The View from the Well 7/11/13
by J. Lawrence
How odd, to realize
that as that fleshy orb sunk slowly down
through the sky-clear waters,
I could still see it:
depth was no bar to my perception, nor darkness.
Moreover, that detached organ
could still see--
as if, trailing that severed nerve,
those pale, gristly cords still reached out,
across the inches, feet, yards --
-- that separated us, to where I stood.
Atop my high seat in Valaskjálf
I can scry across nine worlds,
But my eye in the well
sees only into me, and all that I do:
claiming fallen warriors,
moving my game pieces--
all actions meant to delay the inevitable.
I am in this for the long haul,
and there are those who, behind closed doors,
(as if I cannot hear!)
about the dishonor my deeds bring upon me.
There is no dishonor in killing a foe,
seducing a woman,
weaving such a Wyrd-web
as even the Norns might envy.
All I do, I do for the greater good,
the final end,
and to that end I have sacrificed much:
Do you think, then, that I would quibble
at rearranging the lives of a few mortals?
If I could leave them untouched and still
achieve the same end, I might;
And then, I might not?
Even I cannot always see the outcome of my plans,
or the consequences of my acts:
After all, it is sometimes very hard
to see things from the bottom of a well.
(used with permission)
Here is another guest contribution from Rebecca Buchanan. I really, really like this one. there's an elegance to the way she captures the choosing of the slain and i love the way she works in the raven connection. Her poem was untitled. I took the liberty of attaching a title.
by Rebecca Buchanan
you wander the world
gathering shining souls
beneath your cloak
of black feathers:
for the end of time.
by Rebecca Buchanan
for the eagle who stole
the mead, this
offering: a holy
Honors to Odin
by Amanda Sioux Blake
God of Being
I pray for life
Seeker of Truth
Who hung on Yggdrasil
For sake of the Runes
I pray for knowledge
Bringer of Fury
Glad of War
I pray for strength
I honor You
As the Source
Of everything that I hold dear.
(Ms. Blake maintains a website here: templeofathena.wordpress.com. I encourage folks to check it out.).
By James Wise
The World Tree is sticky with blood
and only some of it is mine.
Climbing up and climbing down,
hungry to know and learn and master,
I am stained with it, taste it on my tongue
as it mixes with Loki’s moist fiery spit.
My hands struggle to grip the branches
and there is always the chance of falling.
I know very well that even gods can die.
I’ve been there and will be there again.
And again and again and again. Good!
Life should be an extreme sport and even
a god should have to hunt for his food.