Before me,
A sandy beach unfolds.
I stepped upon it.
I had no other choice.
The Atlantic waves pause for a moment,
Beckoning to me.
Just like your
Irresistible,
Salty temptation.
It was too sweet.
I look up at the sky.
I look out at the sea.
I look at a woman.
Strolling along the beach for a while,
Someone knocks on my back.
I am no longer on the beach.
A nameless entity,
Drooling,
Cries out:
"At last!
We’ve caught the lord!"
The waves of the sea wink at me.
I softly wink back.
To think the goddess of the sea loved me so!
"Valhalla!"
That was my dream,
Yet the goddess drags me away
To dream a brand new dream.
I cry out,
"Valhalla!"
And she slaps me across the face.
When the existential magic disappears
And life holds nothing more than
my terrestrial tears and frivolous fears
When feeding my mind is no longer empirical
Or essential, as human hunger suffices,
when I no longer thirst, and eminence gives no rise,
and sullen shibumi canopies worn and torn
shade not the arid and hot desert, once the lofty
snow summits forthwith cloaked in thawing toxins
Or the ruby rose that does not scent me, reminiscently
as its thorns prick crimson numbness
Tasteless is the blood from this warrior’s sword
And Lords with rattles of snakes poison less
Horns no longer adorn me, my ashes freed
I’ve heard of a hall of the slain,
where dead heroes reign
When our world gives way to the next
Where golden shields a palatial fortress
Take one more fallen warrioress,
to other realms, plush, pristine, called
Valhalla, an afterglow
Valhalla
rest day
Sunday is the day of rest for most people
except for cooks, servers, and housewives
They have Mondays
that day hasn't got many customers
they can warm up, Sunday's leftovers
it is said ennui is the day when the brain rest
that is why the slamming of car doors
is frowned upon.
I know of a man when building a home, used
gravestones as building material
He stayed in the house one night
could not stand
the whispering voice let me out of here
it was all a mistake
Moved into the barn shared with two cows
a mule, a dog, and several cats
From history, we know of Viking chieftains
recently converted to Christianity by Irish monks
that when sitting doing nothing, the thought
of sex struck him
took out his knife and nailed his left hand to
the table forswore Christendom
converted back -to Odin and Thor's ancient faith
where Valhalla was a place of song and dance
and free Mjod for all
From
atop
a mountain
one views Bifrost
hoping, no, fighting for entry to the
heavenly home of exalted Aesir
to find honor,
glory for
noble
death
Come Whole unto Valhalla
I come now
To the end of time
birth to heaven
come unto me whole
Valhalla
heaven for the god's
3/5/3 Words Count
5/3/5 Syllable Count
Lune poetry
7/29/19
Accompanied by my legion,
The most feared in the region.
Because we are stronger as one,
Taking enemies by the tons.
A brotherhood of family and trust,
Lucky to have the gods look down on us.
Finding pride in battles won,
Because we together are strong.
Said the viking when his enemies fled,
The beast inside is asleep not dead.
I'm a proud descendant of such men,
In me, their heart beats strong again.
A warrior up until demise,
Strong as the great barn owl is wise.
And when I'm laid down in my grave,
I'll join the mighty and the brave.
As I meet in Valhalla the mighty and the clever,
Where they say the brave may live forever.
12/3/17
The great expanse of the Mississippi
just outside a sleepy little ledge-locked
town in western Wisconsin called Maiden Rock,
is where we like to picnic in October.
Above the north/south railroad tracks at a spot
overlooking the river is our favorite picnic table.
A century old working well with an ancient iron, creeky
sledge-handle provides fresh water.
Freight trains constantly rumble past in both both
directions, frantically racing against the coming winter.
The river, 3-miles wide at this stretch, surges a steady
dominoes of whitecaps down the river.
White Pelicans, with their striking long yellow bills,
huddle in vast rafts of white, just off the current, resting
and feeding on small fish, their migration only
beginning.
Barges, heavy-laden, plow south, pushed by stout
baroque tugs. Behind us, straight-up, limestone
bare bluffs tower, Bald Eagles circling lazily
alongside.
Mom likes the local handmade cheddar-brats, grilled;
on sprouted 9-grain buns with ice-cold spring
water!
the brats are spittin' sizzlin' cheddar!
time to go!
10/25/14
To reign in your fire
to bask in your light
must be a pleasure
denied me tonight
the light in your eyes
still shows me the way
it doesn't grow dimmer
just farther away
when you raised me up
when you took my hand
the world fell away
and my heart took a stand
you fashioned a castle
in sand on the shore
we lived in it there
till I turned 34
then you had to go on
a journey to France
you needed a chicken
who knew how to dance
God bless you and keep you
as you travel far
I'll reign in your fire
as you burn like a star.
on a fiord in Sweden or
under the moon
the vikings are calling
I'm coming home soon
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