Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’ 4/5′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

The Nine Realms

9 months, 22 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Asgard

Featuring:

Greg Mackie, Lenka Monk, Rebecca Audra Smith and Rob De Born

 

KILLING YMIR

by Greg Mackie

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Between my head and my heart,

there was a no man’s land

the size of Iceland –

all frost and volcanoes.
Ice, to the north –

cold, clinical,

sceptical and cynical.
Fire, to the south –

a passion burning in my gut;

the inevitable contradiction.
And at the centre of this,

rising like a geyser, 

Ymir, the primeval us – 

a mystery

to be broken,

into smaller mysteries,

given names

and meanings.
And so I did –

shatter and scatter

his body and blood,

across worlds –
Until there was

no more left 

of him,

to remind me,

of my ignorance.

.

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Ymir

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Heimdall’s oath

by Lenka Monk

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I’ve seen it, heard it all
From Midgard of men to mighty Asgard.
No matter the rise, no matter the fall
The rainbow bridge I guard.

The prophecy once told
In the lieu of eloquence,
Speaks of shadows born in a cold
Doused in frosty decadence.

The twisted knots of fate
In the monster’s breath of ice,
Will untangle at the gate
With last roll of a dice.

I will fight to the end
For my realm and my land,
Our hallowed reign I shall defend
With sword in my hand.

.

.

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock on Lenka’s behalf.

Heimdallr

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Frigg Beginnings

by Rebecca Audra Smith

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We began in war,
splitting apart the giant man,
white and frosty with age.

Frigg like an itch a scratch of mothers lives.
Can’t you see, we said to her,
your daughters need to open the world.

One woman hefted a mallet.
We used his lungs to embryo the earth,
wrapping the atmosphere in a fine pink gauze.

The soft tissue of his brain the ocean bed,
here is where the gracious mammals float,
unwieldy and full of old knowledge,
his hippocampus their swimming ground.

Many things were birthed, first came
The small thoughts, then the larger ones
Till we’d built a city out of our need.

And the men, we got them from the flotsam,
The sea-spray, the wreckage of the ocean floor.
We began in war.

.

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Eight Legged Stallion

by Rebecca Audra Smith

 

 

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Frigg

Loki

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Two Children

by Robert De Born

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Odin and God
made saviours,
grave minds
held prophecies:
the rune and the tablet.

Hung from wood,
pierced with spears;
God knew everything.
Odin didn’t.
God’s child arrived immaculate
in the spaces between
Herod’s fingertips.
An angel watching
held him from apocalypse
in dark places,
fragile as plaster of Paris
but Charis colludes where grace is.

God knew everything.

Odin, when he found
his child taken,
salvation pierced with the spear,
sought the holy virgin;

and appeared first
as a soldier,
broad-shouldered
with polished shoes
and medals from neck to navel

and he asked nicely.

Then appeared a bard,
voice gypsum-rich
with melodies winding as the gamut of the amber trade,
fingers flickering on the lyre
like demons’ tongues

and he asked nicely.

Then appeared,
hands full of washrags

and he raped her.

Blood never looked darker
than against those sheets
as white as Baldr’s skin
and seen through the milky mistletoe
transparency of Odin’s cornea.
And then, collapse.

The eyes of wolves have the golden gaze of a God who knows everything.

An eye bright.
An eye dark.
Night and day fog into one.

Nine nights and days fixed to the tree.

I pace by the wall,

take a lung of air,
a lung of smoke

waiting for poetry
to blossom like murder

on my lips.

.

.

Odin

 

You can read the overview of Asgard here

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Find out more about Greg, Lenka, Rebecca and Rob:

 

Greg Mackie

frenzyofflies.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps

Rebecca Audra Smith

beccaaudra.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/BeccaAudra

Robert De Born

https://twitter.com/RobertDeBorn

robertdeborn.wordpress.com

 

Watch out for more Asgard poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 

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‘Ends and Beginnings’ Circle 1/4: Transformations Poems (Book 15)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 15

.Featuring:

Greg Mackie and Carol Robson

.

