manticmined i bury myself
in the understone covered
fís and mistformed flowing
scáthed, bran storied days
under feathered of white
rest now rest now
pale blind enters night
cut crimson rivers slow
hazel once at the evening
come oak slipped of the morn
i am her come at blackthorn
i am her come of snow
you cannot see
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you cannot see
Towards the Within | Dominion (cover) by Heartworms
While not aways the case, I do like myself a good cover song now and again, just to see how a band reinterprets a song and tries to own it. I’ve never seen much point in a band that tries to make something sound exactly like the original — I mean, what’s the point? And there are a few songs and bands that just don’t translate well into a new sound (Doors, Zeppelin, post-Barrett Pink Floyd). But, on the balance, it is fun to see how a band tries to reimagine a song and make it their own.
I’ve not made it any secret that I am a Sisters of Mercy fan (for the first two albums and early singles, anyway). And I’ve grown to really like the neo-gothic Heartworms after Chris Nelson introduced me to them at the beginning of summer. So, when I saw that JoJo and band performed a Sisters song in-studio, I definitely had to check it out.
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Towards the Within | Dominion (cover) by Heartworms
drift gather snow
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com on drift gather snow
crows wind draw
singing to steel wire
humming on breeze
leaves painted frost
in a lonesome place far
waiting on gentle wings
come to on
drift gather snowTo like, click comments or:
drift gather snow
Half-penny thoughts | 20aug25
Photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash I am on the drift again. The wending roads beckoning from my within, an untethering from my abouts.
Though the weather is still too warm still for such things, I drew on my fleece jacket, pulled up the hood around my face and over my head as I walked from car to my once-a-week-office-space and felt at home within the folds of fabric. My bare legs incongruent with the jacket over my torso, but I could care less. I used to half-jest that I was made for kilts — my legs have always been too warm and I still wear shorts at home in the winter when everyone else wraps themselves in thick blankets.
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Half-penny thoughts | 20aug25
Truth
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com I travel long distances without leaving my home.
This is truth.
I pull the hood over my head, cover my eyes and I am back on the road, blacktop beneath my soles, blackthorn in my hand, tall pines doused in their pungent cologne, rising tall and casting everything shadow.
This is truth
Blacktop fades to gravel fades to black dirt stained grey and the birch draw closer, birds talking from the broad reeds, powder puff cattails and rushes green. Giving directions. Giving meaning.
This is truth.
Feeling gravities pull to gloaming space, I ramble on.
This is truth.
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Truth
tossing a rune — 19aug25
ehwaz at rivers' crossing
she joins, shoulder riding light
silent as the fog around
no more words—
silence is the wisdom
of the dayA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is ehwaz, which has a core meaning of “horse”. A horse is often associated with journeys, travel and movement. By extension, it also implies symbiosis with another living creature or fylgja, and the rune is associated with loyalty or trust.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
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tossing a rune — 19aug25
slip-tween
Photo by Abishek on Unsplash the bough's silver song
framed of moonlight
under the oak we rest
feasting on gold
slip-tween slip-tween
through and back
a kiss of the nightqueen
as her river drifts byTo like, click comments or:
slip-tween
notnight
Photo by Samuel Quek on Unsplash neverything coming waves
washing over my black sands
in the untethered paleness
of notnight aglow afar
and i undertow flow
back to the nine
back to chilled dreaming
as if unknown to wakeTo like, click comments or:
notnight
Wandering
Photo by Kaleb Brown on Unsplash Wandering the daydream, with all the accompanying mists and the fey voices just out of earshot in those mists; a forest of lingering like a wraith waiting for the gloaming of nightfell — such is the path I flow.
Weary of trying to find connection, I feel the tug of something less even than byways. And, giving in, twin feet shamble towards the briar and thorns to follow on the stones to sacrifice of both eyes. The words are liars, near all, so we toss them to the underbrush and let them return to mud.
This is my lonely and I feel possessive of it in the way the chill of fresh-fallen snow stings skin to pleasure as two bare hands mould it into shape. I do not think I can share it, and I would never dare to give it away. It is far too precious.
Turn away, just as the guitar peals the last banshee cries into night. We are like as not, unforgiven.
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Wandering
hidden-faced moon
Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash embracing the forest's fog
delving ever deeper within
shaking off distraction
with the rising of a hood
so that both
seeing & hearing
becomes more clear
a murder calls of autumn
long rains, hidden-faced moonTo like, click comments or:
hidden-faced moon
