Write as if you were someone else – real or imagined.
Even the Dead Sing
Odin be praised,
I have found the here and now, the crux, the roots
and I utter a charm, in search of welcome.
All-Father, sip of my devotion
from the many chalices left
strewn upon far away fields.
In glory and song and joyful lust,
we fought, a host of men until
only I was standing.
I looked for the Tree, the Well, the Door…
I wandered far amid the snowy plains
devoid of growth, of life
until I found Your beacon, Your holly tree
with leaves obscenely verdant, pulsing
among the land shrouded in snow, silence…
Then I cast my spear skyward,
crying out in ragged, fervent voice a dedication.
What god received my thrust, I do not know,
but lo, Alfadr, blood fell from the sky!
Fell in fulsome showers
like roses, like lightning, like gemstones
of ruby, carnelian and garnet spilling from a mighty fist.
Twas then I saw the one-eyed raven,
a spot of glossy black
hidden ‘mongst the dark green branches,
its avid eye, red-rimmed and ever-piercing,
judging my soul, found my secret…
For I I…
am a woman,
yes… I roar, WOMAN!
And I have worshiped you
since, as a mere jente-barn,
I watched my brothers learn the warrior’s dance,
their spears flashed like fishes.
Oh how I longed to caress the bright silver!
For many seasons, I have cavorted in battle,
sung amongst slaughter and watched smoke rise,
lightly towards Your hall. I whisper another charm.
Am I worthy?
I beg you, Open the door to Your hall, Odin
and let me stay with those who have fed You already,
let me bang mead-cups with my brother-warriors
and sing raucous odes to Your honor,
for even the dead sing!
Let me spin tales of gruesome combat, of fell skirmishes
and of argent spears tipped in the finest claret.
My heart, stilled in these frozen lands,
will beat in fearsome joy to be einherjar, at Your side.
And I shall be happy, forever in Your presence.
(c) jp 4-9-12
(jente-barn loosely means girl-child in Norweigan)
(einherjar – those that have died in battle and are brought to Valhalla by valkyries.)