I wander in a Christmas market,
deeper into pitch-black darkness.
Rain ripples across the ground,
where the booth bulbs cast a chain of lights.
Wending in the wet like a bracelet,
glowing gold like grains of wheat,
it gives enough heat to warm my heart.
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.
I muse moraines and misty glens,
as Brenda, the songbird of Seim.
I steep rosebay tea, out by the rocks.
I sip tea and sing with all my friends.
I mused many drafts this morning,
for I'm a poet who presses on.
I always ink all my instincts,
But now it's evening, and I’m yawning.
I lie on my Rya, and inhale,
up I rise, to Scandi skies.
Sol's gold carriage holds me safe,
she sings to me her timeless tale.
Her fire and strength I so admire.
When she started as a wee spark,
she shot out from hot Muspelheim,
that scathing pit of fear and fire.
This songbird here just so reveres,
how Sol vanquishes Skoll the wolf.
From all his snarls, and bloodstained claws,
Sol whisked away and disappeared.
I savour Sol’s cold, spicy mead.
It cools my throat and warms my heart.
We 'wade through' 'heaven's' rainbow bridge,
Me, goddess Sol and her swift steeds.
These Scandi skies, those rainbow glows,
Those frosted fronds, this heady mead,
I hope my soul stays warm and whole,
I hope my onward journey grows.
I respire and rise, in a daze.
Oh, how rosebays sparkle in these airs!
My, how they whirl with all those winds!
I yearn to stay in this Rosebay haze.
Their rosy colours, their fruity flavours,
colouring my life, devouring my strife.
My rapture swells like the Rosebay tea,
I steep back home, and slowly savour.
Reluctantly, I do release,
and land beneath 'a tall, green tree'.
'Showered with your shining loam',
my spirit sings with so much peace.
O'er your mounds, great Odin prayed,
nine days and nights for wisdom's light.
What more lores, do your roots store?
Oh mighty tree, please tell me more!
Hello everyone. Thank you for reading this poem, inspired by Norse culture and mythology. I hope you all enjoyed it. I conceived it during a long car ride home.
When inhaling, I imagined skyward scenes such as flying chariots, treetops, rainbows, birds, whirling rosebays and glowing sparks. When exhaling, I imagined grounded scenes such as rosebay fields, rocks, rya rugs, ash trees, lush meadows, and loams.
To clarify, the ‘Songbird of Seim’ is not actually a bird in this poem. The songbird actually refers to a fictional lady poet called Brenda, who lives in Seim. She likes to write poems, steep rich fruity rosebay tea, and catch up with friends in the village. One day, Brenda felt worn out, so she sat on her and starts breathing. As she breathes, she imagines these Nordic gods and places.
My first reference to Norse Mythology shines through Sol, who is the Nordic Sun Goddess, born in Muspelheim. She rides a golden chariot in the sky, like Lord Surya, the Hindu male sun god. In the original Norse mythology, Skoll the wolf devoured poor Sol. However, Brenda worships Sol so much, that she fancies that Sol always defeats Skoll in her dreams.
Read more about Sol (Norse sun goddess) here: https://kids.britannica.com/students/article/Sol-and-Mani/313604
My second reference to Norse mythology glows through the ‘heaven’s’ glowing rainbow bridge Brenda and Sol ‘wades through’. Its original title is Bifrost, a bridge that transports gods from Earth to Asgard (realm of the Gods, such as Thor).
My poem’s line 15 referred to Poem Edda’s two lines below:
Line 8: Shall Thor each day ‘wade through’ – Thor crosses this shimmering bridge every day in the original poem. In my poem, Brenda holds her breath, and crosses it with Sol.
Line 10: For 'heaven's bridge' burns all in flame – This tragedy happened one day, when many gods crossed the bridge in the original poem. However, in my poem's quatrain 8, Brenda dreamt that the rainbow bridge remained whole and unspoilt.
