Tag Archives: Ross Beattie

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 3/4 The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

27 May

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

.

 Muspelheim

(the realm of fire)

Featuring:

Shirley Golden, Ross Beattie

and Karin Heyer

 

 Battling Infernos

by Shirley Golden

.

All summer the fires seethe out of control. Lauren’s been reading the books her father loved as a teen. She’s at an age when Judgement Day can seem poetic.

Danny hastened to the call out first thing; he’s in the thick of it with his unit, fighting the inferno. Before he left, he told us, sit tight. It’d never spread this far. Pollution sweeps in wave upon wave of heat, more intense each summer. No more factor fifty. Cover up, is the current advice. Air conditioning pumps into house after house.

I aim the remote at the TV as Lauren bursts in.

“Leave the news on. It’s coming this way, isn’t it?” She sits beside me. “Has Dad called?”

I shake my head. “If something had happened, we’d have heard,” I say. I hope. I stare at the screen. The blaze consumes the pine forest, eating its way through the landscape, leaving a stream of dense, dark smoke, and ash where once wildlife and a scattering of houses nestled. Ranks of dotted fire-fighters are speckled ants across the ground.

“Ragnorok,” Lauren breathes. “The giants in Norse mythology called fire, ‘Hungry Biter’. Did you know that?”

“It’s not the end of the world, love,” I say and attempt a smile. For some it will be.

“S0 why does it feel like it?” she says, not taking her eyes from the screen.

“Your father should never have given you those books, with those stories.”

Lauren didn’t have Danny’s practical nature that kept him from stressing about each fresh blaze. She took after my mother: artistic, complex, prone to worry.

“They don’t frighten me,” she says.

But they do me. I shrug. “It’s just stories, Lauren,” I say.

“Myths,” she says. “The realm of fire where Surt stands guard with his sword that shines brighter than the sun, a place where only those born to it can pass.”

I didn’t want to think about it. “We should pack some things,” I say. “Just in case.”

“I’ll get the carrier and food for Rusty.” She stands up.

Rusty is her orange and white Netherland Dwarf.

“Yes,” I say and I have to stop myself from telling her to hurry.

She lingers at the door. “The realm of fire,” she breathes. “Dad says it’s a part of nature. Without it, no sun, no stars.”

.

 

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Through Words

by Ross Beattie

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This land of fire holds the secrets I long to know.
To watch the wolf rip the life from my throat, to see this perfect end.
To be touched by the flames as I become what waits beyond the line of belief. 
So tired of the place where the fire meets the ice.
Looking into the coming moments and waiting only for freedom.
The last way out of this. 
Through words into tomorrow. 

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MP3 to come

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Blood-Snake

by Karin Heyer

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To begin with there was fire and ice
and there was a universe,
in this universe there was a realm
and in this realm
there was the land of fire,
where Surt,
the fire god stood guard
at its very gates,
beheld a shining sword
that gathered sparks across
the moon’s hall
that became stars
and shone over pending,
desolate destruction.

He set one foot,
one foot only,
onto the rainbow bridge,
his bold flaming blood-snake
held up high,
defending the powers
of volcanic, furious fires.
Ready for the fight,
the cruel blood-snake was dancing,
inflicted hurt to many a man,
holding tight to its punishing power.
Raging Ragnarök ,
cold killing,
might meeting might,
clashing blade on blade.
After this endgame,
amazing Yggdrasil still stands,
man and woman did remain,
the waters of hope are flowing,
and after that
each man told this tale to the other.

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Translation of the Kennings: moon’s hall = sky
blood-snake = sword

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Find out more about Shirley, Ross and Karin here:

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

twitter.com/shirl1001

Ross Beattie

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps

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As always, thank you for your interest.

 

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

8 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

 

Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Helheim (The Realm through which men must pass to reach Nifelheim)

Featuring:

Lenka Monk, Ross Beattie, Joanna Lee &

Lydia Allison 

 

All angels go to hell

By Lenka Monk

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The gates open.
The beast’s blood dripping muzzle welcomes me.
On my sin flavoured bones the creature can feast,
Along with an offer of my blackened soul.
Who’s the judge and condemns me to this place?
Who writes the rules and decides what is right and what is wrong?
The brave warriors kill their enemy in their thousands and yet they are sitting up in Valhalla, drinking wine for eternity.
Never mind the innocent they slaughtered and called it collateral damage in the name of their Gods.
What God justify killing?!
I have not hurt anyone I have not taken a life.
I only loved.
Maybe wrongly by their standards, but still only loved.
In spite of this terrible place and the suffering, in my mind there’s no doubt.
I would do it all over again, without question, without so much as miniscule pause.
I have lived my life by my rules, not by their misguided sense of righteousness.
So come! Tear at my flesh, tear at my heart, tear at everything that you
find so awfully disgusting about me!
And I shall laugh, for there’s nothing that you can take from me anymore.
I left all that mattered, all that was good and pure somewhere else.
Somewhere you cannot touch.
Somewhere immortal.

