Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #2 Earth

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #2 Earth

A stunning new approach to the myths the Vikings loved; enlightening and challenging for the novice and veteran alike.

The Gods and Goddesses of the Nordic Mythos Prose Poems were created following research for Gods Bless Ya!! Rock Opera with Alda and Sigrun Bjork Olafsdottir and a forth-coming book with SigRun Viking Art & Design.

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Earth

The all-bearer, the fruit bringer, she is pathway, she is rain-home, she is nurture, she is plenty, she is earthen-body and she is Nerthus/Earth; Earth. She birthed us, believe her.

Gods come from her and Goddesses became from her

She is born from the oldest of tales and of memories

She came from Night, the first darkness

She is the belief that began all belief

She is Earth

There is nature here and living beauty and plenty

Look also at yourself

for all of your faults and strengths and foibles,

Because you were born from her you monster

There is only one small hope for the children born of Earth

That they care for her.

 

 

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #1 Thor

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #2 Earth

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #3 Night

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #4 Augelmir

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #5 Heimdall

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #6 Eir

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #7 Vili

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #8 Ve

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #9 Siv

 Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #10 Hænir

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #11 Frejya

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #12 the Hyndla Lay

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #13 Freyr

 Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #14 All for the Love of Gerd

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #15 Skaði

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #16 Njörð

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #17 Frigg

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #18 Balder

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #19 Then Balder Was Dead

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #20 Iðun

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #21 Iðun’s Apples

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #22 Sól

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #23 Máni

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #24 Rán

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #25 Hel

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #26 Óðin

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #27 Huggin and Munin

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #28 Loki’s Salmon

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #29 Loki

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #30 Loki’s Monsters

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #31 Týr

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #32 Lay of Hymir

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #33 Wisdom Pool Wonder

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #34 Mimir

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #35 The Power of the Runes

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #36 The Poetry Mead

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #37 Kvasir

 

 

earth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Little Isle; An Illustrated Tale of Faerie – First Draft

The Little Isle; An Illustrated Tale of the Realms of Faerie – this magical collaboration is slowly building towards becoming a publication and will feature these words below with the marvellous artwork of New York-based artist and designer Toni DB. For this first edition you will need to content yourselves with my illustrative scribbles which are in here for fun and to help get the process started. Toni’s illustrations will be appearing increasingly in future drafts as I blog the piece in a few stages of development so you will be able to experience the growth towards being ready for a publisher’s consideration. Wish us well on this exciting adventure.

Please support us by veiwing, liking and most of all sharing wherever you feel it will be appreciated.

 

The Little Isle

Let Snowdrop Fairy flutter,01

A crumbling pixy utter,02

Does no one now believe?

No one now believe

 

Rock troll in mountain melds04

Where elf-lore was upheld03

No longer real belief

Oh, you who once believed

 

Bumbling Hobb is sadly gone005

Where Titania is frowned upon006

Doubters scoff belief

Where doubters scoff belief

 

The fabled ancients say,045

As tall tree people sway,044

You no longer believe

No longer believe

 

Jackie Paper blows007

With Samwise to goodness knows008

The land of disbelieve

Land of disbelieve

 

Eritrea altered course010

White waves leaping horse011

Die as you disbelieve

As you so disbelieve

 

Will o the wisp will splutter,009

Wish Fairy dying stutter,018

Death of belief

Death I believe

 

Dragon-heart,019 Camelot,020 clover021

Flower-painter,012 cobbler,013 prince;014 all over049

In doubt you lost belief

All gone, oh yes, believe

 

Sleepy hill022 or hidden meadow023

Timeless tower024 or treasured bower025

Forgotten to believe

Too modern to believe045

 

The turn of page,026 the nod of dream032

The whirl of pool,031 the trickster’s scheme033

Are all beyond belief

Belief beyond we leave045

 

Let dandelion fly,027 or white fluff sail028

Let all cream curdle,029 each story fail030

Die without you; disbelieve

You do not now believe

 

No stones open,034 no princess dance035

A swan is just a swan,036 a frog will not advance037b

A foolish past believe037a

They used to all believe047

 

Go sweep the moon,038 go skip the primrose039

Smash the tooth,040 the lost morose017

Forget all once believed

To dwindle we believe035

Dwindle we believe009

Dwindledwindle box

 