Read more about bilfrost (rainbow bridge) here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bifr%C3%B6st
My third reference to Norse mythology shines through a 'tall tree, showered with shining loam’ near where Sol drops an exhaling Brenda from her chariot. Its original title is Yggdrasil, a sacred, ash tree growing in the middle of Earth, bridging the Nine Worlds, like Muspelheim, and Asgard.
My poem’s line 22-23 referred to Poem Edda’s lines 3-4 describing below:
‘a tall tree, showered with shining loam’.
Read more about Ygdrassil (sacred ash tree) here: https://skjalden.com/yggdrasil/
Brenda prays to stay and listen to more lores from the wise and mighty tree. Does the tree grant her wish, or does it whisk her away to her tired old home?
If you arrived here, thank you so much for reading everything. Right now, Asgard rings in deafening applaud, for your showmanship, strength, and sacrifice. May the Norse Gods bestow their boons upon you.
‘Hello class, I’m Riemann Sphere
I feel so floored to see you here.'
'Now sit tight data and digits,
I’ll subtract numbers who fidget.'
‘I really hope you stay today
and marvel at my spectacle.'
'Please avoid shuffling away,
Your thoughts may be un-integral’
‘Never equate beliefs with facts,
please promise me and sign your pacts.'
‘Sayings are never set in stone.'
'Clyde Divide, turn off your smartphone!’
‘Please quit thrusting Chord Vector-mort,
or I’ll divide your fun free time.’
Hey, you cut my winning game short!
I almost snapped the chord this time!
‘Urgh, since Clyde carries us away
I’ll deviate to phones, whoo hoo.’
‘My flip-phones died in just 3 days,
while yours live 3 long years boo hoo’.
‘Now let’s finish our great lecture
Hey, halt hectoring Ty, Hector!’
For Hector carried mean whispers,
to wild Boxy’s wily whiskers.
This pair always risk double dares.
Their dares drive them to naughty stairs.
‘Class, all but maths is subjective,
though valid, never objective’.
‘I love how maths is binary,
other subjects seem too blurry'.
'Their theories have lots of blots'.
'Stop daydreaming Boxy plot!'
Hey leave me in Diagon Alley!
There, tally charts never trick me!
Rieman rolled his eyes at her larks,
‘you must plot more charts Box!’, he barks.
‘Though scriptures preach they’re always right,
they cannot serve hipsters, wizards,
or misfits fighting for their rights'.
'Maths wins, through blisters and blizzards!'.
‘Looks of Maths books could be improved
but their sums all stay the same’.
Whoo, I sliced Chord Vectormort Dude!
’Exit that door Clyde, no more games!’
‘Sorry for thrusting y’all that curveball.'
'Now it’s clear 3 plus 1 as 4.’
‘We don’t need to argue or bawl,
we should take sums as truths, not lore. ’
‘Well done to those writing neat notes,
those non-anomalies I dote.’
‘Ty Tangent, I love your workings!
‘Other symbols, please stop shirking!’
HA, TY KISSING RIE’S CURVE AGAIN!!!
buzzed obtuse denominators.
They can’t refrain from causing pain,
to Ty, the smart numerator.
‘A World where all is mutating,
and nothing stays in fine straight lines,
can sometimes feel a bit grating'.
'At least maths cuts clean as white wine.’
‘I love how maths never alters.
I can take them without falters.'
'Free of stomach flutters and frets,
Maths will help us to win all bets.’
Riemann’s speech ends in a full round,
the set’s babbles trespass their bounds.
Rie’s phrases cleanly erases,
as signs jumped to their next phases.
The man sported his black martial arts suit which served to accentuate his fine muscular physique. It was cut open to reveal his amazing abdominals. In the half light, they glimmered a mesmerising milky marble then melted to a softer silvery shade of grey, before finally fading into shadows. The moonlight created an ominous, ombre effect on his upper torso. His blue eyes gazed into the distance, as sharp, steely, and sombre as a sword. His jaw was set in a rigid, unwavering line. He had rippling raven hair, curling down his chiselled features to his broad shoulders.
