Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #26 Óðin
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.
In Gold helm and mead-in-hand how he laughs at your struggle fighter. Be brave in front of him, Óðin One-eye All-father shall call upon you. Giant of a magician he rose up in power to be older than all which came before. He sees everything about you.
Read on if you want to be horrified, hesitate if you wish to admire him. Óðin who was not even a God. He who was born later than many Gods. All-Father. He who was Treasure-seeker. This is the power that captured all powers who failed in the end for he foresaw that end and knew he had failed us. There was nothing he could do but die. This is the very whisperer who returned as a song. A love song.
Yes, his very runes and songs live on and they bring peace and plenty. They make wishes of you that you yearn to wish for. Hear not after his death; his resurrection, the songs of a warrior. There is warmth and healing here and there is little else in the end.
Vili and Ve marched with him as he set the boundaries and threw the stars. They will have been with him as he climbed the great tree.
He looked around and pledged to build a city.
He knew there were powers out there and he wanted them. All wisdom would be his. He would gather and father and foster until he had a God-home here. In the walls he calls Asgard are all of the treasures a God needs.
Apples, and golden hair, high seats and spears, Ravens and far-seeing ones and seeresses of great magic, in his head are the runes and the wisdom and the songs. Words are more powerful than magical things it would seem. He had it all. And the powerful ones to follow him.
He had the gift of foresight and foresaw the end. There was nothing he could do in the end. At the end.
Rune. Song. Word.
A troublesome being he adopted saw to it and twisted everything.
No matter though. Worlds end. All nine worlds end. The God who has one eye he will rise again. In song. In his songs and his brothers, but most of all in song. For he gained the runes of healing and safety and prosperity and peace. They are his.
Call on him. Ask for them from him. Worship for them if you will. For he is the All-father of the tomorrow and we sing what he gathered as magic.
Rune. Song. Word.
Strong Will Be Here
He started us before he climbed, he and his brothers. He watched us and became our God of Battle. Twisting and shaping at whim. For we are only down here to go to him. Live to die. Live to fight. Live to die in his Valhalla for we will walk again and fight anew at Ragnarok. Gird well my friends for you are measured in the eye. The one eye.
Valkyries bring and he watches. For he sits with Saga at the pool and long sees the reflection of the wolf that chases the moon in ripples there as he drinks and thinks and ponders what he has seen.
Here at Sokkvabekk; sinking floor, with Saga here, bring drink in golden goblets ever more.
Bring fighters for me now. Let them adorn themselves and harmless fight yet feel the pain. For they will at last live again and I must see what strength they still attain.
Entertain me he thinks and it is so. For Bragi poet brings for him the famed, the leader and the poet. The strong will be here.
Be a seer like a shaman, send out your spirit. Ride in shapes or on Sleipnir. It is an ongoing fun and a way of being alive to ride high. He sees everything and still wishes to be surprised. Was a woman one moment, so Loki says. As an evil doer, a usurper, as a burning victim of a wife’s won argument. He rides and he flies, at a whim.
When all of the drama it ends and he can see the end, he may well be glad of the end, for there is no more than being everything, and once done everything, why go for more.
He rose high as a song; a whispered song.
In the meantime he has a spear. Gungnir, it starts wars, it spreads fear. It can be lent to a leader to turn things for him. It can be thrown at an interloper. Óðin laughs to think of his spear.
His wide-brimmed hat and his fine blue cloak.
His being a serpent.
Oh Yggdrasill of two words, ‘terrible one’ and ‘horse’ – Óðin is terrible yes and you tree are the horse he rides.
He hung on a tree, he suffered a spear, he plucked out an eye, he laid on a fire, he searched long and wide, he looked and he saw; he saw death in the end.
Ah those ravens of beauty how lovely, so faithful.
He lives in the land of the slain in contention to her who lives in the land of the slain. He is Óðin.
Yes, Valhalla is near, it is vast and gold-bright, and each day he chooses from the slain.
Then we feast.
He who would Blood Eagle, he who succeeds without Iðun, who would favour one dwarf brother over another, he who loves poetry, he who throws eyes to the nightsky, he who gives laughter, he who Fenrir shall swallow, he who grieves for ever for Balder, he who summons berserkers at need, he who will ride again, he who whispered, he mixed blood with Loki..
Loki gave him a horse that could travel to Hel and back, think on that.
Nine be the number of songs, twice times nine be the number of runes, nine be the nights, nine be the ride to the underworld, nine be the rings, nine.
Hel visitor. Raised Angraboda. Caused war and the ripping of flesh at a whim to make Freyja the Goddess of Death.
He who was Od.
Never trust the words of a woman they change with the moon
Men; the fairer our words the falser our thoughts
Born of Bor, born of Buri, born of ice and Audumla; Ice Giant.
As Fjolsvid – wide wisdom – Óðin built the hall Gastropnir from the very limbs of a giant.
Bearded Harbard had five winters on the Isle of Algron.
Óðin he enticed Nightriders from their mounts!!!!! For Nightmare rode then as she does now.
Leave Gold-helm a clump for his horse when you harvest and sing of him as you always have.
This is the god that hurls serpents, bets heads, listens to chanters stool visitors, visits uncles, blesses heads, drinks from springs, listens, talks to the dead, drinks only wine, leads all to Vigrid with golden helm and shining corselet.
He knows it is time to die.
Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #37 Kvasir