
now leans his head out the window.
His face is sad, sad because
it is always sad.
He stops driving and continues
to look sad and vacant
at the pole against the door.
Oh my go! Oh my god!
The woman grips her head
and falls over herself at the waste,
rocking back and forth,
back and forth.
Every one is now looking.
Everyone at the car wash
is now terrified, naseaus
with fear and dread
at what horrible thing
has happened to this hippie-woman,
because they don't know
what you and I know.
Attendants and a manager
come running.
Apologizes are made, immediately.
An offer is made – Insurance
will cover the damage, do not worry!
The woman is suddenly silent.
With the matter handled
and the commotion over,
everyone goes back to their business.
The woman now walks to her man
and the mongrel dog
and says, Was I loud enough?
Yes you were! Yes you were!
She looks to the dog who is
once again standing.
Sit, she says, and the dog sits.


Thursday, June 28, 2018

THE FORCE FIELD

Always on, keeping
threat at bay,
usual suspects
at arms length,
yet never calling
attention to itself.

Like a lie that masks
the truth, a yes
that hides a no,
it is there
out in the open
yet invisible.

A feigned interest
that conceals fear.
An intimacy 
that baits the trap.
A diffidence
that snaps it shut. 
Avoidance that tases
like love.