This Pagan Man's PlightThis Pagan Man's Plight1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Why must I abide with this forced conversion?
Why should I have to change how my family and I live?
When was my faith in the Gods suddenly an unholy perversion?
To whom, my devotion and offerings, should I instead give?
You say that your almighty God is just and kind,
And you also say that his love is beyond beautiful.
But all I see you do is push his teachings upon my mind,
As if my faith in him and his son should already be unconditional.
Why should I change, for what is your righteous reason?
Or is there none to be found but a blade at my throat?
Or maybe, for not abiding, you can charge me with high treason.
Perhaps you could burn my home down, and deprive me of far more than my filthy coat.
As witness to MY Gods, I refuse to humbly kneel,
For your stones and swords will not sway my heart tonight.
And once you've decided my fate, and those tortures I feel,
Thus will abruptly end this Pagan man's plight.
A Deceiver's HelforA Deceiver's Helfor2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Deceiver's Helför
Reveling in my vile ways, the time had come to go,
My chest ceased to rise and fall, and my eyes were shut in their sockets.
I had not been a nice man, the Virtues I did not know,
Many men and women I cheated, their shining gold filled my pockets.
Now that I am dead, my course has been plotted,
It lies deep within Jötunheimr, that monstrous country.
The path, Helvegr, is one all of the dead are allotted,
Silently I made my way, with no greetings or pleasantry.
My feet are bare, so the road ahead is unpleasant,
Through a field of thorns I venture, with no way around.
These feet of mine are bleeding, no Helskóar are present,
My harshness toward others is now sorrow profound.
I came to a river so wild, and filled with iron weaponry,
Gjöll roared nearby, with its fitting name.
The floating boards would not hold me, nor my treachery,
And I waded through in pain, my heart full of shame.
Again I cross the Gjöll, but not through its bite,
I fare o
A Sacred CircleA Sacred Circle1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
A Sacred Circle
A calm breeze filled the summer air; The smells of blossoms were soothing beyond compare!
The trees were stretching themselves in joy; The shining Sun their leaves would soon employ.
A hallowed circle was lovingly erected; By runes carved into the earth it was protected!
Prominently displayed was the sacred As rune; Today I hoped to speak to Odin and Thor soon.
I turned in each direction during the Hammer Rite; The circle was hallowed for the ceremony tonight.
Nervously talking, I welcomed the Asagods to the blót; Their presence was a joy, for I feared them not.
Asking for holy gifts, I offered them one of worth; Beer, not blood, was poured forth onto the earth .
Receiving my offering, I raised my cup; They blessed it with strength and knowledge as I held it up.
Drinking their gift, I then packed everything away; I wished them thanks for visiting me today.
Though our time tonight was very short, I am happy that their love of kin I can support.
The Old Gods
The Maddest ConstructThe Maddest ConstructThe Maddest Construct1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Divine energy trickles grimly through the arteries,
Crackling wildly in his veins like overcharged batteries...
The power-hungry presence is a majestic hall of illusion,
But the pure aberrance inspires disgusted confusion!
The far-flung fancy of this new desire,
Shifting like the archaic Model-T,
Turns his scholarly engine into an intellectual fire,
Grasping and reaching for fuel constantly.
His living, beating scholarly heart,
Merely a crystalline orb containing fiery passion,
Yearns for companions of a similar fashion,
And waits anxiously for that joyous time to start!
For the sweet, numbing taste of camaraderie,
For any discussion, be it friendly.
Turn me on to your deviation and interest, said the Maddest Construct,
For I love to see your best, for the power of Art is hardly defunct.
The Creation of A WorldThe Creation of A World2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
~o The Creation of A World o~
~ A Small Tale About Our World ~
Like a blank slate, brimming with potential,
The Void beckoned Us, and we came to shape it.
With Claw and Skill, we made something special,
Solancia, this new world, would shine like a Garnet.
The Clouds, the Sea, the Mountains, all newly formed.
Each God had a role, which they eagerly performed.
Fywaria sculpted the earth, using her fiery hands.
Cheelynn made it rain, watering the sunny lands.
It was now a warm, wet world; But alas, nothing lived yet.