For those of you still wishing015

The fey are all diminishing017

No matter how you weaveknot dragon to wash

No matter how you weaveknot to wash.jpg

 

Or does a little glimmer stubbornsea four castle

Provide a tiny isle to live on046

In the way that you perceive?016

In the way that you perceivesea four oh and a cloud

 

So still the faerie weaveweave box

In the way that you believe

In the way that you believe

Believebelieve box

 

Say, faerie live today

In the way that I believe

In the way that I believe

The way

I believei believe box

 

 

 

Adrian Spendlow

 

Toni; the images are just to fill the spaces for now, I don’t expect they will inspire too often. One thing I realise I have not been too good at is the ‘recipient’; like I’ve done someone blowing the dandelion but not having the dream or looking disbelieving or imagining the white horse etc.

I have very little idea as yet on page layout or font type or font integration.

 

Footnote: I have been a year thinking of a suitable tale to match the magical work which is to come; I am tremendously excited and fittingly thrilled.

 

 

 

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #1 Thor

 Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #1 Thor

A stunning new approach to the myths the Vikings loved; enlightening and challenging for the novice and veteran alike.

The Gods and Goddesses of the Nordic Mythos Prose Poems were created following research for Gods Bless Ya!! Rock Opera with Alda and Sigrun Bjork Olafsdottir and a forth-coming book with SigRun Viking Art & Design.

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Thor

Thunder hammerer laughs as lightning floods from forelock blasting rock, ice and fire; elements of those enormous ones who he shall shock

This red head of his has dazzling flash; in his eyes you will quale and fall

Thorsday’s child Thor Odinsson God of order

And as a child he slew giants. With Mjolnir now he slays many more

Ever-returner ever strikes

Even Hymir’s many-headed monsters die at a distance

before their masses even approach

Call for his strength,

he who could catch and grapple Jormungand

Invoke Thor in name of law and stability

What is right is right

Be noble, he champions you

Farm free, be poetic, rise as a warrior and rule royally

Thor is here for you

Feed him he laughs as he troughs, whole hogs and vast barrels

He can roar a red rage and calm to laugh in an instant

Quick tempered, quick to calm, quick to laugh, quick!

Above all quick

It might possibly be said he’s a bit slow on the uptake

But it will only be said once.

Depend on his strength; the greatest of the Gods

The greatest of the Gods
See him stand central of Freyr and Odin in Uppsala

Greatest

Call on him,

Call on his hammer

He can bless your bonding with his dwarf-forged weapon

Your bonding, your birth, your pastures, your union

Thundering coming, laughing and racing, he storms above us

Chariot wheels and humming rumbling hammer

Thor has the weather at hand

In control as he can

Yet he is in chaos as the whetstone man

Lightning-head fires out sending weather elements everywhere

Call for fair weather if you are fair

Strong winds if you fly to be righteous aid

Thor bring us fruits of the earth

Brings the acorn for our livestock

Cross this God and even a look from his eye will cause you to quail

Thor the hunter, wide-wanderer says what he sees

Protecting his bride and his snow-white daughter

Seeking out the nine hundred headed with his hammer

Protect by striding outward

Live in good order, grow from the earth,

catch from the waters,

defend the weak and the righteous

Be Thor

 

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #1 Thor

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #2 Earth

 Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #3 Night

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #4 Augelmir

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #5 Heimdall

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #6 Eir

 Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #7 Vili

Norse Gods and Goddesse Prose Poems – #8 Ve

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #9 Siv

 Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #10 Hænir

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #11 Frejya

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #12 the Hyndla Lay

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #13 Freyr

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #14 All for the Love of Gerd

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #15 Skaði

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #16 Njörð

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #17 Frigg

Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #18 Balder

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #19 Then Balder Was Dead

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #20 Iðun

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #21 Iðun’s Apples

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #22 Sól

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #23 Máni

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #24 Rán

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #25 Hel

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #26 Óðin

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #27 Huggin and Munin

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #28 Loki’s Salmon

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #29 Loki

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #30 Loki’s Monsters

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #31 Týr

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #32 Lay of Hymir

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #33 Wisdom Pool Wonder

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #34 Mimir

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #35 The Power of the Runes

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #36 The Poetry Mead

Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #37 Kvasir

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thor

 

The Story of Thanksgiving

 

Thanksgiving, made possible by only one word…

By only one man.

