Tag Archives: Nat Hall

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 3/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

24 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:

Nat Hall, Tom Murphy and Joanna Lee

 

Tun & Scattald

by Nat Hall

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Garth,
fae da Old Norse,
an arrangement of long houses with 
smoky stacks,
where farmers grind their
daily grain,
man’s wheel of life around
fire, sun and
seasons,
Voar-Simmer-Hairst [1]
to tame the land,
plant-grow-harvest
before black
leanness
of
winter. 
Around
this lush realm for mortals,
they build their ting [2]
and chamber 
cairns, [3]
harvest from the sea & the land –
scrutinise waves & horizon from
basalt edges of
old rocks,
share
their home with
wandering dead in between
stars & Northern lights.
On either side of
dry stone wall,
tun and scattald [4]
feel a safe 
world:
a
place to be born & to die,
raise your offspring with each harvest,
write your story on
every stone –
that perfect realm
you can call
“home”.

© Nat Hall 2015

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Notes:
[1] voar-simmer-hairst: [Shetland dialect] spring-summer-autumn
[2] ting: Viking field of parliament 
[3] chamber cairn: old funeral chamber 
[4] tun & scattald: the inner & outer side of an enclosed human settlement, traditionally with a stone wall.

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Midgard

by Tom Murphy

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ripe garden
shallow pool
wet grass
branch
root
peach
plum

sweet nectar dripping on the floor

as the straps tighten
as the moan escapes
as if uttered by someone else

into the melt
the cotton sticks to your back
soft and slubbed
under her fingers

 

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The realm of men

by Joanna Lee

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They laid the body of the firstborn
into the void of the Universe:
his flesh became land;
his blood, oceans;
his bones, mountains;
his hair, trees.

His skull they held still:
the four points
of the compass, empty.
They shook out his brains
and flung them wide to become
the cottony stuff of clouds.

Perhaps this is why
we, shaped from the dead
hewn hunks of elm and ash,
our home girded by the eyebrows
of giants, hold
such preoccupation

with our own skins.
A world encircled
by a serpent has no need
for creation myths
of temptation and flood,
no; we pluck at our bodies,

pick at imperfections,
dream of shedding
and of rainbow bridges; cut
ourselves, re-shape our-
selves, mold, curb, color, smoothe,
tug, press, hack, squeeze

out our skulls and fling
our brains over the edge
of believability, looking only
to look in the mirror
with satisfaction, looking
only to live forever.

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Find out more about Nat, Tom and Joanna here:

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

Tom Murphy

https://twitter.com/sandcave

Joanna Lee

the-tenth-muse.com

https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

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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

.

 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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Nifelheim: ‘Spaces and Pain 3/4’ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

9 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:

Ross Beattie and  Nat Hall

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Send Me to Hel

by Ross Beattie

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Become for me what you became for that world.
My sister is also a serpent.
You protect the gates of your name and I need not pass you as my only wish is to die beside you.
Many gods cannot bear how you look, eyes turn in disgust, fear creeps through the hearts of greater men than I. But I’m entranced by your beauty, your one half rotting and other already dead, it’s exactly the same as mine, but only eyes that see past surfaces can tell this when they see me.
Can you see me ?
I have to imagine you from what I read, but it’s not enough, I can wait no longer.
I beg to gods that I’m forever unlikely to believe in “Send me to Hel”
And then I catch a glimpse of my hopeless self and laugh into the mist covered morning.

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“Misty”

by Nat Hall

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Feel ice claws in the northern
plains.

Out of dark North,
out of blue-tainted icicles,
out of the antlers of the stag,

where the living comes out & back,
where dragon gnaws at the ash tree,

Níðhöggr
protects Hvergelmir;

out of her womb,
mother of eleven
rivers,

Svöl,
Gunnthrá,
Fjörm,
Sylgr, Ylgr,
Slídr & Hríd,
Fimbulthul, Vid, Leiptr & Gjöll –

Élivágar turned ice to
life;

Frost Giants,
children of the mist…

The go-between
fire & ice.
L’antichambre même de la vie.

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© Nat Hall 2015

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MP3 to come

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

.

Find out more about Ross and Nat here:

Ross Beattie

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

 https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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Nidavellir: ‘ Darkness and Gold’ 1/4′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

26 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 Nidavellir (The Realm of the Dwarves)

Featuring:

Joanna Lee, John Mansell, Nat Hall

 

the secret and impalpable things of the world

by Joanna Lee

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strength has no purchase here,
in the dark places
where ribbons of the secret
and impalpable things of the world
are forged from stony,
sunless wrists
to catch a moon-
snatcher

by the heart, the chain.

he would slay the best of them,
she said, so slaver-
dripped fingers fish
for breath of cat moving,
the noise of mountain roots.
even a god will lose a hand
to feed a wolf
and bind him.

 

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Fenrir

 

 

Nidavellir

by John Mansell

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Sombre snarled in nascent clutch
the maggot-born unbound
from mire of decaying Ymir.

In sunless dwelling of slate hue wrath
Sindri’s bloodline wrought in nanistic voracity
the skilled gems and emblems of gods.

Moon-wane fields that emptied to the shuddering north.
The clout of smiths in melanic retreat,
to swirl to solid mist the aureate seal of their fame.

In red-gold sanctum magic Hreidmar wrecked in wealth
the family bonds to scream in shame his daughter’s names
as sanguine blade slept through his flesh.

Three chains that snapped, one in death,
unbridled Fafnir, serpent spawn slithered the morose realm.
His rancid pause of poison like lava.

And Regin fearful shied to shameless oblivion.
It is a dire place this home of dwarves,
this land of shade and patricide.

There had been valour here, the lofty battle flags unwrapped.
Their unfurling now a memory
of dust chastened in the quietening mines.

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Sindri

Hreidmar

Fafnir

Regin

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The Open One

by Nat Hall

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They wanted to tame prophecies,

the fen-dweller,
son of Loki,
fanged
beyond fears,
moon howler
Inside a troll’s skin;
feared by most gods,
shackled by silk
dwarves 
once
fashioned in
dark dwellings –
ribbon
woven
out of mere six impossibles:
a faint sound of feline footfall,
a woman’s beard,
a mountain’s roots,
a bear’s sinews,
breath of a fish 
and
bird’s spittle…

They say
Gleipnir, the open one,
will resist him.

© Nat Hall 2015

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Gleipnir

 

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

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Find out more about Joanna, John and Nat:

Joanna Lee

the-tenth-muse.com

 https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

John Mansell

https://twitter.com/JohnMansell1

Nat Hall

nordicblackbird.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/nordicblackbird

 

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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.

.

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