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, September 27, 2012



THE TREE

There is a magnificent tree
in my mind,
in my imagination,
a Douglas Fir
let’s say,
and in its strong arms
are the bodies
of men,
in all shapes and ages,
climbing, rising
carrying curses
and gifts, gifts
and curses, and
the one dream:
to be bark, sap, and root,
to be threaded into sky,
to know what it means
to make air,
and how
silently
 a world can be saved
a day at a time
for centuries,
while living inside
a grief
that chooses
not to speak.




Thursday, September 20, 2012




THE DOLPHIN

I wish I were a dolphin -
caught in a storm
off the coast of Puerto Rico,
battered all night
by the fierce water,
the rock and reef,
then hurled ashore,
pectoral fin driven deep
into the wet earth.

I am trapped, on my side,
burdened by a weight and mass
I’m not used to having.
I am here,
as the storm subsides,
as the wind and waters calm,
as the sun climbs the ladder of the sky,
as the great ocean tries to bring me,  
her lost child, home again
but can’t.
I am here,
among the seas’ debris,
the wreckage of broken trees and rock,
a prisoner to sand,
drowning in too much air,
baking beneath the mid-day sun.
Dying.
In a world where
there is no echo
in which to locate myself.

This is when you appear.
Unencumbered by thought,
you rush to me,
with a freedom you do not have
among your own kind.
You bend down,
over my fusiform body,
my blue-grey freckled flesh,
to assess the damage:
the deep gashes
along my length, my fins,
the bleeding and shredded snout,
the tattered blowhole,  
that opens and closes
like a muted and mangled mouth,
a breathing wound.

You look into my eye
and are surprised to see
there is no panic there,
only trust.
I know you will not harm me.
I know you are here to save me.
I see this in you.

You drop to your knees,
plunge your short arms,
your puny hands,
into the sand
and thrust them underneath me,
under my slick wide body
and begin to lift
as the tide swells in around me -
the curve of my spine
marrying itself
to the curve of your arm.
We are flesh against flesh,
bone against bone.

This is what I wish for:
to be met by utter abandon.
To be loved with no hesitation,
without the meddling intrusion
of doubt & indecision, without
the fear of judgment or the threat
of disappointment.
Just one being
melding with another.

I am dying
for this day to come.
For the day I am a dolphin
and not a man.

Thursday, September 13, 2012




CONTACT  
     
Bought a goldfish
and a bowl.
Carried carefully
the orange body home
in the plastic bag
ballooning with water.
Filled the bowl
from the faucet.
Opened the bag.
Poured the fish in.
Bent down.
Looked in.
Tapped the glass.
Craving contact. 
Such a strange way
to go about it.
Who is at the glass:
me or mystery?
Who is in the bowl:
 me or mystery?