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, November 22, 2012


Lake is a misnomer in Modoc country.
Goose, Summer, Silver, just names
and as barren as deserts.

The outback, they call it,
where the threat of rain
is their oldest fossil
and the fable we landed in
one night.

In the dark, slick as snakes,
with sulfur on our skin,
we ran blindly for shelter,
the wind, a dragon at our backs.

Somewhere in the morphology of the night
we found Faith, wine and dice 
and a gratitude that curled inside us like a teardrop
we’d save for the next pilgrimage.

1 comment:

  1. Here is a similar one of mine, called

    Lassen Campground;

    The sign says this campground is closed.
    Well, it is rather late in the year.
    The steel poles upright in the pavement
    Doesn’t do much to bar our motorcycles
    It’s ten PM, cold rain is starting to fall
    We pop our two tents and don our ponchos
    The firewood stacked for next season moves
    Us to build a fire between the tents
    In our saddlebags, we found brandy
    Not yet sleepy, we stand around the fire
    Shifting our weight from foot to foot
    Trying to think of a joke funnier than
    The old saw one of the girls has told
    “The firewater’s all gone,” someone says
    “We might as well turn in,” I say.