Thursday, October 27, 2022

Unflappable Flags at our Majesty’s Funeral

A bunting of flags billow above us trimmed in blue.

Below, march mourners for their dead Majesty.

While some folks belabour with the press over her bad news, 

And some folks flap in fear of their future, royal free,

Those blue flags still act unflappable to all issues, 

We triumph at her topple-down her pedestal,

after all, her Majesty never paid her dues.

We taunt her mourners fiercely at the funeral,

as their faces tear up like melted glue.

Our faces flush feeling so free, frisky and full.

Tuesday, October 18, 2022

Bragi the Poet’s Mystical Meditative Bliss

I am Bragi, the Skaldic songbird.

I love musing moraines and misty glens.

When free, I brew bottles of Bokkol ale,

or sleigh through Seim with my reindeer herd.


I crafted many drafts this morning,

for I am a poet who presses on.

I usually ink all my instincts,

but by this afternoon, I’m yawning.


I rest on my Rya and draw in air.

Up I rise to the sunny Scandi skies.

Sun goddess Sol rides me in her chariot.

The clear bright air blows away my cares.


She slows Avark and Alsvid her swift steeds.

Their iron bells twinkle and temper their heat.

Sol's still charming since borne a wee sparkling.

Me and Sol sip goblets of honeyed mead.


Sol swings me to sky high Himinbjorg cliffs

I hail to Heimdall, the ‘whitest of the gods’

His gold tooth shimmers like the brightest sparklers

Wise old Heimdall pacifies Gods’ petty tiffs.


He embraces us with his warming arms.

He guides us through his gorgeous rainbow bridge,

I hum with his horn’s mellow melody.

It carries away chaos and brings me calm.


This bridge is built like my blissful breathing.

For now it stays and gently sways as we wade.

But the day it flutters or fades away,

will be when I’m sad and grieving. 


Sol sinks down to her heavenly home.

I too land under a magic ash tree.

My heart thrums with outmost happiness,

below the sumptuous, shining loam.

Now, my veins flow with tree’s water white,

my senses awaken, my pulses quicken.

Just like Odin after 9 dire days of pray,

I can bloom despite lightening and blight.


Up high, moonbeam steeds dash and flash their manes.

Mani moon god whisks me into heaven's wind.

Into the gleaming cosmos we gallop deeper.

I hold my breath, hoping our wend never wanes.


Up here, Northern Lights explode and enthral.

Hot pink balloons zoom through the inky blue.

Streamers dance and dazzle my eyes.

A verdant cat beats a violet ball.


Mani heeds Hati hound and speeds his drive,

the colours blur to nebulous nothingness.

When Mani swerved away from Hati's claws,

I exhale down the haze, feeling so alive.


I inhale and soar to spectral heights.

My worries evaporate with wispy clouds.

Up here, my heart hums with harmony,

free from my daily problems and plights.


I laze, and let out some more steam.

I descend into Olav Peak like a dewdrop.

I let its warm waters bubble away my troubles.

I love this peaceful and perfect daydream.


As I savour the steam, like reindeer broth,

it tosses me in a Bustard’s butter wing.

I whoop as we flap to newer wonders.

I refuse to drop from this feathery froth.


Like rya’s udders, my rapture is swelling,

I feel at bliss in my butter eye middle,

I want my dreams to dally on longer.

I dread hurtling to my wee dwelling.


I strive to sail past stormy seas galore,

I dream to dash deeper through verdant valleys.

I still wish to gaze into fjords’ glassy waters,

read its reflections of drowned-out skalds some more.


I beg to fly with eagles beyond fir tree fronds.

I still want to ski in the snowy Scandes,

but I should hatchet my hopes away too soon,

and my butter should melt to a greasy pond.

My Next Door North Indian Drummer.

Dear noisy neighbour drumming next door. Why punch your drum with such madness and might? Every morning you get me yawning. Could your thump...