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, February 26, 2015

CAMEO

A homeless woman
jags into a sandwich shop
trilling something faintly
beneath her breath.
Helps herself, like a duchess,
to a pitcher,
splashing the aqua into
the battered paper cup
she came in with.
Drinks like a moose.
Then turns toward the door, her voice
now a growing rumble. The tune,
familiar. Something circa 1980.
She swaggers across the café, slowly,
her bravado building.
The crescendo is imminent.
Every eye is on her.
Like a misplaced diva,
or a wayward Cyndi Lauper,
she, literally, exits ass-backwards,
singing, blaring:
If you're lost you can look - and you will find me
Time after time.
If you fall I will catch you – I will be waiting
Time after time.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

THE GETTY GARDENS

Across the sycamore shadows
down the grassy slope
the red-shirted boy rolls
with his SpongeBob backpack in tow,
blue eyes, gapped-tooth grin
flashing all the way.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

KILLIN’ CATS

I love the critters, really I do:
how they purr,
how they always land on their feet,
the way they lap up milk
with their coarse pink tongues,
with eyes closed.

But if it means a bigger life
by living the beefier questions,
then I’m in. Feed me 
the filet mignon, mademoiselle!
Yes, I 'll do the dirty deed.

Don me in a deerstalker.
Calabash my kisser.
Seduce me to deduce.

What say you Mr. Cumberbatch,
will you join the cabal,
for curiosity’s sake?

Thursday, February 5, 2015

THE MARRIAGE

Let’s start from here
without any
in order tos
or allowances
empty of forgiveness.
No more detours, deal?

Let’s take the veil down
and call each other only
by the names we have given
ourselves.

Let’s aim for
essence,
understanding,
for a stewardship we can share
and be sure to banish
any lazy thoughts
of agreements.

Let’s learn to love the gift
and its wrapping.

Let’s let the leaves be the gospel
and the willow be the preacher.

Maybe then
we’ll realize
though we may never
truly know each other
that parting isn’t possible.

May our differences be
what marries us.