 

HOPE AND DEFIANCE

by Greg Mackie Book 15

 

Her father died down the pit,
and her mother, bitter,
threw plates and angry words.

This was her history –
the filter through which
we sought to understand her,
and by extension, ourselves.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
and claim that the chains of destiny
are as fragile
as the chains of an aging mineshaft lift –
I don’t truly believe that.

The chains of our destiny
were forged with hope and defiance:
we survived wars and accidents and disease,
we walked on mud tracks and tarmac and the thin dust of the moon;
we built a world in our image – 
brave and bold and beautiful and ugly and stark and cruel and tender.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
I look inside myself
and see the values that she passed on.

“People are good.”

“Everybody is equal.”

“Nothing is worth more
than a human life.”

There are days,
everything contradicts this –

Ideas may be indestructible,
but values melt in the sun,
and so we encapsulate them in legends,
pass them down through the generations,
bestow them an eternity,
in the company of men and gods and wolves and snakes.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
I open a book,
a poem of transformations,
and the very last line,
the very last thought,
a declaration,
of hope and defiance –

“I will live!”

.

 Veggie

(Pythagoras)

by Carol Robson

 

In thy mathematical mind
that strains beyond calculus
in theorem of life
that shall not be taken
for the sustenance of another.

All life be precious
for blessed reincarnation
for all life’s creatures
as in human life we wish
to return in form,
of whatever is blessed.

We should not feast on the beast
that perchance you devour
a relative or friend
that passed and returned,
in true transmigration of soul.

Our perfect abstention,
from feasting on another life,
to only feed on mother earth’s bounty
that sustains us in body and soul
that keeps us in harmony for reincarnation,
for continuation of our soul transmigration.

© Carol Robson 2014

 

You can find more about Greg here:

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

 

You can find more about Carol here:

https://twitter.com/Chakracaz

http://carolrobson.com/

 

Tomorrow we’ll be sharing another Weekend Showcase featuring artist Jack Morris. 

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Thank you for your interest.

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BE THERE AT THE START AND HELP US MAKE THE VIRTUAL REAL

14 Poets, 15 artists, 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Do take a look.

Transformations Kickstarter Campaign:

http://kck.st/1i2e721

Campaign Video:

http://goo.gl/khucJx

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‘Greed and Sorrow’ Swipe 4/5: Transformations Poems (Book 11)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 11

.Featuring:

 Nat Hall and Greg Mackie

_

Dream Maker 

by Nat Hall

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Morpheus
…son of sleep,
………..god of dreams & spirits;
………………………heaver of dreams
……………………………………..commands Iris
…………like sole messenger of your deeds,
never leaves me in a chasm.

Let me feel her thousand hues slide through heavens;
heavy eyelids in a palace of steam…
How did you dare to
dance with me,
and drown
lost love
deep
inside waves?

Now, all is left
………..glides as a ghost,

là où tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,
luxe, calme et volupté*

© Nat Hall 2014

*) with grateful thanks to Monsieur Baudelaire

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WINGS DIVINE

by Greg Mackie

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Once a man,

a man no more,

I rise and dive

and rise again,

 

above ridges of silver

and dirt-grey

shadow troughs,

clasping

writhing flesh;

fast blood

 

falling

 

on a wild

granite sea.

 

Alien now,

past actions,

past passions.

 

Alien now,

that internal logic

of drowning sailors,

and anguished lovers

staring out

towards

a dying

sun.

.

Once a man,

a man no more,

I used to walk

along this shore.

.

My steps have faded,

dissolved in time –

I died and rose

on wings divine.

.

