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, August 27, 2015

 I often write multiple versions of a poem to get to the one I post. This week I ended up with the two versions below – and could not choose between them. So…I am posting both.


to get thru the gate,
you have to disguise yourself,
as something else,
as the horse you road in on.

Sometimes to be truly sovereign,
you have to kill your own horse
and wear its hide as camouflage
to get past the guards,
to outwit the enemy.

The truth is,
the horse does not die.
You do not die.
Nothing dies.
The form things take
is what changes.

And then there are
the three golden apples
that you plant—
that feed the kingdom,
until the next famine comes.
And the cycle begins again.



I am
the horse
I cut open,
that I flay.

I am the horse’s hide,
which I wear
to get thru
the gate,
past the enemy.

Nothing really dies
in this story,
this folktale.

So please,
don’t fault me
for telling it.

The horse
does not
die. I
do not die.
No one
truly dies.
Remember: it’s a myth.

Yet nothing
remains the same.

And, in the end,
all it takes
are the three golden apples
to feed the kingdom,
to bring the realm back
into balance—until
the cycle begins again.

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