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 29, 2019



THE PHOTOGRAPHER

You are absent
from most of them,

the photos
of me as a child.

It is strange
that only after

your death
do I notice, feel,

your absence
as a presence. The role

of the photographer
is exactly that:

to take and make 
pictures

but not
be in them.

To be there and not
was who you were

in life and it is
who you are now

in death.
The pictures

prove it. They exist
because of you

and yet you are
nowhere to be seen.

Between the adult-me
looking at the images

and the child-me
in them gazing out

is an omniscience
I don't quite understand.

Curious that omnipotent
was the word

you aimed at me
as a boy again and again.

You did so to tell me
how powerful you were,

to put the fear of god
in me, and to make me

behave. Like a camera
that word caught my attention

and held it. The pictures
are your prophecy.

They’re the proof that you are
still watching.

Thursday, August 22, 2019



THE SELF

Hard as stone
sturdy as a barricade

and still the light
breaks through.

Stunned and amazed
the self stands

before the hieroglyphics
of its healing heart.

Thursday, August 15, 2019


SHADOW BOAT

There is a light
that shines through
even when you fall.
And the shadow
that’s cast after
will be
what carries you,
cradles you,
buoys you up
when thresholds
come to you,
that you cross
though you thought
you might not.

Thursday, August 8, 2019

SLEIGHT OF HAND

Pull a coin
from behind
the same ear
again and again
and your audience
will only see
one trick, not many,
regardless of what
your hands
are doing,
and the spell
will be broken.

In the same token,
the more you
repeat yourself
in an effort to
make a particular
point, the less trust
you’ll evoke. Redundancy
will be the enemy.
And any attempt at magic
will vanish, revealing
the hoax at hand
and the feigned 
currency within it.



Thursday, August 1, 2019

SIMPLE

What if all I had to do
was to count

the different shades
of green

in the city trees,
and to listen

for the music
in the foreign voices

in the room,
and to let the dog

beneath the table
lick my fingers

like a lollypop?
What if this was

all I had to do
today? 

What a day  
it would be.