But not if We had anything to say about it.
Voltricio sowed the many seeds, which made Solancian foliage grow.
Terraunia brought her brood, and the other animals would follow.
It was now a lush, green world; But somehow, it was still bare.
One final creature We decided to make, it's ability beyond compare.
Man and Woman came forth, life from the ground still barren.
Fywaria made the Man, Voltricio the Woman.
Fleetaro gave them Intellect, to be able to re-collect.
The Wiles and Trials of Utgardaloki-Fjalarr Part 1The Wiles and Trials of Utgardaloki-Fjalarr Part 11 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The Wiles and Trials of Útgarđaloki-Fjalarr
Part One: The Encounter
South from the great Ýsetr, the flaming land of Útgarđr lied.
Without his famed chariot, Ökuţórr journeyed there with his friends.
The Élivágar is their famous path, and ashore their river-ride ends.
Ţjalfi, the son of Egill, then notes the shortage of their supplies.
In the darkness of night, a massive structure loomed into their view.
The doorway was the size of the entire building, and five hallways were inside.
After settling for the night, the earth shook, as if the ground a blade did hew.
Frightened, the group took the middle hallway for shelter, but Ásaţórr did not hide.
The morning sun rose, and the party soon found a man taller than a fir.
Being awakened, the man rose quickly, mildly startling the mighty Ásaţórr.
Regaining his wits, Óđinn's son asked the man's name, which was told to be Skrýmir.
The man needed not ask for the Ásagođ's name, for he'd heard tales of him before.
The sly Skrýmir asked for his glov
Hangatyr's OfferingHangatyr's Offering1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The wind was strong this high up, and it blew around him relentlessly.
His quest for knowledge had brought him here, and his destiny waited restlessly.
To rule the Nine Worlds, he needed to know the many secrets that one could not learn for free.
In order to be worthy of this, Óđinn impaled himself with Gungnir, and hung from Yggdrasil, that juicy Tree.
As the nine sunny days turned to nine chilling nights, the pain wracked his body endlessly.
The sacrifice he made, himself unto himself, showed his devotion to ruling selflessly.
As his vision blurred, a miracle occurred, right before Hangatýr-Óđinn's very eyes.
Arcane symbols, the sacred Rúnar, displayed themselves proudly across the starry skies.
Reaching out for them, Alföđr took hold of these secrets, and fell from Yggdrasill.
Much power do they contain, and many Jötnar and men will use the Rúnar for good or ill.
One should not forget Óđinn's sacrifice, for it was a very noble act indeed.
For there are not many m
The Birth and Death of MankindThe Birth and Death of Mankind1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The Birth and Death of Mankind
Warmth they had not, with wooden flesh as cold as stone.
A soul did not fill them, sacred örlög for them was unknown.
Their bodies were stiff and vegetative, not any different than a tree.
They stood on the shores of Miðgarðr, powerless until there came three.
Lifting them up, Óðinn, Hnir, and Lóðurr changed the trees into the form of mankind.
With önd, Wralda-Óðinn blessed us with breath and life, and us to him he did bind.
Hnir gave us óðr, which is conscious thought and movement, a swift body and a clever mind.
Lóðurr granted lá with læti and litr goða, which are form, speech, hearing and sight, in kind.
Newly born, the man named Askr and woman named Embla were embarrassed of their bareness.
Seeing their state, Óðinn gave them his own clothes, their looks bordering to greatness.
Behind Ymir's eyebrows in Miðgarðr, man and woman
BlodablandaBlodablanda1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Borne from the wild, the youth named Loki mischievously smiled.
Lighting was his spawn, in Jötunheimr; Given as a hostage, he was then tamer.
Here said Odin, to the youth:
Son of Laufey, a good word I have for you; For what I ask, you masterfully do.
Let us be brothers, from hence forth; Bound by blóđablanda, you forever have worth.
Let no mead touch another's lips, without the taste of honey in the mouth of the other.
You're one of us now, welcome home; You have somewhere to return to when you roam.
Here replied Loki, to the Ásagođ:
I see many things, and I'll tell what I know; Changer of shapes, I can effortlessly grow!
