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, April 25, 2013




LEVITY

Let’s gather what’s left of helium
and hide it inside a song on the radio.
                                                                    
Let’s let balloons be balloons
and not a symbol for something else.

Let’s take the monkey from the monkey house
and the music inside the monkey
and the bell inside a heart
and swing them from a eucalyptus tree
or stroll them along a graffiti coast.

Let’s agree on what color a color is
before we get reckless with our apostrophes.

Let’s go as far as we can go
with our red confessions on,
balancing on shifty bay front rocks.

And let’s do all this with lottery tickets
and periodic tables in our pockets.

And then let’s remember that somewhere
Potus, the clairvoyant pooch,
is seeing what we can’t see and reading
the Logos inside every logo yet to be drawn.

Thursday, April 18, 2013



SOVEREIGNTY

As king, I have the power to banish.
And I am, with a vengeance.
I'm cleaning house.
I have too many counselors.
Too much bad advice.
Their lucky I’m letting them
keep their heads.

Perhaps I should banish myself, while I’m at it.
Ditch the moat and drawbridge.
Downsize from kingdom to condo.
Or build me a glass house
in a forest somewhere.

Put a piano in it.
That's all. Nothing more.
Spend my days listening to the tuner.
To the science in his art.
To the creakings, the tensions
equalizing into proper pitches.

In this I will find my sovereignty.

Thursday, April 11, 2013



DIAMONDS OF JOY

A lover's smile
4 adoring cats
Waterfalls

Daughters
Clubbing a rock
The Frisco skyline

An infant niece
A good sweat
A Jerry Lewis shtick

Walks in Crissy Field
Witticisms
Warm socks

Baking bread
The Pacific
Insignificance




Thursday, April 4, 2013



THE RECIPE

It is our job to engage
with everything we can,
to be in conversation with it:
the iridescence in the wood,
the snake in the road,
spring prunings,
the broken tooth,
as the stories they are,
as the legacies and recipes
of our lives,
grain for grain,
measure for measure,
scar for scar.
And along the way, if we’re lucky,
we’ll learn the things we know
we don’t know we know,
so we may carry the courage
we’re meant to carry,
build the cradles 
we were meant to build,
turn our petty thefts into gold,
our wounds into badges,      
so at the end of the day
when the scoundrels come 
for our belongings,
there will be nothing to auction
and only Stroganoff 
to feed the multitudes.