Poetry written by, and for followers of the Northern traditions, and Gods.
Mosiac-men
made up of
many pieces,
carry much.
Each piece,
a person of
blood parentage,
an honor to carry.
Pieces of great
size, beauty,
and name
honor the picture.
Each piece
with history,
Each piece
with wisdom.
Mosiac-men
know their
worth, and
great power.
Take care
of the tree
that's roots
uphold you.
The tree
has grown
to allow you
to be alive.
Cherish that
sacred tree,
and it will
pay you back.
It's leaves,
in the soul.
It's branches,
in the blood.
Take care
of the tree,
and a terrific
life awaits.
Majestic spirits
dancing in the
firelight, watched
by distant eyes.
Rageful surge
of divine energy
stokes the fire,
soothing the soul.
Burning bright
is the fire
encased in the
binds of flesh.
Should it burn
out of control
or will men
contain their fire?
“Golden wheel,
glorious and warm,
we are gracious
for your bounty.
Silent keeper,
standing watch
over the dark
night, never waivering.”
Wandering alone along
the holy path,
many mysteries
illuminating the way.
Few travelers have
the courage to
walk these mighty,
treacherous hills.
Such men claim
to know the path
better than others,
but are misled.
Thousands of
con-men line the
road, offering an
easier trip.
But the grand
rewards, earned
along the way
will be all the less.
If one takes
the correct road,
it will lead
to a sacred place.
Where the Gods
dwell, and one
will have
appreciated the journey.
“The gnawing in
the depths of your soul.
You feel it
deep in your bones.
It comforts you,
but yet you are
in fear and awe
at the beauty of it all.
The well grows
deeper with each
drink of it’s
divine waters.
You hear the summon,
but you do not speak
the language,
foreign to modern, mortal ears.
Confusion from the
nature of the Conversation,
the beautiful tune
lost on deaf ears.
Do not be alarmed,
by the radiance
of the rising sun,
it is written for you.
The path will clear,
as it’s walked
wisdom burning away
corrupted brush.
False paths and gods,
will lead you astray,
but the truth,
never changes.”
“Oh Wisdom-Granter,
deliver us
Sons and Daughters
of Ask and Embla
From our own corruption,
corrupted in spite
of the many gifts
sent by the Gods
Oh Wisdom-Granter,
why is it we
decay in the absence
of those holy, holy gods?
Men may think
we know better
than the Gods,
and Men will pay for it.
Oh Spear-Master,
will your spear land
on the side of the just,
or on the side of the soulless?
Will those of holy, holy gods
be destined to win
in the dark times
of this current age?
Oh Flaming-Eyed,
do you rage
at all the children of Heimdallr,
or just our enemy?
For we have stood by
such sick decay
with our knowledge
of Allfather’s truth.
Oh Poetry-God,
do you hear
when we call
in your divine method?
Or do our cries
fall upon deaf ears
as though we are
forsaken and damned.”
“Hail ye holy gods,
whom my ancestors knew so well.
Hail ye spirits of the land,
whom my ancestors gave gift,
and were given to.
Hail my ancestors,
whose ancient deeds echo deep in my bones.
Hail the Allfather,
who sees all we have done
Hail the Thunderer,
who protects us and our kin
And health to those who believe in them,
for we are the bearers of truth.”
“A wise man
would do well
to know the Gods
For they will guide him
along the path to enlightenment
A foolish man
would do well
to fear the Gods
For his folly will lead
to his misery.”
Poetry, for people of the Indo-European tradition, has commonly been used as the way for the Gods to present themselves to Man. As I am a believer in such Gods and Goddesses, I believe the best way to partake in the Great Conversation is to write poetry. This is where I intend to put my poetry so I have a way to officially claim it is mine and my intellectual property.
Poetry for the Gods 