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 31, 2013


Pull yourself up and out of the sludge.
Dig a well, farm the soil.
Join in creation, man!
Be the king in Kingdom.
Dodge doubt’s stampede.
Hear the earwigs as angels in your ear.
Blow the bad mood back to Diablo.
Let the word meniscus be your mantra.
Be the monk in burlap, rope and sandals
who orders a caffé mocha, with whip cream, 
chocolate and candy sprinkles on top.
Or the turtle rising 
from the depths toward the sun.
Be ripe for a renaissance.
Be the weft in the warp,
the chink in grief’s dam,
the mynah that says
“I am Condor, don’t be fooled!”
creativity flourishing like a kite,
the acolyte opening the temple door,
the child and the Cheerios,
the mosey and the whistle past the graveyard.
Be the zaftig deer, sated and not afraid.
In other words, dawgh:
dance with chaos,
so you can say “Yes, I Lindy Hop!”