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, May 28, 2015


Before ass meets Naugahyde
she’s on him, into his ire,
annoying him enough to leave,
to take his breed of trouble
to another drinking hole.

No way, I ain’t waiting,
four drinks later,
for the real drunk to show up.
Not when I’m working the bar myself.
I ain’t stupid.
You gotta know how to read people.
How to be a mix 
of both shrink and psychic.

She says all this
with a buffalo head bearing down
on the wall behind her.

You don’t wanna mix it up with
this bulldog barkeep.
You just don’t.

Thursday, May 21, 2015


half parenthesis?
frown without eyes?
accidental keystroke?
it could be any of these,

depending …

what would you make
of such a mark,
such a scant message,
closed to what was,
open to what might be,
if it landed
in your back pocket
on your phone?

how would you read it –
as possibility,
epic omission,
an error of Eros?

I wonder
what e. e. cummings
would say,
how he’d answer.

Thursday, May 14, 2015


A squirrel runs along a wire
Disappearing into the sun.

I vanish also.

Thursday, May 7, 2015


A stand-in
for the thing the soul
is really seeking.

A placeholder
that fills the void
with an empty thirst

that will remain
until the chalice 
can fill itself.