Weaver of change, and sly of tongue; If you start a debate with me, you'll get horribly stung.
Through blóđablanda, I gain divine ties; Though endlessly crafty, I'll try not to tell many lies.
With tricks and traps, I shall help Ásgarđr thrive; My ways get us in trouble, but also help us survive.
Friendships Are Like ShipsFriendships Are Like Ships1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The title is self-explanatory, and I'll hopefully be able to tell you why.
Many are not shipwrights, so the shape of particular ships may wildly vary.
The healthy state of a good friendship is lovely, but bad ones can be scary.
Effort and enthusiasm all help friendships to proser; One only needs to try!
It is quite simple for a bad friendship to sink your hopes, and drown your happiness.
And a particularly nasty friendship could harm you even more; Nobody likes a liar.
But enough about the bad friendships in life's seas; Let us inject a bit of peppiness!
Not all friendships are terrible; In fact, most are not remotely close to that mire.
A decent friendship can dull the blades upon a lonely heart, like a port in a storm.
And though they aren't great, they're far better than the alternative: broken and sad.
They won't inspire epics or sagas, but they also won't attract flies by the swarm.
With some love and care, they can grow; If they do, they can become something quite rad.
Of Witchcraft and DarknessOf Witchcraft and Darkness2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of Witchcraft and Darkness
That hateful witch, mother of Seiðr,
Spread her filth across Miðgarðr, her name was Heiðr.
She took our strength, and also our light
Our örlög she knew, her power quite a fright.
Her vile ways brought us the vices Nine,
Each full of hatred, opposing virtues Divine.
Murder came first, then Perjury followed,
Adultery came next, our pure love it swallowed.
Sacrilege so dark, our hearts turned cold as ice,
And Greed so destructive, a truly terrible vice.
Thievery brought terror, and destroyed much trust,
A sword became necessary, to defend with its thrust.
She spread dire Treason, to inspire treachery.
Her Slander was also a burden, with lies so slippery.
Her last curse was Cruelty, which brought naught but pain.
The Goðin sought to learn what had brought such an evil stain.
To find the reason, Nyhellenia-Gefjon set on a course,
To southern Sviþjód, to find Seiðr's source.
Through love and patience, the Ásynja
A Summer SumblA Summer Sumbl1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The bonfire raged like a bear, whom has found her cub caught in a hunter's snare!
Men, women, and children crowded around; They roasted meat, and made merry sound.
Our ceremony tonight has none to compare, for reverence of this kind is truly rare!
Ale has been brought in barrels round; Beforehand, we had already sanctified the ground.
Welcome brothers and sisters, to our Sumbl; May you be well, and from the truth never stumble!
Tonight we honor our fathers and mothers, and also hear boasts from you, sisters and brothers.
Pass around the great Minnihorn, in memory of ancestors from centuries past who were born!
Drink from this horn in honor of their names; Honor those whom have left behind their mortal frames.
The mead was poured into the Minnihorn, the liquid cooler than an ancient crone's scorn!
This drink was passed around the flames; We honored our ancestors by their sacred, eternal names.
Next, the Gođi brought forth the Bragarfull bold, to promote making boasts f
A Warrior's HelforA Warrior's Helfor1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A Warrior's Helför
The corpse-dew clings stubbornly to my clothes, flowing freely from my head.
An arrow fired from afar has hit its mark; Today I shall soon be dead.
Before my eyes roll back in their sockets, I look up into the cloudless sky.
Riding through the air like wayward rockets, I see the fabled Valkyrjar fly.
Those divine choosers of the slain, they fly so swiftly through the air!
Though their spears are drenched in blood, their beauty is beyond compare.
My body laid still-warm in the dirt, my flesh giving the ravens their rightful share.
Taking me in her arms, I am held tightly by one with braided locks of golden hair.
Turning my dead eyes up to her own, she flashed me a smile, divinely sweet and fair.
My journey to Hel was like any other; I was judged exactly like other mortal shades.
The thorns touched my feet not, for there was Helskóar in the trees of former glades.
The boards on the roaring river Gjöll held me fast, my ghostly form unharmed by blades.
