Sailing from Geiranger
I.
It is true
The Midnight Sun
Twilight spun of cloud and pearl
A silence of light
Below the fjord slips away
Dark liquid jewels
Hushed and glistening
Black blood sprung from
Norway’s bones
Vast bones risen massive from the mist
Grey with time
Green with forever
Wreathed with whispers of white wind
Breathing a mystery
II.
Down from the path of eagles
Where the seven sisters fall
Thin white veils on the mountains
Great green and granite wall
Down from the cusps of heaven
Down a threading rock stair
Down past diamond falls dancing
Down through the whipping white air
Down to dark dreaming water
Bay carved of winter’s ice art
We sailed on a breath of wonder
Straight out of Norway’s heart
And here in the midnight twilight
Here where the mists rise and fall
Laced through these mountains of magic
I hear their echoing call
I hear their names on the white wind
Their songs in the bright crystal falls
I feel the power of their mystery
Throbbing from towering green walls
Back in the deepening shadows
Of transcendent towering rills
The ancient Gods of the Northland
Still walk these enchanted green hills
III.
When the midnight sun has finally set
Just before the dawn
I throw a glimmering libation
To Gods who are hushed, not gone
An entire bottle of sparkling champagne
Into the dark crashing waves
To the memory of names of power
That echo through green mountain caves
Odin! I cry to the white wind
Into the dark, glacial sky
This for your knowledge and wisdom
What you see with your piercing blind eye
My ancestors spilled wine and called you
From longboats skimming these waters
Catch one more cry on the ice wind
From the last of the Vikings daughters
Come from a young land of promise
To the ancient land of my blood
I call once more and leave this gift
Here in the primordial flood
(And there in the tops of the mountains
Where the white falling waters flow
I whispered the name of Skadi
Into the deep Skandic snow)
1 Comments:
A Set of Old Stones
A set of old stones, Viking runes designed to delve
deep into gut - mind's beginning brain surface scanned
Brute-battered by electronic needling wearied
thick-convoluted unable to pick up her delicate soundings
These ancestral marks make new connectors-tracking
the buried nerve-stirring the sleeping neurons
Awake directionals remember ocean, wind and sail
knife through the water-west or south-south-west
Gale freed the image torrents
over the crusted cerebrum
Welcome back, Winnie. It is good to know that the land of the Viking ancestry still is. This is not a new poem but one I wrote long ago thinking of the blood that follows through so many variations to become us.
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