
drained, i pour inside
to sit within my pain
—don't speak
everything runs over
and i cannot drink
another drop
instead, arthritic fingers chase
wet rings on the hard

drained, i pour inside
to sit within my pain
—don't speak
everything runs over
and i cannot drink
another drop
instead, arthritic fingers chase
wet rings on the hard
come the sluagh nights soonly
come they baying at your door
sickle scythe under nightmoon
a'reaving long before the dawn
this chronic river
flawing through
is a stoning earned
for the time cast
down drunk at
the wytching tree
there is no care
for these secrets
that might be shared
those left to die here
in the wee hours down
at the wytching tree

under the cloak
the patterns burn
all the more clear
slip to the well
and dive, emerge
in the lands
under the sea
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
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 or spiritual legacy.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
"throw your head away
and let branches replace
the empty left behind",
said the acorn man
so
we gathered round
and grew old,
apple blossoms
on the wind

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