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My Helheim

by Ross Beattie

When will the wolf swallow the sun ?
I’m strung out again with another deadline tapping at the shade covered windows. 
Prompts and papers submerge the fragility of the only realm I really know.
I’m trapped here.
Waiting for the night.
Hoping for help to cross the hills with the arrival of darkness. 
But as I wait, the shades will stay tightly drawn. 
The wolf’s scream pierces through my every half attempt to care, as I hide in the isolation. 
I can no longer leave, and nothing inside me desires to free. 
I watch the cracks below the door for the gentle flow of blood. 
As only then will I be safe from these endless winters and the shadow of the trembling tree might stop plaguing my mind. 

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mist

by Lydia Allison

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in the place of misery
of those who died happy. those who felt
the soft lover press on their last breath.

the crawling surface of gjoll
resembles rainfall
the way water seems
to reach up
to break from the moving weight. straining
to join the clearing air.

here. at the end of all
is the source of the wind
that changes life to fire and skeletons and ash.
sighs through the sweeping
changing wall of fog.

the breeze carries to the graves of grey souls
and hits on the doors of the living
like cold palms. like
the desperate man who only wants
to come home.

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The sybil’s lyric

 by Joanna Lee

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We have lingered far too long
in the land of these dead, buried
beneath roots of returning sadness,
longing for a new start, fair and green,
for that which is hidden
to disappear in the rivermud of April,
for autumn to be born again.

The despair grows quiet and hungry
and damp, so down and to the north
beside a bend in the river of knives,
under a blue back-lit moon I weigh my heart
and lay myself to wait for the end of days
when the watchman of the giants
hunches to tune his harp.

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Find out more about Lenka, Ross and Lydia here:

Lenka Monk

Contact ArtiPeeps

Ross Beattie

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Lydia Allison

lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

Joanna Lee

the-tenth-muse.com
https://twitter.com/la_poetessa

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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

,

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

22 Jan

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 Vanaheim

Featuring:

Ross Beattie, Lydia Allison and Karin Heyer

 

Vanaheim

by Ross Beattie

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I’m just like her, I need the wolves, the life of the mountain crawling through my veins. 
But he’ll never stay beside her this far from his precious sea.
Why can he only love at the waters edge? 
Can he not see the passion flowing through her in the hills ? She could love him like no other if he can only bring himself to touch her skin beneath the fire red moon among the wildness of the forest. 
She knows she’ll sink below the tide if she stays there beside him, so she must return alone to the trees, far from his precious Vanaheim.  
Back to her land of thunder. 

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MP3 TO COME

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Thrymheim

 by Lydia Allison

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In the mornings the rocks glisten
like the sick, the dying
soaked in the night. I rise early
run my hand along the moisture of giant walls –
swelled drops catching yellow light

I raise it to my mouth
taste the nothing taste
pure water
I expect salt,
the minerals of my world

but remind myself
this is not the way things are
here, the hard forms move slowly
over years. Mostly unreachable
almost untouchable.

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Thrymheim was the abode of Þjazi, a jötunn, located in Jötunheimr.

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock

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Nóatún

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I don’t like the madness,
the movement makes me sick, my sweat,
nothing, salt in the air, my skin stings.
The taste – tears – dries my mouth to sand. He says it becomes me,
this light. I know. I feel it.

 

Nóatún is the home of the Njord

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock

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Freedom of Speech

by Karin Heyer

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Just beyond the sound is

talk, talk, talk,

babble, humming,

buzzing like a persistent bee.

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The gods in Asgard

debate, they argue.

The gods in Vanaheim respond,

they buzz and hum.

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Let the precious mead of poetry flow,

ponder the sense of cruel fight,

which is nought

in most cases

.

but not all…

continue the winged buzz

shun raging Ragnarök.

only a rainbow

.

can connect

restore

the word

the talk and babble.

 

MP3 TO COME

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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 Ross, Lydia and Karin here

Ross Beattie

blackpoemblues.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

Lydia Allison

 lydiaallison.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

Karin Heyer

Contact ArtiPeeps. 

 

As always, thank you for your interest.

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Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’ 2/5′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

20 Nov

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:

Shirley Golden, John Mansell, Lydia Allison, Ross Beattie

 

Yggdrasill Groans

by Shirley Golden

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So here am I: ancient, wise and eternal. Rooted in the heart of Asgard, I channel into lower realms. Above, my canopy extends as a shield for all creation. Always was and is and will be, so they say. You might imagine that one of my standing would claim attention and be heeded. If only. Ra-ta-tap, ra-ta-tap: paws scurry along bark and branch from source to crown, conducting a berserk exchange. Together. Apart. Deep in the soil, Nidhogg’s scales abrade my knotted foundations. His teeth rip and tear, keen to unearth. Deer and harts snack on my shoots before I have time to unfurl. I’m gnawed and chewed upon, hung from, and tapped for sweet knowledge. But it’s never enough. Trouble is the gods aren’t so gifted to keep calm, listen or reflect.

