Tag Archives: Jim C Mackintosh

Alfheim: Movement and Light 3/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

15 Jul

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

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Alfheim

(the realm of the Elves)

Featuring:

Nat Hall, Lenka Monk and Jim C Mackintosh

 

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Guardian Angel from the Ninth Realm

by Nat Hall

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You,
luminous loving being,
so much more than a thousand suns in
darkest corner of my head,
you are sensitive to
my tears,
so far away from fern, foliage,
evergreen feel of
thick forest,
Light Bokeh style –
the untouched side of Freyr’s world…
To
avoid eyes,
hiss and whisper from
haunting mare,
my mantelpiece littered with stones
I once collected from a now
dormant volcano where
hardened rock dances with salt,
leaping fury from young ocean,
I light candles night after night,
chisel your smile out of cold wax, and
seek wisdom out of
a match.
You,
luminous loving being,
you rescued me from the cliff edge.

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And lead me to temptation

by Lenka Monk

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Inspired by story of Freyr and Gerðr

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Through the eyeglass, inner mist
Tempted fate, now I can’t resist
Lips that haunt, curves that taunt
A tortured sigh.

In a drunken fog, endless hunger
Bittersweet taste, spell I’m under
asunder bursting mind, lifetimes find
A Divine comedy.

Wrong feels right, heartbeat elevates
one lustful look, reason obliterates
Resonates with force, no remorse
A string less puppet.

The heart, the insurgent of reason
that beautiful face, led it to treason
seasoned sixth sense, forget consequence
A complete surrender.

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under the heavens dome

by Jim C. Mackintosh

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under the heavens dome
the halls tower in this place
where maddened spirits bind
the claws of ravens haunting
blind trees and bright rooms
enclosing his hypnotic power
unseen to those for whom life past

beneath the high throne of Freyr
circled by meadow throngs
floating on pillows of gold
the words of the wish-giver
in bundles tied with sinews
of outlaws crucified on the way
speared in the crossfire of elf shot

felled in the grapple of light where
dark elves stripped them of belief
a thin path winds through briar rose
where a thousand eyes, black spots
in the gloom sense the fear
dripping from the pilgrims folly
seeking to kiss the feet of Freyr

yet destined to leave empty handed
happy to escape the elven grasp
to answer their quest elsewhere
and rid themselves of this brothel
built in the tangle of angels hair
nourished by the rot of souls
quietly disappeared, lost forever

in remote corners of all realms
where the light elves prey upon
battle weary warriors, robbing them
of their exhausted glory to light
the bloodied moss halls of Alfheim
their fine mesh weave of gold to
line the dark walls of winter nights

under the canopy where Freyr sleeps
and confused sayers fall at his gaze
fighting over the scraps he scatters
in return for the lure of his mystery
/ so why are you still here?
so why do you believe this sermon
will lead you to anything but your betrayal?

through the valleys of temptation
they will swoop down and lift your eyes
to where the single, deadly snake coils
hissing promises of everlasting glory
a ticket to cross the rainbow, only to die
under the wheels of martyrdom
to be denied by your band of brothers

where the Gods assemble to divide
the spoils of your blood and tears
gathered by the scrum of vultures
/ let your death join me
in the salvation of our tomorrows, free
from the shores of false dawns
where your heart will awaken

in sanctuary from blunted threats
where the earth and the sea and
the stone and the roots and the rain
are true and the stag will roar again
and the kiss of blood, the unity
of your ken folk will ease
your righteous birth once more

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Find out more about Nat, Lenka and Jim here:

Nat Hall

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps

 

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Midgard: Survival and Destruction 1/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

11 Jun

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

.

Midgard

(the realm of the people)

Featuring:

Ross Beattie, Eleanor Perry

and Jim C. Mackintosh

 

 

Midgard

by Ross Beattie

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I wait for your arrival at the end of it all.
Come poison all that remains. 
It has been written that life can begin again, from the two hidden in the darkness. 
I don’t want this to be true, I want there to be silence, I want this to end. 
No more reminders, no more memories. Just perfect peace, how I dreamed it would be. 
If life restarts then we will only truly be faced again with the inevitable fate, the only thing that’s ever mattered. 
Finality,
Infinite,
Silence.

