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, January 15, 2015

MISE-EN-SCÈNE

Rearrange the furniture.
It’s your room.
The mise-en-scène: play with it.
It’s your movie.
And the feng shui:
consult with the invisibles, 
why don’t ya,
it’s your fortune.

The where of where you put things
is not arbitrary nor accident. Placement
is almost a kind of sorcery, really.

It’s all in the treatment,
in other words,
that you either see or don’t.

And if you don’t, well then…
a lackadaisical approach
may just creep into your relations also
and have the people in your life
begin to feel
a bit like coffee tables
or ottomans,
if you’re not careful,
that you shuttle about 
because you’re bored
or in a bad mood,
or because your sense of decorum
is elsewhere,
probably out watching
a mid-day matinee—
that is, until it finds
another reliable genre
of distraction
to replace the magic
of the silver screen.





Thursday, January 8, 2015

THE SPECTACLE

Which is it,
puppets or puppeteers?

Strings, wires visible
or shadows dancing

behind screens? Sleights
of hand or engineering feats?

Contortions
or acrobatics?

Enigmatic exposures
or skilled obfuscations,

disappearances?
Things seen 

or not? Or both 
at once? 

Whichever...it is still 
all a strange choreography,

a spectacle
that fools no one,

but ohhhh!
does it dazzle.

The truth is:
the moment we enter

the Grand Chapiteau
we have already decided

to suspend our disbelief,
for a bit of theater.

This is how we believe
in believing, one more time.




Thursday, January 1, 2015

EAVESDROPPER

I was minding my own business,
really I was, with my nose

to the keyhole and my eye to the grindstone,
when gossip tittered like a myna in my ear.

I have no etiquette
when it comes to buttlescutt,

but that doesn’t mean
you need to show me the ropes.

I know what a rope is.
And, no! you don’t need to convince me

that that big fish will fit
in that rinky-dink lake.

I simply won’t believe you.
I just ain’t that gullible, Mr. Smitten.

Go ahead, call me
an eavesdropper, if you must.

But a name is just a name
not a broken bone. 

Or as basic as a hangover
in the rain.