here drifts the mind on wander
a drifter becomes the i
blowing over the asphalt
dusting the road on white
slipping to stream from drift
stream her veins flow
veins pursue heart of mind
and mind the heart drift wanders
wounded
Photo by Jon Sailer on Unsplash chain link silvered with
scarlet & black tobacco ties
swaying on the wind
laced leather around that
wear-my-hair-long,
the painted hills still sing
ever the dancing the ghost
against a world hellbent
on feeding the hate machineTo like/comment:
wounded
Elegia
It was the first surreal death in my life when I discovered you had died. If it was you who had died, that is. But I cannot imagine anyone else having a name cut so close to yours, with a birthdate much the same.
After your Troubles, I wonder that it might not have been staged, this dying season. I can see that it might have been spoken into being, so that you might finally be free — though I let go any jesses I might have held scores of years ago, so someone or something else kept you from flight. It was hardly me who held the tether anymore. Perhaps it was your own hands that gave to bind?
You were too young… but you were apparently speaking. And I am in no position to interrupt.
All the stars fall for your passing, leaving we the living both haunted and unforgiven.
Follow your freedom road. May its medicine heal. May you find some rest.
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Elegia
Fracture
Photo by Евгения Егорова on Pexels.com It began as a fracture, the kind that forms on the thin ice when the breaking point is reached from much too much weight put upon it from above.
Though it was our memory and not ice, there was still the audible crack that could be heard over the firestorm as it raged over us, consuming with words meant to puncture our flesh like arrows full drawn on a great bow. Name calling like thrown stones and razor spite in a cutting rain that fell upon our heads. It was not that long ago that we embraced Mr. Wendell, but the rains came (as they eventually will) and he was given over to the middens for the sake of survival. So much for cohabitation and burning the white sheets…
And so, our memory cracked in spiderweb, the baby screamed, and we saw the cascade of a dream crumble to the dirt in the name of filthy lucre and the pale. You get what you give, they said, and you gave hate.
Perhaps, but we were loving in how we hated.
I wrapped my blind eyes in linen, hung my head, feeling the fracture claw at my own brittle past begin to sunder. I walked away and grew old, unable to hold onto the younger days.
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Fracture
tossing a rune — 24sep25
hagalaz i step between floe
and river run
waiting for to
carry me homeA rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is hagalaz, which has a core meaning of “hail”, which was associated with potential, transformation, renewal and change; hail is imagined a seed from which change will arise.. Hagalaz is also seen as representative of things beyond our control: a clash between fire and ice.
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 — 24sep25
