Tag Archives: Mina Polen

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

24 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:

Karin Heyer and Mina Polen

 

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Hope

by Karin Heyer

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Long ago the same moon and
the same sun lay before us,
just like now and
and the three-strand rainbow bridge
that spanned then
from Asgard to Midgard
was meant for men
to fight and walk across
into a future life!

What life?
A life where the elves of light
should shine over the dark,
where men become real, visible men
with sharp wits and a feeling heart,
responsible for their actions:
accept the cross,
live for love and peace
to all men.

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Shining

by Mina Polen

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Shining
it might be just a dream
a little voice small and fair
a blinding sun inside of you

moving
it might be just a parasite
………………………an idea
a voice that it isn’t there

becoming
something at every step
something that you might deny
something that you might follow

growing
it might be just a cloud
………………………………expanding
something like a blinding mist

shining
it might be just a maggot
a little bit of light ……….moving
something that you might ignore.

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Find out more about Karin and Mina here:

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

Mina Polen

aldebaranylosnarvales.blogspot.com

https://twitter.com/minafiction

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Midgard: Survival and Destruction 2/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

18 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

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Midgard

(the realm of the people)

Featuring:

Mina Polen and Shirley Golden

 

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It is there

by Mina Polen

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Can you see it?

It is there with its days and its nights
with its darkness and its light
with its cold and its warmth
with its love and its hate
with its poison and its cure

can you see it?

right there in the middle
right there by the sea
right there being born
right there being destroyed

can you see it?

it is the place that falls
it is the place that rises
it is the place far away from the gods

can you see it?
it is right over there

it is the place
it is there
it is life
it is us.

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Duck, Cover, Hold 

by Shirley Golden

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He’s not a hero. He’s not a god.

The press form a small circle around me, and a larger one around him. He smiles and his eyes glint red and gold. Beneath our feet broken glass glistens in crystal rainbow shards, the bridge between what was and is. Buildings and pavements are crazy with zigzag cracks, hairline splits and yawns. Photographers lean into chasms to take the best shots, the ones that show the magnitude of devastation and include graffiti artwork in the backdrop. They highlight cars, taxis and trams tangled in heaps, discarded toys in the San Francisco streets.

Someone placed a blanket around my shoulders but I’m cold to the core. The medics abandon me to attend more pressing cases. Reporters open notepads and ready pens to construct the story they want to tell, a tall one about a trickster whom they’ll cast as a god.

But it started long before the rumble and shock. He appeared, as if magically birthed from another realm. He was good at talking his way into things, and better at slipping out. He secured his position with forward-thinking, technical skills and a silver tongue. He was expert at delegation and liked to shake things up. He watched us with a keen eye, but never was one of us. There were times I imagined he mocked us all. But I kept my mouth shut and did as he said. One time he told me the end of the world was near, and he shook his fists as if caught by the entrails of invisible bindings, as if they might be holding him from starting an apocalypse himself.

We were in a meeting with the boss when a cellophane sandwich wrapper started to tremor. From flutter to flurry, tremble to quake, cabinet drawers exploded and pictures pirouetted off walls.

The boss said, ‘Down! Find cover! And something to hold.’

The boss squashed under his desk. I crawled beneath the sofa and embraced radiator spines. And he writhed beneath the table and held fast to legs. Pens fired like arrows. The printer squirmed towards the edge of the desktop its progress interrupted by a mangle of wires. The plug broke loose from the wall, and its crash-landing preceded a flurry of blank page debris. The floor abandoned its horizontal certainty. And the desk was carried off by a wave of displacement; the boss sailed with it, tumbling towards a chasm.

I glanced at him. I saw only that gleam in his eyes. I shan’t say he didn’t try. I couldn’t be sure of anything, except the fury of falling apart.

Once the tremor settled, he emerged from rubble.

“The boss?” I said.

“There was nothing we could do.”

He found the best escape route. I was grateful for his instinct of slithering free.

In the aftermath, he worked tirelessly; superhuman in his quest. To the press, he spoke with just the right measure of sorrow and determination. He moved into the boss’s old office, bolted a desk to the floor. Everything slotted back into place. The city rebuilt around us, higher than ever with further to fall.

