
i have a raven
riding on my shoulder
fowl-mouthed, of course
one who cusses up a storm
and you cannot see them
but they ride there
all the same
a nibble on my cuticle
a gnaw upon my nail
a peck upon my fleshy cheek
we get along so well

i have a raven
riding on my shoulder
fowl-mouthed, of course
one who cusses up a storm
and you cannot see them
but they ride there
all the same
a nibble on my cuticle
a gnaw upon my nail
a peck upon my fleshy cheek
we get along so well

a face i wore before
now put upon a shelf
uncertain bare self
raw and scrubbed clear of
façades once dear to me
i scribble, unknowing
becoming senseless with age
forget i once claimed to write
what i spill to ink
has become mystery
reach for the pullchain, please,
and turn out the light
stuck at left of the dial
where no one roams,
driving lost highways
talking to ghosts
turn off headlights
to follow stars
wolf child howling at
a harvest scarlet moon
her voice riding
static in waves,
do you remember
all tomorrows?

in the pale naked running
of fall on amber fell
granite and shale in cutting
and there is little concern for
if these lilt and lang of words
are sensible or sane
there is only the running
come chill the winds' bite
with the descent of eventide
old jack gives kiss on flesh
in the pale naked running
of fall on amber fell gone rime
granite and shale in cutting

called to the thornlands
the stonelands, the fells—
her phantom visage
piercing the hoarfrost
of dream
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.

how grey must i grow?
an endless wait for
the beat of ravens' wings
flying low over
fresh fallen snow

fetlock fettered
the path seems but
a distant dream
even as it wends
mere steps away
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey).
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.

burnout the asphalt mind
seeking speed, some racer x
to leave those wending roads
in rearview and see
naught but yellow in dripfeed
fading behind to paradise
wind screaming much like
his voice in the void as
he leaves this world behind
your winter taste
in dreamkiss
paints me in din
let this shamble sing
in threes without waking
i never want to leave