I will drift the forest behind blind eyes with her, just as she came, here on the new moon this morn. A new year, come ten days on the loom, rides her night tresses too. Time to wrap root and gather low, gather deep, and gather below. Gather, then, and keen no more.
If you knew me, you would understand — but I stand alone, unknown. I am wing and I am thorn, that is the best I can explain.
But when she comes, we gather: wrapping root and pricking low.
as the nights slip
cauldron to stone
from wave to cold
we turn to the
turning within
spirits on the wander
gather 'round the flames
dancing, spinning, yearning
as they give to the
turning within
let all our debt burn away
as we turn to the
turning within
tossing the tethers, ropes
tying to dock and pier
letting current carry away
adrift and slipping away
spinning in eddies away
never wanting to arrive
never to, never arrive
our lady of crows
waits above the ford
will you bed her at river
should she bid you?
be she maiden or crone?
she waits on her lover,
our lady of crows
have you come to
collect waters issued of
our lady of crows?
to reap on the harvest,
as gifted bounty of
our lady of crows?
or have you come to
enjoin at frenzy and fury
of our lady of crows?
i wait on dreams
of her fountainhead,
at her narrows standing
flow her water, oak & ash
hazel & blackthorn sharp,
at her narrows standing
wait upon gold & rust
for rime & without reason,
at her narrows standing
long the night i belong
set to slumber underground,
at her narrows standing
shuffling off & cutting ties
gone to drift on pale winds
clutching at fragments only
to toss useless scraps away
4 u c —
i realize this coil lies barren &
there is only death & dream
this debt is beyond counting
and all that is left is
to serve out my time
i slip
an ophelia amongst the reeds
waiting for a mercy kiss
to set me free
tart hibiscus on my tongue
returns memories of stolen kisses
over doumbek & warmed rania
while thick windows
full of commuting crowds
rush to beat the thicker snowflakes
falling on rescue red buses
roaring past to carry them home
going back to ground
to wrap myself in earth
before the long cold falls
stone away blind
ravens shout greetings above
in the ancient oak tree
a single snowflake,
leaden skies
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is thurisaz, which has several core translations: “thorn” or “giant”. The rune is often associated with pain or discomfort (often for an important transitional or transformative reason) or raw power that may be destructive. It is also considered protective, regenerative, and is frequently associated with women’s menstrual health.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
Wind and needle-sharp snowdust blew something coughing and swearing through Gate 32B. They had opened the door but a crack so that Mark and the other guards would have an easier time of pushing it back into the closed position after their “guest” had entered. The servos were nightfroze again and no one had wanted to open the gate in the first place, but you just did not leave folks out in the cold on a night like this.
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