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MP3 to come

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after ganglia

by Eleanor Perry

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after ganglia 2

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Terra Nullius

by Jim C. Mackintosh

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crimson red flowers, thousands
a spreading bleed of them
a hole in the rot of humanity
at odds with the bastard landscape
in which they flourish – terra nullius
the jarring sharp edged midden
of blistered tangle and rusted life
that is not death but hope abandoned
to exist in its own unravel of nothing
where to survive is to be invisible
to those who cannot be seen,
who exist and cultivate the till
of the cinder, dust and bones /
the discard of mankind too busy
to notice the struggle of the weak
shaken to their core by the rumble
of Gods and Snobs passing by
sucking the juice from the earth
preening their way to the bridge
caring not a breath for the unseen
‘nothing but rubbish, poisonous
and pointless’
to be ignored by all
the important pilgrims queued
to cross the rainbow, tossing a penny
or a scrap until the dawn of horizons
when the path quietly, softly narrows
when the invisible become the visible
and the road to the bridge
becomes the landscape
and the bridge becomes the rainbow
it’s foundations bound to the stalks
of millions of crimson red flowers
visible from all the corners
of the nine realms shining

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Find out more about Ross, Eleanor and Jim here:

Ross Beattie

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

Jim C. Mackintosh

http://jimcmackintosh.bandcamp.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Muspelheim: Sparks and Flames 2/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

20 May

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 23 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

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 Muspelheim

(the realm of fire)

Featuring:

Eleanor Perry, Jim C. Mackintosh

and Nat Hall

 

 

Capture Concept of thickness

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Under the Damage Tree

by Jim Mackintosh

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what is this brooding shape
fire licking across my vision
I smell it in the ice : shimmering tongues

in the destroyer’s raging silhouette
whose leaping flames freeze to the sky
in the impassable surrender to fire

a frozen corpse under the damage tree
cracked by the kiss of Surtr’s shine
his shadow bleeding over the moon

too late to stop the sway of travellers
mirrored in the crunch of brittle death
jammed to the parapet of Bitfrost

time straining against the reins
burning the days to come
quickening the battle’s build

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Fiery Us

by Nat Hall

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Look at the eye of the dragon.

Emerald
shining inside night,
from neck to
crown,
leaping red,
scalding scales 
lost inside orange,
in between
flames
and
Valhalla;
out of
earth’s plume,
world’s underworld, 
where lava flows,
fire giants,
fire demons
obey the land & their master,
the arsonist,
maker of sparks,
glow, ash-filled  sky –
the one
a seer
saw in a dream or
a nightmare.
Now lay your shield down
with your axe,
stand at the 
edge of
the
ocean,
your sheepskin
boots tied inside kelp,
and mind
the 
eye
of 
the
dragon.

© Nat Hall 2015 

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Find out more about Eleanor, Jim and Nat here:

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

 https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Helheim: ‘Death & Hollows’ 1/2 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

30 Apr

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 23 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 Helheim (The Realm through which men must pass to reach Nifelheim)

Featuring:

Nat Hall, Shirley Golden and Jim C. Mackintosh

 

The Sandglass

by Nat Hall

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Don’t mistake time for gravity

Each sand grain slides
between two
realms,
the
one
you toss
when you feel
lost, the one Nanna
drowned in her
tears.
Vertical
bridge of sand and
shells, the one
that never
brings
driftwood –
the one shipbuilders
curse like hell, as
fingers erase
their
stories;
the
one too
aware of sunsets
swallowed by a wolf
known as Sköll.

At either end,
dead man fingers…

Now let fate
toss sand grains & glass,
Hel dreams of
domino
effect,
dots,
ellipsis to Ragnarök.

© Nat Hall 2015

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Strata and Strata of Faults Through Time

by Shirley Golden

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The mud slows his progress. But he moves; his feet and arms rake the sludge. Around him explosions, bullets like hailstones, hammer from the sky.

Annie, safe at home with their boy, Victor, he hopes. Fourteen, an only son – late, unexpected blessing. When Victor talked of signing up, he forbade it. Victor called him an old man for that, said the king needed fit, young fighters. Those were his parting words.

