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, July 25, 2013

THE ORE  

The empiricist said: there are good reasons
why bad behavior travels in packs.

The charlatan said: I can make the lips of a statue
smile, if you’re willing to pay.

The skeptic said: Some believe
it was divine intervention
or psychic surgery.
I’m sure it was neither.

But it was the metallurgist who said:
The quality of change depends upon
the ore you bring to the refinery.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

BUOYANT

I am a life vest
lost at sea,
shipless and
and useless
without a body
to float,
to save.

Go ahead,
pluck me from the Pacific
with the hook-end
of an umbrella,
call the Coast Guard,
talk them telephonically
into the harbor and then
hand me over to that white vessel of whimsy,
bulging with giddy boys and girls
like an orphan to infants.

Watch me from the pier
(why aren’t you waving
or blowing kisses, or crying?)
as they take me out to sea,
into the grey horizon,
to some place
you can't see
or even further,
sadder now
than when you found me,
just there bobbing by the rocks,
along the shoreline,
free as a thing alone,
and buoyant all by itself.

Thursday, July 11, 2013


IPSO FACTO

My father’s pedagogy.
My mother’s bones.
The me that keeps moving.

Through dyads and triads.
Down dipsy doodles.
In hip bumps on the ballroom floor.

In a car that brakes for me.
Technology that types with me.
In the paddock that holds my truth.

Wearing hats I’ll call Kentucky.
Holding cat’s I can translate.
In the entomology of the gardens I grow.

In mischievous seizures.
Meetings with builders
that result in quadrangles, courtyards, and coops.

In the heart of my neighbor.
Mirrors and windows.
Rumors of outrageous revivals.

In elaborate configurations
and subtle ingratiations,
the fact is, I am all me.

Now that we’ve settled that,
please pass 
the dates.




Thursday, July 4, 2013

Happy Holiday!


ALL POLISH*

Thigh High
in Nutmeg
and The Naked Truth.
Topless and Barefoot.

In this Runaway Reality,
where it is Always Autumn
and a Constant Caribbean,
be my Leading Lady,
my Miss Fancy Pants,
my Paparazzi Pleaser,
and I’ll be your
Velvet Voyeur.

Breaking Curfew,
we’ll by-pass 
the Potato Field,
the Picket Fence,
the Pillow Talk,
and the Sand Of A Beach.
Right?

And you’ll
Meet Me At Sunset
Moonstruck, Mixed Up
with A Cloud In Sight
and Lava and Sequins
at your fingertips.

Tame Me Now, I say.
Crown Me Already
with Butterfly Kisses,
go Skin Deep,
and make me Snap Happy.

Let’s look for the Perfect Penny
at The Stroke Of Midnight
in a Rainforest
or in a Bonsai.

Caught Red-Handed
with Marshmallows,
we’ll offer ourselves up to
the Trombone,
the Waltz,
the Storm Bird,
the Wine Stain,
Lingering Spices.

Timeless Rubies
and Black Diamonds.

Eternal Oceans.

Catch Me If You Can...
Kiss Me & Make-Up…
No Autographs, Please…
Upfront & Personal…
Vodka & Caviar…
are regular requests you make,
which leave me with only these word to say:
Butler, Please.
Where’s My Chauffeur?

My Eternal Optimist,
how about this: we let
our Limited Addiction
keep us In Stitches,
and Island Hopping,
holding Lollipops,
and Long Stem Roses.
And if you'll be Neo Whimsical,
I'll be Naughty And Nice.
Can you make room 
for that arrangement
in your Alligator Purse? 

If so, then maybe 
we can find our way to
the Clam Bake,
the Dive Bar,
our Curtain Call.        

*This poem is mostly composed of nail polish names.