Look at him, running around with his stunted hammer, trying to wield notions of equality, and him a god. Granted, he has a stout heart and likes to keep things in order, but why oh why can he never grasp when he’s being tricked by those frost giants? And the Allfather with his all-seeing eye? Pah! I mean, how often does He neglect to observe the rascal’s antics? Time and again the shape-changer creates chaos, and with his wheedle words slithers out of predicaments, slippery as a fish. Will they never learn? How many times can one make amends with ill-gotten gifts? I blame the eye. Sacrificed for wisdom, but He failed to appreciate the value of depth perception.

Is that harsh? I’m old, too old and cranky. If it wasn’t for the Norns and their care, I’d have rotted long ago. I tire of the gods and their games. It’s all act, act, act; treks to other realms, tests and trials. Who’s the toughest or the swiftest? I do my best to give sound counsel but I’m unconvinced that they hear me. All they sense is a susurration of leaves, lifted by the breeze, from which they seize a sketchy message and thunder ahead, regardless.

The wind gusts his ice-breath and my joints creak and moan, but I’ve seeds to sow and trust that one day they’ll take. Understand that I’ve considered on countless occasions what I might say (if only I could articulate their words, and if only they’d be still and mark my warnings). And the best advice I could offer?

“Whatever you do, don’t listen to Loki.”

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Yggdrasil

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Asgard

by John Mansell

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I

Slaked emptied the meaded-horns.
The soothsayer’s runes yield their redden field.
The smoke coil-feast entwining the bowed heads of Long Serpents
bobbing with rimmed-eyed-red.
The feast for slaughter to wed the lost to death.

Grim battle carrion shredded bannered.
The disjointed stride of deed beneath the beak.
Splashed vivid and dripping the echoes of dawn.
War hounds draped in the grim spoils between the broken weaponry.
The shattered bodies sprawl by jewel tipped shaft.

II

By Bifrost span the heralded torn from earthly womb.
The golden shrill shouts of the choosers of the slain.
Renewal of strength, rearmed and armoured
by the wall of spears and the shielded roof.
Aesir-dwellers in brine enactment of that perfect fate.

The daily spectacle before Geri and Freki by their Master’s feet;
by Huguinn and Muninn at the godly ear.
And man’s desire to repeat his seething deeds,
rehealed and re-aled beneath the folds of Frigga’s sky,
reveals no boy returning from whence only men filed.

III

Far below, the earthly funeral lights the dimming horizon.
Adorning glory. The warriors muster and poets sing.
The brutal ferocity glad against the breast of night.
And in humble earth-wood home the hero’s woman
beside another who soon will taste the meaded-horn.

And all men by their camped fires recite the lists of dead.
Who line abreast four score by ten the many rounded doors.
The quieting scene. The poet eyes the distant moraine.
And hums in rhythm and fighting rhyme
His battle hymn to those aloft in eternal praise.

 

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Poem read by Nicky Mortlock on John’s behalf.

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they never said

by Lydia Allison

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dying is travelling
a light-year in a second
completely alone,
in a sense you have never felt before
not in dreams or worship
or bleak nights.

I was part of the writhing mass
the storming spreading attack
part of the dance between me and that
man that other warrior that superior clan
I was part of that
company, closer than everything
and when I look back
his face was the face of my wife.

did he look away out of shame
for my weakness shame
for his own life shame
for how tenderly my body leaned to his blade.

here is the look of oil on water
like heaven’s reflection you can touch.
as a child I chased rainbows
made idols from glass refractions,
stooped in the road.

I see thickly, this space shimmers with moving light
violet edging faces I know
and I mourn my rainbow
revising memories of blood
the sun, fresh leaves, and sky,
pure darkness, and white light of ash
and I weep clear tears
laced with the pigments of the dead.

they never said it’s just like living,
seeing one colour
and searching for your own heartbeat.
and when you go it’s more like
everybody you’ve known is falling
away, leaving you to grieve in morbid hope that they
would not, that they would stay.

 

Lydia on her poem: ‘One of the things that intrigued me most throughout the reading was the idea of light a rainbow/bifrost, acting as a bridge to Asgard’.

MP3 to come.

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Asgard

by Ross Beattie

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Stand beside me brother and together we can begin again.
Only through death can we break the existence in which we suffer.
We will wash our exhausted hands in the blood filled rivers, before growing strength again to walk fearlessly through the doubt.
Will we ever know if we are too afraid to try ?
I see the palaces in my mind, huge hallways and gold walled rooms, beauty in our control from the sacrifices we choose to make.
Wisdoms waits at the end of the battle, and even though we cannot see what lays ahead we mustn’t turn our heads now from fear as that will make this an ending instead of the beginning that it stands to be.
So stand strong beside me and we will cover the ground in flesh, and build every single mountain from the bones we will rip away from the deathly cold that controls all we see.
And from there we can create all that I know is possible.

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You can read the overview of Asgard here

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Find out more about Shirley, John, Lydia and Ross:

 

Shirley Golden

shirleygolden.net

https://twitter.com/shirl1001

John Mansell

https://twitter.com/JohnMansell1

Lydia Allison

http://lydiaallison.wordpress.com/

https://twitter.com/LydiaAllison13

Ross Beattie

http://blackpoemblues.weebly.com/

https://twitter.com/blackpoemblues

 

Watch out for more Asgard poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 

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