Loki’s Lament
I should rejoice
that my father sleeps
and my brother lies slain
for now all is mine.
Why don’t I raise a goblet
in solemn cheer
and caper pell-mell
from throne to trestle to flagstone?
I ought to sing in birdly delight
flap my arms
and jump in flight.
I must be brave
and face this grief
with knifing mettle
and deadly conceit.
I am the madcap jester
become the stern-crowned King–
my people and Asgard
look to me, as they should
for I am so very pretty.
The Misery and Mirth of Mjölnir
The earth is his anvil
for tempering and
breaking mortals
the singing battle of his
hammer unforgiving
ringing and clanging
relentlessly
–his lightning gaze is
inescapable
igniting his furnace
to quicken our substance,
unmake us or cast us anew
as he judges most fit for
our mettle
–the storm of his ire
lays waste to crops
and livelihoods
testing all through
seasons
of need and plenty
blessing and mourning
–the thunder of his
intent
shakes the very ground
bringing buildings down
and raising birds from
trees,
sea-tides for new voyages
and the idle from their
chairs
–forged from the heart of
a dying star
only those of weighty
worth
might wield the magical
weapon
wondering heavily, like
Thor
of household, horror and
hearth.
Viking Winter
When the air
freezes inside
you
and you feel closer
to death than ever
before
–that’s the sign
warning and promise
that the storm is
greater, child
yes, fiercer, sister
more coldly lethal, uncle
than your spitting hearth
and struggling heart.
The ice giants are come
old warrior with clouded
eyes
whose blade fears to
leave his pants
lest it brittly snap
like an icicle.
When the milk
curdles inside
you
mother, like fear
gnawing wolf-like at
your husband’s guts
–that’s the sign.
Odin Wayfarer
Broad-brimmed and caped
the stranger visited our
village
with squinting stories
and brows
lowered to make us laugh.
He had cloth over an eye
and it twitched like a
heart
that you can feel
thumping
till it hurts and it
isn’t funny.
My father pulled me away
with a bow
and a coin for the
wanderer
who knew too much and
searched
for someone such as I.
Beneath his folds I
caught
the gleaming eyes of
wolves
–the greedy Geri and
jealous Freki
and in his winged hair
were ravens
–the thoughtful Huginn
and memorising Muninn.
All watched on knowingly
their amused scrutiny
undoing me
and then I knew the King
would one day ferry me
away
upon eight-legged
Sleipnir
across the sky and into
Valhalla
where the feasting court
awaited
their newly arrived poet-jester.
A Girl’s Vision
Taloned spires
Scritch and
scratch at the sky
Jostled and jammed
in
by envious
neighbours nightly
Competing for what
they know not.
-
A child hates
it here and the
heated air
A hot house of
horrid humour
As moist and
slurping as a swamp
And always hungry
and angry.
-
She wants away
Of course she does
But how to reach
above the spires
Even above the sky
Above above?
-
Or should she go
under, hidden
huddled and
unheard
Unhindered maybe
Yet there’s
chitter chatter
Of skittering
critters chewing down low.
-
Then, suddenly:
Sharp and clean,
A rising, singing
Staircase to the
stars
At last, at last!
-
Dare she ascend
Why shouldn’t she?
The hush silences
and shames her
Like shadows
stalking stealthily
Stretching and
reaching.
-
Scamper up, helter
skelter
Before you change
your mind-fear and
brain-hope
Hither thither zig
and zither
run girl run-jump
up and ump.
-
And there the
Guardian
Gloweringly
glamorous
A mirror of recrimination
For determination
and self
actualisation.
-
The Door of Giants
yields
like she’s done to
pain
and tears, and
cheers,
The threshold of
existence
passed at last.
A J
Dalton (www.ajdalton.eu) is a
UK-based SFF writer. He has published the Empire of the Saviours trilogy with
Gollancz Orion, and various collections with Kristell Ink and Luna Press. He
also runs the online storytelling community HOME | CREW HQ on
behalf of Middlesex University - all welcome! He lives with a monstrously
oppressive cat named Cleopatra.
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