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, January 24, 2013


Arriving, departing. Red shoes shifting weight. Fingers on keypads, touch screens. Earring jostling on a lobe. Garbled communiqués. Sunglasses on. Green, red, black - backpacks and purses. Briefcases. Books and magazines. iPads. Apple earplugs and smart phones. Rubbing eyes, probing noses. Gloves. Bloomingdale bags. Rain clouds, bridges, the Bay - in windows. The tunnel-dark. Make-up and plaid. Sniffles and coughs. Seated and standing. Getting up, getting off, getting on. Gaining and losing balance. Eyes averting gazes. Lovers and snoozers. Readers, writers, and day-dreamers. Umbrellas. Sneakers and pumps. Rhinestone buckles. Dimples. The sound of Velcro. Cleavages and neckties. The jangle of clasps. Gripping hands. The shrill of scraping metal. Gestures and expressions. MacArthur, Millbrae, the Doors are Closing. The sound of turning pages. Curls and stubble. Conversations - intrusive and elusive. Dreads. Bi-focals. Percussion headsets can’t contain. Leather, cotton, tweed. Walkers, braces, bikes. Tremors. Twisting hair, chewing gum. Jackets on, jackets off. Patience and meanness. Itches and scratches. Diamonds and piercings. Tattoos and toupees. Gold crowns and gapped-teeth. Ruby-red lips. Wrinkles. Caps turned backwards. Laces being tied. Wheelchairs. The white stick of the blind. Yawns and sneezes. Badges and tears. A pink-plastic blossom in a hipster’s hand. Strangers. A witness wonder-struck. Humans on a train.


  1. You forgot pantie lines and meter maids chalking tires.

  2. The wonder-struck witness didn't see any pantie lines. Nor did he see a meter maid.
    Never, actually, has he seen meter maids chalking tires on BART.