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, March 25, 2021

ARMS

 

The light

spread across

 

the branches.

The tree

 

beamed with

a kind of

 

delight, a look

that seemed

 

to say

to the sun:

 

I am

all arms, yet

 

you cradle me

in yours,

 

in your

invisible array.

 

What did I do

to deserve

 

such a warm

and loving embrace?

Thursday, March 18, 2021

ACROSS AND THROUGH


A grey line

across

a grey sky.


A needle

through a stack of storm clouds.


A gull in flight.

 

 

BRANCHES

 

A crowded nest in a bare tree.

A smile in the mind. 

 

The image of either:

buoyant joy.

 

Thursday, March 11, 2021

ADMIRATION

 

We park by the lagoon to eat 

the lunch she had made us.

We crack the lids of our containers

and admire her handiwork in the glassware:

quinoa, tofu, and a mouthwatering array

of diced peppers. Reds, yellows, and oranges.

We look up: the windshield

(more glassware) is rain-drenched.

Our admiration obscured the sudden downpour.

The distant hillside, a swatch of light.

The raincloud, a passage overhead.

Hurry, she says, throwing the car door open,

on her feet, heading toward the water,

any second now we should see it.

Just then: a rainbow.

 

***

 

A day later 

we round the same lagoon

on our way further north.

Look, I say, how the water is so blue and yet

closer in it is aquamarine.

Sunshine, she says. Sunshine.

Just then: a rainbow. 

I am a prism, warmed

and lit by her light.


Thursday, March 4, 2021

THE TURNING

 

1.

It wants to rise

and be thrown

into form from formlessness,

from gesture into gesture.

To be a spinning that turns

clay into bowl,

a shape that holds a hollow.

In its presence is my presence,

my fingerprint, my pulse.

 

2.

When I can’t find the words

I turn to figures of speech

like a potter to clay,

to help me shape the thing

I can’t say on my own.

And for that I am grateful

for the turning.

For the turn of a phrase.