Those pilgrims they landed they tried and they struggled. Nothing worked. They really suffered. Nothing grew, all the seasons were wrong. They came down with all of the things that were just like at home but different, different enough to do them real harm. They even tried hunting, but even that was other than they had known. This was a new country where God had made things other than they had believed would be possible. As many laid sick and indeed dying, they gave it one more try. A small band went out looking for game and they met with something totally unexpected. This is the word. This is the message. America (Americas) listen. This is the word. “Welcome.” This is what they heard.

How could that small band of travelling originals know one word of English, “Welcome” but they did so. They cautiously walked towards the struggling settlers and spoke the one word of English they knew “Welcome” all this way from the homeland.

This was the moment which gave the Americas English. This is the reason that as new settlers arrived they heard English. All along the coasts were settlements where it was the language and new arrivals from Germany, Poland, Spain, The Ukraine, from the known world heard and adapted.

This was the word of Squanto.

For that welcoming band (that small ‘nation’) led the poor settlers to another tribe but their own. They took them to a ‘nation’ where Squanto lived.

It was Squanto who took them in, who travelled with them, who settled with them for a while. He taught them how life was different here. They gathered seeds because of him. They learned the lore. The lore of this land the Americas. And they thrived.

In years to come, they would be all along the coast, coastal settlement to coastal settlement; welcoming the new arrivals in English, just like the tribal band before them, “Welcome” “Welcome” “Welcome”

This was the doing of one person, one person on this earth; Squanto.

Many, many years before, other strangers had come, they had come to take, and they took him. Squanto the slave had to work; had to work on an alien vessel, doing alien things. Hard they treated him, and hard he worked. Then came the time that they traded him. To yet another alien vessel, in an alien world, at an alien port.

From there he sailed with this new crew to another world. To a port, as he learned they called them. To the port of London. More beings in one glimpse than he had ever seen in his life.

But he saw his life ahead of him and he jumped ship. He left. He escaped. He survived. He learned the language. English.

Time went by and he had what he needed to know. The ships that landed here could go anywhere. So he asked and he asked, and one of these ships said yes. The captain agreed, yes he was going to the ‘new’ world and yes he would employ him.

All Squanto required in payment was nourishment. Nourishment and hope.

The journey was long. And it was hard.

The shore, at last, was before him. The captain was true to his word. Squanto was free.

He was not bitter. He had learned. And he knew one word more than any other.

Long was his walk, it took him years, but he got down that coast, till he started to recognise where he was…

And was he welcomed, he who had come back from the dead, all these years gone.

As an older wiser man, he taught all around him. The only way to survive in this ‘new’ larger world was to welcome. To welcome.
He taught this word to all who came near him.

And those settlers, all those years onwards were welcome.

All along the coast of the Americas his one true word echoed. “Welcome.” “Welcome.” “Welcome.”

Welcome.

Be thankful and be welcoming.

For this is Thanksgiving.welcome

 

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Dream Village of the Viking Lore

Dream Village of the Viking Lore

I never imagined the darkness of this wooden house when I first dreamed myself here; in this night now of being here I never expected such a dread as there is – frozen to the edge of a bench bed. No sleep. No waking. No listening. I know the sounds are there and I know which beings reside in my mind.

It is morning. I am spinning from the bed and bouncing towards the new light. Hrimfaxi’s dew wetting my feet as I drop clothes down to the waist and drench myself in the mountain’s waters. They well back up naturally from this man-drilled hole. Dark depths echo in the torrent I bathe with. I am awake in this ancient life force like I never have been in wakefulness. Beings sent me these feelings and I am braver in a day.

I shall leave the embrace of being a Viking in the Viking hut in this Viking market in this Viking village in this Viking history. Leave the sense of becoming for a while and go dress up as a person. Adrian is going fishing, a strange mix I have planned of this dream in this moment. Not being a fisher before I have planned yes, for in the store back in the real Scarborough was a telescopic rod and reel which would fit in a suitcase easily; the collection of additions life-collected by my brother-in-law who has neither never fished either are with me in this adventure too. With thanks to him I pick up my knapsack.