He surveys the ground, strewn with half-submerged bodies. Explosions flare, illuminating the dark and signalling that their raid has been discovered. Blood of the fallen, thick in his nostrils taints the back of his throat.

He can see worm paths moulded by those who’d managed to slip in before him. The damp seeps through his coat and he’s never felt so cold. He finds the edge of the trench and checks it is safe to descend. He grips his trench knife and wades towards the boom of battle.

One of the fallen men stirs as if raised from the dead. The soldier charges him in a maelstrom of screams and bullets and panic, until a ring of silence suggests spent ammunition. He scans frantically, feeling for blood, expecting pain to rip through his chest. By some miracle he’s bullet-free. He snarls and thrusts the knife towards the enemy. It sinks past cloth and flesh. He stabs once, twice, three times. The soldier’s weight falls heavy on him, and they collapse in a misshapen embrace.

He catches a boy in his arms; perhaps no older than Victor. The boy struggles to speak, blood in his windpipe, and gargles out one word: “Väter.”

He shoves the body off and staggers forward. His own heartbeat aches in his ears. He thinks this winter of war will never end.

It’s cold all the time; the sun, ingested by vaporous jaws. The earth shudders. He’d seen trees tremble, their branches split and plummet. Men, covered in sores, and who shouldn’t be breathing, somehow clawed their way back from no man’s land and begged to be shot. They are all of them evil. Shooting and stabbing. And killing. Fathers and sons.

He drops to his knees. This place is a netherworld, bodies rotting beneath strata and strata of faults through time.

…………………………………………***
But beyond we see a future field, shrouding the nameless dead. And running free, a boy weaves through countless graves; he is blood and bones a part of the remains. Decay nurtured seeds, emerged from black soil, where flowers bloom from mud in ribbons of red and gold.

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another one passes north

by Jim Mackintosh

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interminable arteries /
…………bruising night hours

pumping ground /
…………..with molten choke

thunderous blows /
…………on galloping flights

:burning:
:absorbing:

[blood] [oxygen] [concrete]
[diesel] [tarmac] [death]

bones shake from the penetration
the hymn of the dark riders passing

……………………………..another one passes north

here am I, a sleepless soul
vulnerable to the consequence
of hours locked by the night

tell me how, tell me why /

among the distrustful hours
where cruel masks of light scar
the bulwarks of my existence

……………………………..another one passes north

weighed down with plunder
drenched in the urgent pound
of broken roads, brittle lives
the malignant sludge of profit

………………………………another one passes north

tell me where, tell me when /

beyond the demolish of sun
when we run out of days
when the dark riders stop
what then?

………………………..another one passes north

burning sulphur in the gallop
in the interminable hours
flattening the arteries
mile by mile
until /

……………………………north has died in the night

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Find out more about Nat, Shirley and Jim here:

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

The Nine Realms Indiegogo Campaign:

http://igg.me/at/the9realms

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Nidavellir: ‘ Darkness and Gold’ 2/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

4 Mar

nine realms8

The Nine Realms

9 months, 19 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 musicians, 1 Viking boat : a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Nidavellir (The Realm of the Dwarves)

Featuring:

Tom Murphy, Shirley Golden and Jim C. Mackintosh

 

Part 4

Niðavellir

by Tom Murphy

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the times when it’s darkest
bear the most precious things
they shine
wrought from stones
and jewels
and rarer minerals
each design unique
each with qualities, refined

guard them
don’t let them fade
reflect on them often
in case they’re forgot

 

MP3 to come

 

The Smile of Gold and Dust

by Shirley Golden

 

The first ray hits and he comprehends. It scatters the rich expressions that intoxicated and clouded his judgment. His skin, tightens, blackens and starts to flake like ash. Pain screams through skin and vein but Alvis can’t help smile at his opponent, even as his limbs crumble to dust. Cheshire-cat-like, it is the smile that remains when all else has collapsed.

It’s difficult to see what this clever, gold minor could find so amusing at such a moment. You’d need to be as wise as a dwarf, or as all-knowing as a god. Or possess a time machine and travel back to hear the words Alvis crowed as he strutted into Thor’s hall and demanded the hand of his daughter.