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You can find more about Nat and Greg here:

Nat Hall

http://nordicblackbird.weebly.com/index.html

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

Greg Mackie

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

‘Depths and Surfaces’ Glance 1/3: Transformations Poems (Book 10)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 10

.Featuring:

Greg Mackie and Adam Wimbush

_

That Loser Pygmalion

(with apologies to Ovid)

by Greg Mackie

That loser Pygmalion
said he wanted perfection,
but he just couldn’t handle
yet another rejection.
He wanted a woman
with no heat, with no soul,
so he sculpted a maiden
of ivory cold.

He bathed and he dressed her
in fine cloth and in pearls,
and bruised all his fingers
on her stone curves and swells.
And when caressing cold concrete
was no longer enough,
he prayed for his fantasy
to become flesh and blood.

What wonder, what joy,
did fill his old heart
when her ivory lips
so softly did part!
“You’re alone now, no longer,
and I will share your bed,
but just not tonight, dear,
I’ve got a sore head…”

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Cyparissus

by Adam Wimbush

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Vision drips a landscape vast,
Where emerald shard sparks shine and,
Even the dust seems illuminated.

Paradise becomes pregnant,
Thus shadows are born.

Their silent music maps weird webs,
Echoes caught in the fragile framework.

Static veins begin to reverberate.
Their varied atomic structures,
Spiral beneath the surface,
Like alien antenna protocol sniffing.

The flesh of the cosmos ripens,
While dog noise hardens to skin.

Under the weight of atoms,
The slender supports of reality bend,
The luxuriant knots of DNA unravel.
All previous preconceptions discarded.

Camouflaged amongst this cosmic clutter,
A boy materializes from the organic mess.
Shy shadows sipped at his thinking juice.

This is the flavor of his thoughts…

Once besotted with an animal;
A creature, which nourished minds,
From its magnificent antlers.
See the crackling energy of synapses spreading,
Forking like lightening.
The tips telling stories which were never repeated.

So some magic mechanism was fashioned,
To delicately decorate its neck,
And record the data, but alas,
The delicious delirium dodged this device.

Anyway the being visited many people’s minds,
It’s brain-quenching menu spluttering with story sparks.
It caressed your sub consciousness,
With its dream fingers.
Welcoming all formats of adoration.

The boy desired a fix,
From the fable cables upon its head,
So he led his beloved quadruped to an oasis,
Were they got drunk on dream soup.

He fondled the fantasy filigrees,
And marveled at the intricate imagery,
Pulsating from the animals amazing antlers.
Stories injected straight into his head, and
Together they galloped across galaxies.
The boy riding on its back.

Afterwards as the “Story Stag”
Was resting its ‘Tale Tendrils’
Beneath the Crab Nebular.
The boy went hunting, and
While wandering in the twilight reverie of story-haze,
He accidentally spears his companion.

Upon realizing the error in reality,
The boy, distraught, decides to die too,
No god could convince him otherwise.

He cried continually, and cries still into infinity.
The boy’s tears turned to pollen,
And were blown into the ether.

Eventually his whole essence evaporated,
His melancholy molecules metamorphed.

You can see them now,
Every time you gaze into the night sky,
The billion bits of his broken heart.

The scattered sorrow seeds called Stars.
Ready to germinate more galaxies.

A J Wimbush 2013

.
Obscurum per obscurius, ignotum per ignotius

 

You can find more about Greg and Adam here:

Greg Mackie

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

.

Adam Wimbush

http://wrongtriangle.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/Wrong_Triangle

 

 

Frenzy’s Flash Feature #14

Welcome To Frenzy’s Flash Feature!

Your fortnightly Poetry/Photo Combo with Greg Mackie

Poet, dreamer, self-confessed idiot. Addicted to chocolate and crisps, he regrets having cancelled his last two dental appointments. Attempts to write stuff. 

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

We hope you enjoy this  ‘Frenzy’s Flash Feature’ entry.  This, sadly, will be the last of this particular feature due to ArtiPeeps’ development plans. See here. However, you can always catch up with Greg’s poetry on ArtiPeeps via his continued contributions to ‘Transformations’ our collaborative poetry project inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

My sincere thanks go to Greg for all his creative input with his feature over the past months. ArtiPeeps and I have appreciated it enormously. Thank you. 