My Social HighMy Social High1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
I love your work, I would love nothing more than to support you!
Saying these things, my kind words make you happy; This feeds right back into me.
Joy makes me love the world and its flaws; For sure, I know that this is true.
Supporting and helping others fills my heart, and brings me immeasurable glee!
A new friendship, or possibly a new idol; Both thrill me, my heart pounding nonstop.
Artistic wonder entraps my soul; I am exhilarated by you, no matter what I try.
I am eager to help, and happy to; I am drawn to your work more than a pig to slop.
Winding my way through your work, I always seek to placate this: my social high.
Meeting a new talent makes my heart jump, and causes more blood through my body to pump.
Enduring criticism like a rock in a storm, I am aware that my condition is far from the norm.
Being without a friend can leave me in a slump, but conversation enlivens my bloody lump.
Excitement infests me like a swarm, and passion and glee inhabit my bulky, artis
Fading Away - An Angel's LamentShe's fading away, like color turning to grey;Fading Away - An Angel's Lament6 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In her dreams she is safe; for her, real life can chafe.
She sees machines of old, still rumbling despite the mold;
Happily asleep, there was no reason for her to weep.
Until, that fateful day...
Catastrophe ensued! Tragic trouble had brewed!
The old factory is still; there are no more sounds so shrill!
Forgotten once more, the machines rust more than before;
With nothing left to say, the light in her eyes faded away.
The Making of MidgardThe Making of Midgard2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The Making of Miðgarðr
To the South was the burning land of Utgarðr,
Where no travellers could go, for all is aflame.
Sparks flew to the North, though not much farther,
For the cold nulled their might, luke-warm the air became.
To the North was Niflheimr, that misty place,
With rivers that ran venomously, and formed Rime in their path.
As it flowed further South, it melted at an alarming pace,
And, meeting the warmth, life was the glorious aftermath.
Ginnungagap, location of Mimisbrunnr, was mild and warm,
The poisonous Rime sprayed forth, and froze on the earth quite solidly.
Life emerged with fiery force, a Jötunn man took form,
His name was Ymir, and he did not live life stolidly.
From under the arms of the great Hrimþurs, sweat beget two,
Man and woman, one named Bestla, the other Mimir.
A curious happening also took place, for his feet beget too,
the foot-child had three heads, and the name of Þrúðgelmir.
With the dripping of Rime, Auðhu
The Troubling TheftThe Troubling Theft2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The Troubling Theft
The Wise One, ancient beyond understanding,
Stated the Mead was for his sons, not the Dvergar.
Durinn's boy, the crafty Fjalarr,
Seeked the liquid, for it's consumption increased power upon drinking.
Jealousy filled Durinn, and thus he bade Fjalarr to steal,
And thus the boy did, with generous zeal.
Being the wisest, Mimir noticed the larceny swiftly,
But when confronted, Fjalarr denied Mimir firmly.
In the heat of their speech, Durinn came around,
And took his son's side, standing his ground.
Sadly, Mimir and Durinn could be friends no longer,
Banishment of Durinn's ætt and followers was the answer.
To Utgarðr they fared, Mimir and Durinn no longer allies,
The mead was theirs, but the Goðin they despise.
A new title for the father, now the mighty Surtr.
Destroyer of the universe, and father of Fjalarr.
The Raven-Haired LassThe Raven-Haired LassThe Raven-Haired Lass2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She was quite young, but possessed a certain complexity,
Under an exterior quite dark, her mentality was a perplexity.
Though very kind, that warmth seldom showed its face,
The feelings were hidden inside, their sincerity would seem out of place.
Her flesh was of the purest white, the hue not entirely unlike snow,
Her raven-colored hair touched her cheeks, on skin that seemed to glow.
Her attire was extremely dark, blacker than mankind's sin,
Used to mask her looks, and to hide a growing woman's body within.
Sorrow was the name of the game she played, her pawns on the move,
Though Life was a fierce opponent, she had a valid point to prove.
Standing aside from the pack of thralls, her eyes were ethereally keen,
For much did she see, like a seeress of old, of other realms, and in-between.
