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, October 11, 2018


Let’s pass the hint of a sliver
between us.

Which is to say:
let’s be in time

together, the world

as it waxes and wanes
from day to night,

as it cycles through its phases
squinting at us

as we squint back.
This is what sharing

looks like:
a movement from

cradle to crescent,
from I to we,

toward an alignment
that keeps deepening and repeating.

Thursday, October 4, 2018


There are shadows everywhere.
What we need is more light.

So don’t dress in black
and be the one

moving the props
about the stage unseen

before the play begins
and during intermission,

so some other actor
gets to take center stage

while you go unnoticed.
Do not blend

into the background,
fade into black

and call that your time
on stage. Don’t.

Own the stage
with your own soliloquies.

Leave audiences
illuminated with your illumination

and wanting more,
from you,

but most of all
from themselves.

Thursday, September 27, 2018


It was forming
long before it got set down

between margins,
before it was threaded 

through lines 
tapering across

and down a page
like this one.

It came into me
like water entering gills—

through an openness,
through a kind of seeing

and listening
that I can’t quite describe,

that is as magical and alchemical
as HO turning into air.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

     after Twyla Tharp

abandon sense, push
to the edges, stretch

without breaking     invention
is sacrament

as flame
of mind, dancer:

prolific, improvisa-
tional, agile, repeating

ever repeating
body, waning

in time            forgiving,
forgetting dangers,

releasing fireflies, rehearsing
becoming        a  blank

Thursday, September 13, 2018


I was a wild child.
I climbed cabinets,

threw, for no reason,
jade ashtrays into

fireplaces, and when I was told
“no” it clearly meant go 

to the knife drawer,
which I did with

utter abandon.
I was fearless then.

What I would give
to know that boy

now. To have what
he had. And to live

in a world where
opposition was nothing

more than an invitation
to do the unexpected.

Thursday, September 6, 2018


fanning blades
expanding and contracting
motion after motion
intricate mechanism
the aperture
of my life

Thursday, August 30, 2018


Back in the day
there was a goat
who ate a few measly
grape leaves in the garden
of the gods, and boy
did those Olympians
make a fuss. So much so,
so the story goes,
that the Greeks had to kill  
the poor goat to make 
Apollo and the gang
quit all their whining.
Sacrifice became the name 
of game everytime 
the gods got offended
And, shazam! tragedy 
was born. No, really. 
The word tragedy comes from 
trage, which is Greek for—
yep, you guessed it—goat.
Who knew, right?

Later the Greeks wised up
after they started running low 
on goats: "We gotta find 
a better way to get the gods 
to chill…” And sure enough 
they did. They wrote plays
instead, in which heroes died
tragically but pretend-like.
That’s how they put
an end to all the killing
and scapegoating, as it were.

Boy, we humans sure take
the long way round
when it comes to saying
we’re sorry. No wonder we make
a theater of our lives.