let us go beyond naming and
enter the spirit of the matter—
tear down the fences that divide
this bone is not bone, it is bone
this flesh is not flesh, it is flesh
this stone stands beyond stone
wash away the scarlet boundaries
cast by the plough, hewn by scythe
listen to the small known by "night"
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needlethreading the dream
fragile in porcelain pale
stitching her fabric close
shift skies on the flint
slip steel on white
a twist, a turn, on veil
shadow scrim moving thin
shadow unmine, carry
beyond this windtorn coil
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"we sacrificed all the things we love
to get more of nothing"
cry the echoes of november in the empty
of this autumn head of mine—
gates dissolve by way of drifting snow
revealing the only thing that's real
A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is gebo, which has a core meaning of “gift”. This relates to all forms of reciprocity, transaction, generosity, hospitality and sacrifice (in the sense of giving up something).
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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Well, I knew it was likely to happen.
I can’t decide if I should be surprised that it finally did happen or that it took so long for it to happen.
But I got my first email from a fan who thinks I am an adult film director from the late 90s/00s who also went by “Michael Raven”. For the record, I was using the pen name well before he was directing films in the, ahem, genre.
They wanted to know where they could get a legit digital copy of a specific film. And a song title. Did this fan check to see if I was who he thought I was? Absolutely not. But that did not stop the fan from asking all the same.
What added to the surreal nature is that apparently it was a movie (very) loosely based on Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland.
For the record, there is another author who goes by the name and writes nonfiction and has been published well before I was. I’d almost rather have gotten an email from one of his fans because then I could just say, “Sorry, wrong chap” and be done with it. But with adult entertainment, it could just as easily be a phishing expedition — so ignore and block is my method for handling those.
Sorry Brian, wrong chap.
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clockwork broken and
stone etched bone
a heart stitched hazard
hands tick back that
merry-go-round
temptation in autumn comes
with pricking thumbs
and old man's hours
waiting for her ice to thaw
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Of all the things I might unearth as I was repackaging and cataloging some belongings to put into off-site storage, I guess I never expected to find some old handwritten notes from my druidic lessons circa 1992. I had recently joined a local druid group that was one of the original 1970s groups in the US and a handful of pages are from a course they were teaching their new members. And old members looking for a refresher (which was the bulk of the attendees at these gatherings in the head druid’s home).
I found it stuffed alongside the truly awful tale of Ben who, apparently, we liked to lock up just to hear him scream, written about ten years later than these notes. Don’t ask, I can’t imagine my motivation twenty-three years ago for pairing the writings in a single place.
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weary of tethers
fingers dance the blade
toying with cutting away jesses
and giving wing to flight
A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is othala, which has a core meaning of “heritage”, “inheritance” and “legacy”. These are all associated with home, kin, ancestors, stability and (in some interpretations) past lives.
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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reaching for
something profound
in red dog dreams,
coming up with
handfuls of dust
wondering if
pale hands will
finally carry me gentle
under the wave &
north away home
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these semicolon days
with that breathy pause
before twilight turns to night
the winter queen waiting
with a yawn and stretch
dreaming of scarlet and black
both wrists bared and
knees to the earth
a surrender to stone
and hearth
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catchbreeze with
birds on a wing
shallow sun
growing deep
a wave bye on bye
on her slipping by
heading to her
south once again
for me, evergreen
and slate skies grey
come the flint
of my blood and
of my skin
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