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 29, 2014

MEMORIALS

Between the impresario and the diva,
the vibrato and libretto,
In Living Color and the shadows in the cave.
Between elevators and air planes,
parrots and improvisations,                          
births and strokes.
Between drones and slurs,
stairs and wharves,
graffitied benches and tombstone epitaphs.
Between match sticks and wicks,
the silence and the listening,
goodbyes and hellos.
Between the vodka and the lime,
mustard and sardines,
the sleeplessness and the dreaming.
Between vacancies to choose from
and clutter to sift thru,
a day of intentions
and the lazy vines not finding their bean poles,
marches against Monsanto 
and remembering dead soldiers.
Between the Almond Roca
and anything else,
let’s not forget what the body already knows:         
love turns us into verbs.


Thursday, May 22, 2014

PRACTICE

Not only that.
You’ll need a lasso
to catch it,
a hitch to harness it.
Then…
a carriage for hauling,
the cargo to carry,
a country as wild as Wyoming --
that is, if you’re a wrangler
and can match the beast’s will
with your own,
hoof for hoof.
 



Thursday, May 15, 2014


 



















IDIOMS IN THE AFTERNOON

You could be anywhere:
a pizza parlor, a tiki lounge.
Better yet, let’s make it a graveyard. 
A picnic. 
Fish tacos and chardonnay
among tombstones.

In passing
someone in your posse says:
…perish the thought.
Wait, what?
What kind of thought would it have to be
to invoke its own death?
One you really didn’t want to think?
One that would kill a part of you, perhaps?
Perish the thought!

A seagull dive-bombs a hawk overhead.

What if perish were parish instead?
What if the thought was infused with a life
that deserved its own cultivation,
its own church, priest and congregation?
What then?

Suddenly, the sculpted presence
of an eavesdropping angel
catches your attention.
She, like you, is caught in contemplation,
atop her tombstone,
with eyes lifted from the book she’s been reading
for a very long time…
What idiom, what grave curiosity
has captured her imagination, you wonder?







Thursday, May 8, 2014

 
DISPERSION

 like seeds
            a scattering

borne by
what seems

is
               an invisible hand

a wind
words

like these
meant

for another
                                              blow back

at us
echo

as something we need
to hear

and harvest
ourselves.