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 17, 2021

HOME

 

I have an appetite in me

that moves like a fish—

 

a salmon swimming

upstream to spawn.

 

The barbed worm, glinting

in the fierce current, is still.

 

The Chinook sees it,

catches itself

 

on the alluring lure.

I wish the bait and the bite

 

weren’t a part of

this long journey home.

Thursday, June 10, 2021

THE EARS OF ABSENCE

 

I find myself talking to a ghost these days—

to an absence that can’t hear me.

 

Even when it had the ears to hear, listening

wasn’t something its body could easily manage.

 

I knew this then 

and I know this now.

 

So why am I still trying to bend the ear of absence 

when I know its deafness is deafening?

 

Because the shovel I can’t put down thinks

it's filling a hole when it's tirelessly digging one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, June 3, 2021

 WHAT’S THE ROCK?

 

Not the bubbling up

of magma

from the earth’s core

that cools on the surface.

Not igneous.

Not granite.

Not quartz.

 

Not found in the continental crust.

In mountains and rivers.

In monuments.

Not this.

 

It’s something else.

Something unseen

that I carry and have

from my origin.

 

A thing made of imperfections.

A poker chip in my back pocket

from a bad gamble.

A halitosis of the heart.

 

It lives inside

everything I do

and how I do it.

Like fear.

Like pride.

Self-pity.

 

It is something I must drop

like a rock, but can’t.

Not when my will is in the way

of my willingness.

 

It is a weight that only

the pulleys and practice of prayer

can lift and relieve.

 

And they will

once I learn to let go.


 

Thursday, May 27, 2021

SURVEILLING THE SILENCE

 

I sweep            the war-torn

landscape

like a surveillance       camera

scanning

 

the waste and ruin

for signs

 

of survivors.

I see none.

 

Only a terrain

riddled with

the visible scars

of so many

recent skirmishes.

 

And then it hits

me.      A concussion

 

implodes within.

There is more than

the obvious devastation.

 

Silence, I see, is its own

incendiary device. It can trigger

 

a pain and cut deeper

than the shrapnel

from any detonating land mind.

 

The silence after explosions

sometimes       is far more

damaging than

 

the explosions

themselves.

Thursday, May 20, 2021

TULIPS AND PAPER TOWELS

 

This was the grocery list I scribbled down

at the end of an unnecessarily

 

busy day. To read those words

on the tiny Post-it Note

 

and then to say them out loud—

which I did many times

 

like a prayer—

 

made me smile. I loved

what my tongue and lips did

 

with the Ts and the Ps.

I needed that smile.

 

I had an ache inside

that I did not want

 

to feel. So I added this errant errand

to my day as another diversion

 

from the bouquet that had just lost

           all its petals, and to avoid the mess

 

I couldn’t clean up,

but desperately wanted to.

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday, May 13, 2021

NO APOLOGY

 

The trunk

sturdy and stoic

holds its pose

yet

 

each of its myriad leaves

thrash on branches

gusted by an implacable wind

 

Clouds overhead

race to cover

the indelible sky

but can’t

 

blue always

bleeds through

 

Thursday, May 6, 2021

LIGHTING THE  LOSS

 

stubs    where limbs

once were

 

still the light    

shines

 

bathing the severance

no matter 

 

              the loss