Category: writing

  • new year

    i will rest my weary
    in her headwaters
    on her night of nights
    letting her wash over
    in my forest clean

    given as, i seek
    to stay a' dreaming
    a worn out husk
    burning from the inside
    warmed of her
    grim embrace

  • Morning coffee

    Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

    I don’t mean to be no trouble, but I am thinking of dyin.

    He sat across from me, sipping his percolated coffee with one or three too many fistfuls of coffee thrown in “for good measure”. If you were to believe the tall tales he tells, he uses an old sock to filter out the biggest of the grounds, but I think that’s probably bullshit. Or it might not be bullshit and I’m just hoping that it is at least a clean old sock he uses for the purpose.

    (more…)

  • some are

    some are dying days
    drying as we curl
    within ourselves
    stained ruddy & dun
    wrinkled & yellowed
    under a low-hanging sun

    drip
    drip
    drip

    a life of rain gutter
    cast-offs mouldering
    the smell of bridges burning
    on crisp autumn air &
    some are dying days
    between the spaces
    us, drying, wytching alone
    inside an empty grove

  • feast

    to sit still on
    a windswept hill
    call myself stone,
    feast on her song from
    under the mound
    and slumber to
    while away the ages

  • On the drift

    They never mention it in books, of course. The travel guides, I mean. They never tell you just how far you can, on average, walk in a pair of shoes before they start to fall apart. Of course, not all shoes are built the same and there’s going to be some variability in how well they will wear, but I’ve found you can maybe walk five hundred miles on fairly even asphalt in a pair of sneakers before you might want to keep your eyes open for your next pair. Boots meant for hiking? Maybe twice that, but you had better not rely on there being any tread to give you traction that last two hundred miles, give or take. Still, boots are my go-to, though they tend to weigh you down more at the end of the day than something more athletic.

    Of course, you’re rarely given the choice of boots or sneakers while on the drift. More often than not, you have to accept what you come across and, obviously, the mileage on a worn pair of footwear is significantly lowered.

    But beggars can’t be choosers, as my gran would say.

    (more…)

  • casting runes — 28oct25

    mannaz
    by way of season
    the year soon will die

    we gather in the pale
    wrapped in battle's arms,
    buried within and
    wait for the sun
    to cross back
    over the horizon

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is mannaz, a rune that translates to “man” in the sense of “humankind”. The rune is associated with family and the social order, and in trusting the intuitive process or seeing clearly — both from within and from without. Mannaz influences relationships of all kinds, including those of a romantic nature and encourages compassion, for oneself as well as for others.

    Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.

  • lady waiting

    we follow the same
    wading both blood
    & blades for a glimpse
    of the lady waiting
    at the end of the glade
    & to receive her nightkiss

  • hole

    dusk pours out of me
    i am that lost hour
    a brittle bone heart
    carved in passing as
    they drift to the next
    hole in the sky,
    a stone before the lake

  • ephemera

    these words and thoughts --
    naught but cherry blossoms
    drifting downstream

  • maturity, maybe

    letting go
    thirty years ago
    was the best thing
    as much as it saddens
    me to admit so