Hel.Harken! The lady calls on your nameHel.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
From the frosted underworld below the good tree
You shall remain within her grasp
Until the time of your rebirth is at hand
She shall kiss you farewell, as you leave her unto a new world above
Mother from the world below
With skin darker than Nott's chariot
And eyes as red as a fire’s embers
And raven feather hair that reaches to your knees
You will beckon more souls at your side
Crone below the worlds above
With bones that dance above your flesh
And a sunken face that always shows a welcoming smile
And wrinkled skin, that holds within it your wisdom
You will guide us to a better place
Maiden held below Yggdrasil's roots
With love so much in your heart
You become lover to your minions
Yet God before their eyes
You are their consuming dark, yet blinding light
She who was thrown to the shadows at her very birth
To stave off the inevitable judgment
The twilight of all, including her kin
She shall remain within the void, darker than the Ginn
Hymn to SleipnirHymn to SleipnirHymn to Sleipnir1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Dark dancer, whose hooves remember the black door,
Whose eyes have followed the warrior home
And seen the children of the sea,
Carry the storm-burdened question to
Those beyond-fields where shadowed grain falls
From the hand of the sick farmer
And the land weeps for fire.
Dark one, who travels on the wind's road
And finds the splendour of the sun,
Come twice to the gate of mists and
Enquire of the seething rocks
Which footsteps glitter among the bones,
And leave their shining monument
To a tower of skulls.
Tireless runner, beat gently the black door
That keeps you from the vanished grove.
The wind is a sword of ice that kills the moon.
Beat gently your rhythm to the watching night
Where the horn is silent and the tree is bare.
The darkness is no stranger than the hand
That guides your restless rider to the flaming rune.
Copyright Vanessa Read 2007
Mani's GlowMani's Glow1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Máni's course, plagued by Hati, streaks across the starry, night sky.
His glow touches the houses, Ymir's bones, and kisses burial mounds and runestones.
Legends tell that the dead have more power when Sól rests her glowing, beautiful head.
As such, a traveller rists and weaves rúnar, to hear the doom of his beloved son.
Drawn from the chilling land of death, an ancient seer awakens unwillingly.
"Answer me, völr, for you know all things then, now, and to come!" the man demands.
The wise woman groans, her death rattle audible with every labored breath.
"Your son will die, and Urđr will clasp him in her pale, Jötunn arms."
With a tired groan, she began to descend, but the Málrúnar beckoned her to stay.
"Völr, tell me more! Who will kill my dear son, most beloved among all creation?"
Sighing, the pale shade glared at the tall man, whose long beard fell to his chest.
"His dear brother, ever full of emotion, will be tricked into launching the most dire arrow."
Again descending, the ancient
Weregild Not RequiredWeregild Not Required2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Weregild Not Required
My sister lies dead, her blood stains the floor,
Those bastards fled quickly, their honor no more.
Before Wyrd makes me draw my final breath,
I will send those four fiends to their grisly death.
My rage is too pure, no Weregild will suffice,
There will be no mercy, for my heart is as cold as ice.
With axe and blade, I will hunt them all down,
And bury them deep, into the earth so brown.
The first coward that I found, he fearfully watched me arrive,
His head was bit deeply with my axe, he was thus no longer alive.
My sword sought to rend, and it did so to his friend,
His guts twisted and bleeding, he met a sloppy end.
Two whores down, and two to go, I head further South,
One fool that I found by the river, I planted my spear in his mouth.
Ymir's blood rinsed the point, now gleaming in the sun,
Four vile men accosted her that day, now there remains only one.
He peered out of the church, what a foolish plan to conspire,
His shelter became a prison, his executioner, m
A Poor Man's MealFather Odin and Lady Frigga,A Poor Man's Meal2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
please join me by my fire.
I've made a blessed meal for all,
to deny you two would be dire.
I ask that you accept my gift,
my thanks for all you've done;
so that you'll continue true,
until the Ragnarok does come.
I have only the best to offer,
what I could gather and afford.
But my message, gift, is as strong as others,
just missing fancy napkins and cords.
A poor man's offering,
what he can always spare.
Make another spot at the table,
so its far less bare.
I hope you'll join me
this lonesome night,
as I now share
this simple rite.