I remember his knuckled whites, gripping the table leg. How he observed us as our world fell apart. The sneer of satisfaction he thought I didn’t see. Imagined? Perhaps.

He’s no hero. He’s no god. He dwells in a place in-between. He waits for his moment. Advice? Keep low. Cover head. Cling on.

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Find out more about Mina and Shirley here:

Mina Polen

aldebaranylosnarvales.blogspot.com

https://twitter.com/minafiction

 

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

 

 

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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

4 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

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 Muspelheim

(the realm of fire)

Featuring:

Lydia Allison and Mina Polen

 

 

i think of our fires

by Lydia Allison

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my silk scarf smudged with grey | old
wood that popped and cracked
the tiny floating sparks that lifted
from the black | motes
of copper made a close night sky
we were gods | men | dark red things

now the deep infared swells and rolls
brighter and darker | breaking
the earth to ashes | the fire licks
the stars | magnetic | draws them all
back | in

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It’s me

by Mina Polen

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It’s me riding over permafrost

It’s me

…………burning

…………melting ice and life

…………burning

…………………..burning

 

fire burning deep inside

it’s me

…………setting everything on fire

rage riding over fire

restlessness riding over ice

………….it’s me

……………………….again

I have enough fire

………….to burn thousand suns

………….to consume the earth

it’s me

………….burning

it’s me

………….and I am waiting

………….to set the world on fire.

It’s me

,,,,,,,,,,,,,wind made of fire

 

get ready to glow

get ready to start all over again

it’s me

…………..again

………………………burning.

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Find out more about Lydia and Mina here:

Lydia Allison

lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

Mina Polen

http://www.lulu.com/shop/mina-polen/scylla-and-charybdis/paperback/product-21019437.html

https://twitter.com/minapolen

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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Nifelheim: ‘Spaces and Pain 2/4’ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

1 Apr

nine realms8

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 Nifelheim (The Realm of the Dead)

Featuring:

Joanna Lee, Mina Polen

and Shirley Golden

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If all things should weep

by Joanna Lee

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even through the thickest ice, redemption
may bubble. don’t call it the realm of the dead.

say instead: that cauldron from which every man
springs, and will again return.

pull up fistfuls of last year’s leaf-
mould; wade the bitter waters;

sift the cold from the thaw.
this is not another poem

about what to feed your dragon.
serpent-sister, i no longer fear judgment,

have seen the green from your high walls.
atonement is made from yeast-drops

and pomegranate seeds, shimmers,
effervesces. remember

the life-beneath-frost, your  nascent
breakings, the roots planted in winter.

remember the strength in those you have loved,
the gentle rain lost to the mists.

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Don’t follow me

by Mina Polen

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Somehow I feel
that you mustn’t come
it is so cold over here
my feet are freezing
the snow is falling

my love
please, don’t follow me

somehow I feel
that I might be lost
the rivers are frozen
I am having nightmares
I don’t know what is this

my love
please, don’t follow me

somehow I feel
that this place is poisoned
the land stinks of cadaver
I feel threatened
I feel lonely I feel lost

my love
please, don’t follow me

somehow I feel
there is no end
the mist is overwhelming
I feel guilt and regret
this is all too much to bare

my love

please

don’t follow me.

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Cutting Out the Bad

by Shirley Golden

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They say we are sick and insist on a cure. I was hauled in when they updated legislation on crimes against beauty. For some, it’s ageing without correction or overindulging that secured them a stretch in here. Not acceptable, they say. Control it. Cover it. And if you can’t, we will. Our stay, as they call it, need not end in disaster. Consent screens flicker night and day, expecting the press of inmates’ fingerprints to smudge the surface of LCDs. And we will assent, they say, everyone caves in the end.

It’s worse than sub-zero winter, the cold bleeds into every bone and fibre. And the air is still, so still. We barely find the energy to speak or chew although she feeds us well enough. It’s a legal requirement. Some say the food is laced with drugs; others that they pump sedatives in through the vents. It explains our sluggishness and the fog which infects like gas climbing from corpses. The bad breath stench clings to the bed hangings. She calls us her children and says there are worse places, and it feels like a threat.