‘…there’s nothing I do not know…’ Perhaps it was that. Or, ‘…I don’t mean to hang around here any longer than I have to.’ But that must have stung a tad. Could such a remark really be the source of his amusement?

How did Thor start each question? Ah, yes, that was it: ‘Tell me, Alvis! You’re the dwarf who knows everything about our fates and fortunes…’

Turns out he couldn’t guess at his own.

It’d be easy to suppose that Thor delayed Alvis with his strength or even with a trick. But Alvis understands exactly why he stayed and time passed without his knowing. He can feel the rhythms and the pauses, heartbeat and breath. He can sense the rise and fall of meanings, pulsing through his veins like a rush of blood to the head. And there’s the beauty of piecing it all together, and how it bound him, tighter than Fenrir’s binding. And how he was compelled to reply and sustain the narrative that spun its potent mix of lyrical knowledge. Because Thor, with all his command, could not have held him captive until the sun broke through the dripping hall.

So, yes, he smiles because the god of thunder will boast of this victory for aeons to come. But Alvis knows it was not a god’s might that undone him.

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The Mock of Alvis

by Jim C. Mackintosh

What sort of man are you? Your pallor
Of death’s disregard, your slumbered
Bend lifted from the mortal slab of Gods.

You creep from the depths below
The growing one’s burdened weight.

Your shoulders soaked under
The vaulted ceiling of the dripping hall.

You dare to follow the shiner
To seek my unbound promise.

You shun Dvalin’s Deluder,
Its nibbled edge at your grubby heels.

You seek the folded comfort of the concealing helmet
To stand before Thor with the trickery of your wisdom.

Your fear, I sense, pushed on stormer’s edge
Whipped by Mjollnir’s Thunder will set you.

You dare to stir the essence of day
With your vain plans of matrimony.

You defy the endless depths of oceans
To drown me with your words.

You will suffer the lick of the hurrier
Catching your eyes, boiling your brains.

You betray the kinship of the dream goddess
To uncork your bottled, hopeless greed.

You should quaff your mead slowly, All-Wise
The last amber beads picked out in the sun.

You will crack and groan and stiffen.
I will laugh and mock and listen –

As your pale bones gather moss,
Your wisdom spent.
The sea of words will score
its drag marks
across you forever.

All the fates of men
Know this to be true.

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This poem is based on the Lay of Alvis in which the dwarf Alvis (All-Wise) engages with Thor in a wisdom contest to claim what he feels is his right, the hand of Thor’s daughter, Thrud in marriage. This is my interpretation of Thor’s response at the end of the fated challenge.

Thor is deliberately mocking Alvis by using the Dwarf phrases that Alvis would know –

The Growing One is Earth
The Dripping Hall is Sky
The Hastener is the Moon
Dvalin’s Deluder* is the Sun
The Concealing Helmet are the Clouds
The Stormer is the Wind
The Deep Ocean* is the Sea
The Hurrier is Fire
The Dream Goddess is Night
The Mead is Ale, Beer

*Dvalin was a dwarf who suffered the same fate overtaking Alvis.
*also referred to as Lagasta

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 You can read the overview of Nidavellir hereand read some Vanaheim poems here

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Find out more about Tom, Shirley and Jim:

Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

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Jotunheim: ‘ Strength & Might’ 2/3′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

5 Feb

World Tree Norse

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  Jotunheim

Featuring:

Jim C. Mackintosh, Eleanor Perry,  Nat Hall

and Lenka Monk

 

The Bauble

by Jim C. Mackintosh

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To know the knowing’s beyond now
Deeds not thought and words yet spoken,
What price to sooth the furrowed brow?
Of vows past, and bargains broken;
Reminders fused on blunt shoulders
Guarding wisdom’s depths with boulders 
Of questions, tricks and consequence
To trap the fears of men; not God sense
The cowardly grasp of fickle fate
Vague shadows of futures cast
Trusting elements of the past
Diamond sighted hostages late
Amongst the debris of battles torn
From the victor’s off-spring never born.
 