_____________________________________

 
>>>>>  

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The Street Photographer

by Greg Mackie

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The street photographer

misses nothing –

the last lingering looks

of nervous new lovers,

the world-weary eyes

of fleeced-out fathers,

the sardonic smiles

of monochrome mothers.

.

The street photographer

gently juxtaposes

and careful condradicts,

he teases the truth

with his camera ice-pick

.

He sees through the smiles,

sees though the disguise,

captures the essence

of our animal lies.

.

When his wife left him Tuesday,

her expression so bitter –

he picked up his camera,

and he took his best picture.

 

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Frenzy’s Flash Feature #16

Welcome To Frenzy’s Flash Feature!

Your fortnightly Poetry/Photo Combo with Greg Mackie

Poet, dreamer, self-confessed idiot. Addicted to chocolate and crisps, he regrets having cancelled his last two dental appointments. Attempts to write stuff. 

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

We hope you enjoy this  ‘Frenzy’s Flash Feature’ entry. Greg will be be back with another great combination on Thursday 15th August 2013

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>>>>

_____

DIVIDED

by Greg Mackie

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I met myself on the street today,

I was looking rather pale;

My eyes were red,

my hair unwashed,

I didn’t look too well.

>>>>

I tried to find the courage,

To ask me what was wrong;

I’ve known myself

for quite some time now –

We used to get along.

::::

He told me he was suffering,

from choices that I’d made.

I said you’re an adult now,

and you’ve made your bed,

and in your bed, you’ll lay.

>>>>

He screamed at me in anger;

I’d never seen me this way.

His cold blue eyes

were so full of hate,

I had to turn and look away.

>

He said,

If love can move a mountain,

if love solves everything,

Why am I so lonely?

Why did you give in?

.

I couldn’t find an answer;

I couldn’t even speak –

I watched me walk

around the corner,

and I’ve never felt so weak.

.

Will I ever see myself again?

Will I ever be complete?

And how many other divided souls,

Shall I meet,

On this busy street?

.

 

Frenzy’s Flash Feature #15

Welcome To Frenzy’s Flash Feature!

Your fortnightly Poetry/Photo Combo with Greg Mackie

Poet, dreamer, self-confessed idiot. Addicted to chocolate and crisps, he regrets having cancelled his last two dental appointments. Attempts to write stuff. 

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

We hope you enjoy this  ‘Frenzy’s Flash Feature’ entry. Greg will be be back with another great combination on Thursday 1st August 2013

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>>>>

>>>>

Bridlington Harbour

by Greg Mackie

>>>>

It’s the summer of my first decade

and Bob Marley’s on the radio –

telling me to be wary about women.

>>>

Outside the caravan,

on deckchairs,

Dad’s wearing a straw hat;

Mum’s wearing a smile

and they’re both on holiday –

from themselves. 

>>>>

This is the time – 

polaroided into my memory,

like a instaflash of happiness.

>>>>>

Tonight,

as every night,

we’re going down to the harbour,

where the sea is inky black

and vast and unknown like my future.

>>>>>

The sea stinks of dead fish and engine oil,

doughnut wrappers float on gasoline rainbows,

and yet  – 

the ice-cream is the sweetest in the world.

>>>>>

>>>>>

‘Cry Mercy and Gentleness’ Cry 5/5: Transformations Poems (Book 4)

TRANSFORMATIONS

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab

__________________

Poems Inspired by Book 4

>>

Featuring:

Karin Heyer and Greg Mackie

___

An Ancient Feminist

by Karin Heyer

(Inspired by the tale of Salmacis and Hermaphhroditus)

>>>>

Outrageous, Shameless,

She outstripped the moon

the moralist cried,

‘Even in modern days’!

