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, June 25, 2020

THE SERMON

I am a child
in my Sunday best,

in church, in a pew
behind a woman

with a wasp on her back.
The yellow and black body

crawls on her shawl
toward her neck.

The nape, so exposed, so supple
doesn’t know what’s coming,

but I do.
Will it make it there?

Will she jump when it touches her flesh?
Will it sting her?

Do I want it to?
Do I know?

These thoughts run through me
like a venom

as the minister at the pulpit
reads the homily—his voice,

escaping from its vestments,
is a buzzing I can hardly hear.

There’s a flicker, all at once,
in front of me, a fluttering.

The little body
lifts and bobs, ascends.

The spindly yellow legs
angle and dangle down.

I follow it with my eyes.
The tiny wingèd payload

rises toward the hive of light,
hollow above our heads.

This sight
is the sermon I saw.

Thursday, June 18, 2020

LITTLE LUSTRES

Out of consciousness,
they arise, flicker

like fireflies from summer grasses.
Emerson called them lustres:

the moments when we catch a sudden glimpse
of our own brilliance.

These flashes—of the bards and sages
we carrying within—

are more deserving of our attention
than any firmament outside ourselves.

Grab your net, let’s head for the grasses after dusk.
Let’s go hunting and awaken to the infinite inside.

Thursday, June 11, 2020

HOLLOW BONE

collagen and calcium
form around a hollow

through which
a breath is blown

may we each be
the sounding

Spirit hears
as the clarion call for change


Friday, June 5, 2020

 SOUL FOOD

Mayonnaise,
sliced banana and white bread.

A simple sandwich.
A depression-era delicacy.

A meal I make today
in homage to an ill-begotten angel.

With a heavy heart
I remove my mask,

lifting it like a curfew
that hides a riot 

and a virus inside--
a pale fragility

that plagues the soul.
On this mere morsel

I mean to feed, satisfy
an insatiable hunger

that lives within us all:
an epic appetite

for dignity and equality,
humility and humanity.

May the first bite I take 
be my prayer: that one day

what was once only “a family thing”
becomes a banquet, a moveable feast 

we all share together 
around the same healing table.