Mimir, knower of things beyond
By root, where the Well ripples deep,
Waiting for the one mortal bond
To take the cup from his keep
And face the consequence of debt
Sacrificed, drowned with no regret;
No vane hope of being restored
By the weeping sorrows, ignored
In the tilt of trees, ravens taunt
The backs of cowards departing,
Past the rock-giants mocking;
Whilst beyond the sunless haunt
The wanderer approaches still
Planning with determined will –
 
To stand at the foot hills of Mimir;
A Well of Wisdom in that place
Mortality beyond fate or fear
Engraved across sage Odin’s face,
Led by hunger to know or die
Fierce is the will to give an eye,
To gain the sight beyond the stars
Caring not of pain or mortal scars
Free from cheap vanity’s distracts –
‘Will you drink at the gouging bleed?’
Bauble sunk, Odin quaffs the seed;
Absolutes swim in pure extracts.
No fear by look in one eyed stare
Battles planned in vision’s glare.

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3.

gift teeth

by Eleanor Perry

some frame-works
go to the dogs ] and
I’ll let them, since
I know thefts ] and flush:
strands, leeches ] New
York Times gummed to
bitten gold

in winter bloat ] coastal
flank drifts ships in thick
tonnage streams ] the
godly soak, the aluminium
rails ] I am a department ]
just like the sun all burnt
to glass ] plugged into

thinner swelling glints ] gore-
bent in rehab ] and I’ve
learned that all roads lead
to multi-management ] and
many of us are not happy in
the black ] leeches deep
within the bones

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MP3 to come

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Legend

by Nat Hall

Recall the dream.

Inside his
eyes, blue starry
night.

He,
primeval,
born of venom,
fire & ice,
icy rivers from
grassless void to the abyss,
fed from the milk of
Auðhumla,
hermaphroditic
without
doubt,
is a
giant
without limits –
power of life well beyond death:
let him bear Earth inside
his flesh,
sea
from
his sweat,
mountains from bones,
trees from his hair,
sky from his
skull –
such
atmospheric grey
matter,
now let gods
sculpt clouds from his
brain, a home for
men from his
eyebrows.
And
if
the
sun was not
enough,
In the name of ice,
icicles, cold
hellery,
hail,
gales and storms,
bow to each
stone in
the
cosmos.

© Nat Hall 2015

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Ymir

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Locksmith

by Lenka Monk

(Inspired by a story of Menglöð & Svipdagr)

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I know the true meaning of wait and miss.
When no kind of magic can bridge the abyss.
When every second feels like an age,
When someone else holds a key to my cage.

The memories they torture, they burn
The yearning increases with every step, every turn.
The thoughts of you sharper than a razor blade
No wheels of time can ever make them fade.

You may be gone, but your steps still echo in the hall.
The scent of you still clings to every fabric, every wall.
The images so colourful, so vivid in my mind,
To where our bodies still lay, forever entwined.

That was the last time I saw something that made me feel.
That was the last time I heard something that was still real.
That was the last time I spoke of no upheaval.
Now without you, all I see, hear or speak seems evil.

I linger here barely alive on this frozen dais,
Life’s thievery without remorse and its wicked ways.
I count my heartbeats for you, no matter the pain.
I know you’ll come back to me…yours I remain.

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You can read the overview of Jotenheim  here , and read some Vanaheim poems here

.

Find out more about Jim, Eleanor, Nat and Lenka:

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

Eleanor Perry

https://twitter.com/nellperry

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps

.

As always, thank you for your interest.

.

Vanaheim: ‘ Magic & Wonder’ 1/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

18 Dec

World Tree Norse

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:

Jim C. Mackintosh, Rebecca Audra Smith,

Kate Garrett and Nat Hall

 

Vanaheim

by Jim C. Mackintosh

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Somewhere in the folds of dreams, Vanaheim
Floats on ribbons of imagination; in time
To swallow heavens with magical disregard
For vain complexities born of human chaos
Banishing greed and fury to the grub of Utangard
 
No need for pale weakness in shabby human form. 
Though widening hollows struck its walls, a storm
Sparked by Odin’s scheme, of vengeful desire 
To suck wisdom’s juice from blackened earth
The mulch of trampled souls lost in bloody mire.
 