Moralists prefer the wavering count:

‘he loves me, he loves me not,

he loves me, he loves me not…’

She must wait,

Pained and demure,

For his first move.

>>>

>>>>

Dare I, dare I not?

I dare, Salmacis cried:

I desire this beautiful youth,

Equality does not forbid daring.

In love they were one

and thus completed their destiny.

>>>>

>>>>

Jealousy

by Greg Mackie

(an acrostic)

>>>>>>

Powerful,

all-seeing Sun;

I offered –

now,

forever,

infinite love  –

love, eternal.

>>>>

Deception!

My embrace,

wholly ignored.

>>>>

Torturer,

he laughed  –

I,

grew hateful  –

trivial,

unseen,

neglected;

thus is love.

>>>

I cannot,

order undone

love’s discovery –

Sun;

erotic enemy,

never once mine  –

overlooking,

rejecting  –

eternally.

>>>>

 

You can find out more about Greg and his work here:

Greg Mackie

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

or follow on Twitter here:

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

>>>

Karin Heyer, as yet, does not have a website.

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Frenzy’s Flash Feature #14

Welcome To Frenzy’s Flash Feature!

Your fortnightly Poetry/Photo Combo with Greg Mackie

Poet, dreamer, self-confessed idiot. Addicted to chocolate and crisps, he regrets having cancelled his last two dental appointments. Attempts to write stuff. 

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

We hope you enjoy this  ‘Frenzy’s Flash Feature’ entry. Greg will be be back with another great combination on Thursday 18th July 2013

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>>>>>  

FREE VERSE

by Greg Mackie

>>>>

They made it illegal to

stand in protest,

so now we walk

in parks –

silently.

>>>

There are four thousand of us –

lost children,

walking along wide alleys,

walking in circles,

on the grass

between the trees

and the flower beds.

>>>

The sun is shining bright

but the shadows are dark

and we know that,

very soon,

they shall make it illegal

to walk-

even silently.

>>>

We know that,

very soon,

they shall come

from beyond those trees,

and from among us  –

to break our ribs

and crush our fingers

and teach us to be patriots.

>>>>

They shall cut us down  –

and there shall be

no protest,

no sanction,

no international outcry.

>>>

The enemy,

the most vicious  –

the enemy,

the most destructive  –

is indifference.

 

>>>>>>>

Frenzy’s Flash Feature #13

Welcome To Frenzy’s Flash Feature!

Your fortnightly Poetry/Photo Combo with Greg Mackie

Poet, dreamer, self-confessed idiot. Addicted to chocolate and crisps, he regrets having cancelled his last two dental appointments. Attempts to write stuff. 

http://frenzyofflies.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/FrenzyOfFlies

We hope you enjoy this  ‘Frenzy’s Flash Feature’ entry. Greg will be be back with another great combination on Thursday 4th July 2013

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>>>>>>>>>  

 

>>>>>>

MEADOWS UNLUSH

by Greg Mackie

>>>> 

As part of my

Scottish hard-man act,

I don’t carry umbrellas –

and so when it rains,

and the wise take shelter,

to smoke cigarettes

and shake their hair –

I walk

under the drops,

oblivious,

as they drip down my back,

between shirt and skin.

 >>>>>>

Thus, for a few

moist moments,

this town is mine alone –

a kingdom of meadows,

unlush,

amid shining tarmac,

and raindrops,

exploding into flowers –

colour of traffic lights,

and perfume

of sour dust

and seven days sun.

 >>>>>>

Even the rivers of leaves

that swirl

into gaping gutters,

and into my shoes and socks,

and the strands of hair

stuck to my forehead

like a crushed crown –

cannot dampen

this irrestible illusion,

of a seductive sun

that shines

inside my mind.

 >>>>>

And as the wise,

warm and dry

under shop porches

and urine-laced doorways,

peer out

at the passing madman

that is me –

I wonder,

vaguely,

an involuntary,

and fleeting thought –

how much do umbrellas cost?

>>>>>>