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, December 27, 2012



SILENT NIGHT

In unison
one hundred and fifty gay Santas
in their little red suites
and clip-on beards
stop singing
and start signing
Silent Night.
Three hundred gloved hands
white like doves
take flight
offering the carol
to our eyes -
and we hear it like nothing
we’ve ever heard before.
And our hearts break open
and the ten thousand tears
that spirit from us
are like an ovation
feathered in grace.




Thursday, December 20, 2012



THE TRICK MIRROR

Conversations can get ugly. Like the child
who steps before the fun house mirror
and watches, in amazement, his body
triple in size, twist into a grotesque.

I know a man, who, when defended,
somewhere between earlobe and scrotum,
is like this child
striking exaggerated poses
trying to convince the world
he is bigger than he is.
That he is right.

The whole scene is a sad affair, a failed charade.
Whatever point the man is trying to make
gets lost in the translation.
All we see is the horror he’s become.

To this Dennis The Menace I say:
step away from the trick mirror,
snatch back your cotton candy from Mommy Dearest,
lick the sugar from your pink lips,
and get yourself to the Log Ride.
What you need is a good dousing!
Maybe the water will wake you –
and bring you back to your own humanity.



Thursday, December 13, 2012




ANEMONE

First body: shape and form
from algae grown. Gesture
sprung from rock: a holdfast
that fashioned muscle, tissue, and nerve
into being, bringing movement
to this earth as animal.

Above you I hover, like a lover,
lulled by your luminance. Entranced
I draw near - not knowing I am
as good as dead and headed
into an embrace as sticky as candy
and lethal.

Anesthetized and awake,
you will take me
into death’s inflorescence,
and I will go
with eyes wide open.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

THE BLACKSMITH

Night.
A trailer in a trailer park.
TV noise and the twitching light.
A worn faux leather chair.
A weary body in it.
A dull mind.
A beer can open on a cork coaster.
Eyes glazed staring through the boxed-in glow.
An elbow: an angle balanced on the chair.
And the fist. The raised fist,
clenched and pumping, keeping
the massive muscle, the rock-hard forearm, contracted:
a machine unto itself – and the only remedy and magic
this man has against the dragon of pain
that haunts and taunts him at the end of every day
when he is not forging black metal with metal and fire.
When there is not a hot hammer in his hand.

Thursday, November 29, 2012



TREE IN AUTUMN

Auburn thrashing in the morning light,
She fought against the reaping wind.

She lost her poise and her grace,
A shambles was her dress.

Autumn stripped her bare,
And sheltered in her bones.


Thursday, November 22, 2012



PAISLEY, OREGON

Lake is a misnomer in Modoc country.
Goose, Summer, Silver, just names
and as barren as deserts.

The outback, they call it,
where the threat of rain
is their oldest fossil
and the fable we landed in
one night.

In the dark, slick as snakes,
with sulfur on our skin,
we ran blindly for shelter,
the wind, a dragon at our backs.

Somewhere in the morphology of the night
we found Faith, wine and dice 
and a gratitude that curled inside us like a teardrop
we’d save for the next pilgrimage.