Breathless rivers pooled, their exhausted course
Amongst the crumble of once proud walls; a source
Of peace, a reluctant path worn across the middle plains
By sated Gods; a deal planted in shifting, bartered sands
But memories itch, to blister up amidst fractured stains.

The salted lick of revenge on Vanir wounds never far
In embroidered days of counselled grace, the precious star
Of Mimir’s wisdom doomed to fade in a severed blast,
Tossed in the saddle bag of bitter scorn at Odin’s feet
But in his weeping embrace, nurtured – spells yet to be cast

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Kvasir’s blood

by Rebecca Audra Smith

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Mix your battle-sweat
with your speech-tool.
Let your air-catchers breath.
Blend a bee’s love-making juice
with many worn out shoes.

Dip your glass to the vat, poets.

 

MP3 to come

Kvasir

Mead of Poetry

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The throats of giants

by Rebecca Audra Smith

 

FRIGG FRIGG
FUSS FEREA FEEL
FREYJA FARE

Build a world with paper and pen
Eat among the grey halls
Hail the giants who stalk our minds

FAIR FREYJA FIND FIT
FAIN FIRSTLY FRIGG

I’ll take no food unless it is with you
In the grey halls and the darkness of a giant’s shadow we kiss
And fling the matches of our passion into the dark to momentarily flare
And fail your hair catches alight within the circles my hands make
I will take no sustenance no draft my throat will not be wet
Unless your lips have taken mine and kissed them into shining

COUNSEL ME

I long for counsel the giant wise
The giant vice our wisdom only comes
Twice a year when we sit and sup with Freyja
Drinking down the dwarves concoction
She told me I was so small

FATE FOLK FRIGG FRIGG FRIGG
FIND FOUND FLAIL

I will take no sustenance no draft my throat will not be wet
In the grey halls and the darkness of a giant’s shadow we kiss
I’ll take no food unless it is with you
And fail your hair catches alight within the circles my hands make
Unless your lips have taken mine and kissed them into shining
Fling the matches of our passion into the dark to momentarily flare

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Frigg

Freyja

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Inspiration

by Kate Garrett

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sweet at the source with
star-dusted honey –
magic through the mouth
made of wise blood.
 
pray, let me pour
poems between my
fingers; you forget
flight, hit the earth.

 

MP3 to come

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Njord and Skadi

by Nat Hall

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Still dream of Vernal Equinox

He who sees through
seer’s jet black 
eyes will
ascend as 
high as skylarks to
watch lush land beyond 
twilight;
pines’
many branches,
mysteries,
where
grey owls
whose yellow 
eyes flick without 
sound,
where spirits 
shine to show your
way.
Here,
where north 
sky heaves & fills with birds,
in between worlds
jeer messengers
feasting on
both sides of
old ice,
each morning 
brings new carrion…
Far* – he-father,
tamer of
salt, wind & world waves, in
Noatun**,
home of clinker***,
tar & rivets –
where 
ships gather
and black backs**** act as
alarm clocks;
Mor***** – she-mother,
the great huntress,
who favours
snowflakes on high ground,
sap’s scent from fir trees in her hair,
she came to
him from her mountains 
to bear new fruits for the Vanir.

© Nat Hall 2014

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Notes:

* Far – Norwegian for “father”
** Noatun – Njord’s dwelling place, that translates as “enclosure of ships”
*** clinker – Norse boat building technique, consisting of external planks overlapping & secured with clinched nails/rivets. 
**** Black backs – referring to a species of gulls, commonly known as Great Black-backed Gulls.
***** Mor – Norwegian for “mother”

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You can read the overview of Vanaheim here , and see some Asgard poems here

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Find out more about Jim, Rebecca, Kate and Nat:

Jim C. Mackintosh

bigbaffy.com

https://twitter.com/JimCMackintosh

Rebecca Audra Smith

beccaaudra.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/BeccaAudra

Kate Garrett

http://www.kategarrettwrites.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Nat Hall

 nordicblackbird.weebly.com/index.html

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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