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 24, 2021

ARCHEOLOGY 

 

The tools are intricate,

delicate, made for dusting—

 

for uncovering

the broken pieces

 

that have been buried

under the weight of the past

 

for so long. With care 

and precision the vase 

 

will take its shape again—

assembled from the echoes

 

of the breakage, and is

stronger because of it.

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.