I have walked this riverside path of the steep-walled fjord before in a realer reality and in this there was more light then than in imagined semi-anxious realities of now. Then I had walked high from the surface along cliff edges and looked down. There was a ripple in a circle as if a fish had jumped, this was a powerful ring however, it had a white water wave as a wall, ever growing across the waters, until the whole circular wave was as wide as the wide river itself. There was something large down there. There was somewhere very deep where something lived and breathed. There was a very real creature in here.

I headed there now, if one looks back at this point they see along the line of the slender river with its clearer shallower waters that feeds these deeps that there in this world and not so is the serpent being. It drifts in and out and weaves in and among and looks at me from its slow journey down wall-side way and knows I recall its visitation to my mind. When a winged serpent speaks inside your brain you recall well its words that I would be safe, safe within my very real fear; well-deserved fear would serve me well but I should not yield to it for I would return from my adventures with success in my heart. “Go young soul,” the wyrm bellows, “Go hunting deep.”

So it was that modern man me journeyed some way from sight of dwellings, away for sounds of morning, away from this dreamed up reality of Viking worlds and before anything of man could sail its large journey up these fjord waters I had them all to myself – and it was fearful.

Others have clambered down this narrow rocky cutting to be closer to the waters and others had seen the depths. I was in timelessness and sat upon a rock.

I decided to dredge-fish, this was a term I probably had dreamt up, but I wanted something big. I telescoped out my compact fishing rod for the first time and the line spun up along its length as it stretched and hung there ready. I drew out quite a length and fixed a sizable lead weight to the line. Then at the very end I tied a lure; a large plum creature of rubber with its curled barbed teeth of hooks – sizeable indeed. I was after something large. Something fat. For I had myself to feed and I had people to greet and welcome. For serpent whispers had foretold that I would return.

I held on to this prediction for the fears of my imagination were welling up from before time and threatening to become real for me.

I cast. There was a dull thrum as if Nidhogg’s entourage were driving the air with their wings. Ploop. The line was far from me and it drilled down. When I felt that it was at mid-depth I started to steadily wind. The strong weight held the line at this depth and the lure was moving.

There was movement, there was impeding darkness, it was a gloom of age and ancientness not of anything of difference between day or night. This was a thickening of the air a density of existence and I was engulfed.

Substantial silhouettes were forming in the drowning flow and things were coming up towards me. I felt a presence behind me. Huge stretched high-eared shapes were mixing around each other and lankily looking down towards me in awareness. Live stone was thumping the path and filling all senses. They were right behind me. The water broke.

Mantatee creatures were milling in the water, filling all space. In my mind they were climbing and changing as they rose out. Bellowing painfully to the ears and opening toothed maws these Draugen-beings were filling my awareness. The stone things pressed from behind. There was one short moment of life left to me in which both sides considered their actions and their reactions to each other when snap the rod twitched suddenly and dove downwards. Another reality of dream was with us; the catching of the fat thing from the depths.

I was alone in my battle, and battle it was, I feared I may lose the rod, or the fish at least.

I had to let it swim, let the reel spin. I slowed it, held it, reeled it, let it spin. I slowed it, held it, reeled it, let it spin. As I tired I felt the beast did.

Oh how the air burst as it was filled with fish. The thoughts of the presence of other beings was dispelled and I was along in a battle of death.

It was round and tall and fat and golden green in a pale sheen. Even its exhausted flips in the air were almost enough to pull me from the rock. I flipped back and it shot over the rocks to land in a hollow a mere rock away from the waters. Thrashing it was. With line still attached I dripped my rod to the bank and hurriedly put on my strong thick gloves.

I grasp its gill. My Njardar knife is in my hand and I stab downwards, the neck is pieced, I twist down and sever the head.

As I got the thing I consider using these remains for deeper fishing bait to catch an eel to later jelly. I decide this is for another journey.

Partway back along the ledge I think to stop and hide the thing. I return in Viking garb and travel back to the village with it hanging over my shoulder.

There is a crowd round as I fillet. Half is hung over the fire to smoke and the other two fillets are in a pan to cook.

Will there be more I am asked from the crowd. I tell them, as I also tell you, that yes. The bees crowd around my head and whisper darkly that I must share with you all again and tell you of bees and beings and life in the dream of being a Viking in a Viking hut in a Viking village.

For it will come to pass.

 

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