She’s black and white, precise, suit smart, exact. Guarding the right of her domain, she’s indifferent to protests. She acts with authority absolute. But under that veneer lurks a half-dead creature. For how could anything with a heart be immune to our pleas?

I’m allowed a mirror; it is encouraged. They say I must face my reflection, it’ll convince me to conceal the rough edges beneath a membrane, plump cheeks, smooth over corrugated flesh. It’s an old, old scar that started with a lump and ended under a surgeon’s blade; it took years to heal. I stare at discoloured tissue, the uneven track the scalpel was forced to carve; they call me offensive, offender. They fail to see it as an inscription: blunt. Integral.

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You can read the overview of Nifelheim  here , and see some Nidavellir poems here

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Find out more about Joanna, Mina and Shirley here:

Joanna Lee

the-tenth-muse.com

https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

Mina Polen

https://twitter.com/minafiction

aldebaranylosnarvales.blogspot.com

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

 A ‘The Nine Realms’ update post will be coming out tomorrow with news of our forthcoming Indiegogo Campaign.

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

18 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:

Kate Garrett,  Mina Polen, Ross Beattie and Lydia Allison

 

Fenrir

by Kate Garrett

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give me your hand
he said,
jaws dripping with doubt
eyes sidelong
as they held out the bonds
no heavier than silk strands
 
and I knew my hand
was a small offering
as they wrapped him in chains
made of lost thoughts
made of movement and breath
made of the unseen
 
and all of these slipped
past his eyes, sidelong
and his jaws clenched
and my wrist ripped apart
and I knew this was a small gift
to the beast wrapped in chains.

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Fenrir

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Little they know

by Mina Polen 

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Petrol or spark
light or lime
…………little they know

sunshine and stone
magic and knowledge
…………little they know

work work work
………….little they know

hiding in the darkness
…………little they know

coming going knowing
………….little they know

creating binding transforming
………….little they know

now you see it, now you don’t
………….little they know

about all they know
………….little they know.

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What life is this?

by Ross Beattie

To become what I am I had to chew dead flesh from cold bone.
Only then was I strong enough to deserve a reason.
Below the ground I live my life in the dark.
Craving only the gold that is hidden beneath the surface.
This realm is mine but what life is this ?

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MP3 to come

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the dwarf

by Lydia Allison

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he’s the best
to ask. so much
more than people
think. imir knew him.

made an axe.
blade sharper than
people made. cut who made it.
Sliced space.
they made mistakes.
It shined like night
the lunar glow
none of them had seen.
they fell in love.

lightening cracked the lovely weapon’s face.
tarnished white shine. the dwarf obsessed.

hating the flashing of candles
heat of flames. he waited months
felt time swell.

climbed. saw dusty light.
creaked the last steps
cracks on hands glinting
silver. still and
sun-saturated as the moon.

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

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Find out more about Kate, Mina, Ross and Lydia:

Kate Garrett

kategarrettwrites.co.uk

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Mina Polen

lulu.com/shop/mina-pole…

https://twitter.com/minapolen

Ross Beattie

ackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Lydia Allison 

lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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

19 Feb

nine realms8

19 poets, 22 Artists, 3 musicians and a Viking Boat

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

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Jotunheim

Featuring:

Mina Polen, Lydia Allison and Karin Heyer

 

Frostbitten mind

by Mina Polen 

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Through darkness
…………..and eternal sunshine

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darkness and brightness
…………..like never-ending dreams

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frostbitten mind
awaits in another dream

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thoughts
………………………repeated

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the pebble falls inside your mind

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thoughts
……………………..repeated

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thoughts
…………. being broken

tongues
………….being broken

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day and night
the mind is playing tricks

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the night is long
the day is long

time stopping
the mind is flying in circles

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Read by Nicky Mortlock

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traditional enemies

by Lydia Allison

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the land surrounding us
a curved body
bones worn to stone

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cruel daughters forcing us to find
a cure for magic

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a cure for life
in my case
for dying

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every time my skin splits
I think of her
the serpent who reminded me
what pain could be

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part of me always thought
if I could commit to life or death
I would have one

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could and would and should
my fury blinds me now
as indifference did then

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not immune to dying,
just unable to be dead.
impotent in the opposites of being
and the other

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incapable to live
as in the grip of death, I did

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Read by Karin Heyer

 

Requited Love

by Karin Heyer

(Inspired by the story of Gerd and Freyr)

When the ice is broken,
spring serenely promises
with snowdrops flooding
the ground and
magic serendipity works its way.
Young Freyr seated on Odin’s high seat
saw Gerd, giant Gymir’s daughter,
beautiful, beyond compare.
Like a hidden current draws a boat,
he fell in love.

Lovesickness hits his heart.
Skirmir, from childhood, trusted friend
hears his deep sorrow:
Give me your swiftest horse,
I shall ride through fire and flame
to tell her of your woe.

The elf-rays shine
so that two imperfect souls
might touch perfection,
wooing, kind, ferocious
pearls from Skirmir’s lips.
When magical warmth transposes.

Gerd’s heart, saying:
nine days hence, in the groves of Barri,
a peaceful grove,
I will grant love to Freyr.
The whole earth was flooded with their happiness
the skies grew soft.

The trees put on tender green
aconites blossomed on the mountainside
they met in harmonious fire
ripening grain blew in the fields,
and summer lay warm
over the fertile land.
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Gerd and Freyr

Gymir

 

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

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Find out more about Mina, Lydia and Karin:

Mina Polen

http://www.lulu.com/shop/mina-polen/scylla-and-charybdis/paperback/product-21019437.html

https://twitter.com/minapolen

 

Lydia Allison

lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13 

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

 

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As always, thank you for your interest.

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

11 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:

Karin Heyer, Kate Garrett and Mina Polen

 

Northern Lights

by Karin Heyer

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Green magic light rushed
through the deep blue northern night,
when Odin, Allfather
stood at the roots of Yggdrasill
thirsting
for the secrets of the universe,
he gives his one eye
for knowing all —

He built a throne
high up in the crown of Yggdrasill,
best of trees,
world tree,
its roots to survey all realms,
Odin recalls the creation.

When

fire furious fills the air
crashing ice creates,
when life-licking cow
conjures woman and man,
sun, moon and stars in one,
a dread flame of power
never-ceasing creation,
eternal wind a-blowing —

Yet

Yggdrasill still stands solid
for ever North – South,
green, yellow lights
luminous, amazing,
burning, blazing
in the sky, even now!

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Harvest

by Kate Garrett

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i sneak, i reap

i am a trick of the light

light from a golden crop

of wheat-silk soft
& mine with one swipe
of scythe

break my fingers
break my toes
one by one by one

i provide, i scheme

i push you into motion

motion of worlds beneath

so panic – panic until
back & forth & back
the needle swings

threading this voice
you fear down into
my throat

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* Based on the myth of Thor’s hammer, specifically the part where Loki steals Sif’s hair and is punished for it. The difference between physical power (Thor) and one type of mental power (Loki).

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Alone and afraid

by Mina Polen

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All alone
…………..smashing stones
…………..carving wood
…………..playing with gold

all alone
…………..behind a broken wall
…………..waiting for another spell

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all afraid

…………..that the world might change
…………..that more giants might come

all afraid

……………and the wolf is howling
……………and the serpent is rattling
……………and they can hear the giants’ steps

all alone
all afraid.

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You can read the overview of Asgard here and see more of the Asgard poems here

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Find out more about Karin, Kate and Mina:

Karin Heyer

No website, as yet. Contact ArtiPeeps.

Kate Garrett

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

https://twitter.com/kate_garrett

Mina Polen

 http://www.lulu.com/shop/mina-polen/scylla-and-charybdis/paperback/product-21019437.html

https://twitter.com/minapolen

 

Watch out for Vanaheim (the realm of the giants) poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 

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