Prince of Roses

I could write a thousand songs for your majesty,
but the rains would still fall, and autumn come,
and at the end of the day, fall leaves your hair
would brush against my cheeks among the red oaks,
I would smell your bonfires, hear your guitar slip
into the empty spaces of the branches canopy to fly
like geese flocking south, while I migrated North
to the highest castle’s walled rose gardens, red
petals a musk on stone pathways through the water,
you are the prince of brier blooms, wings cotton
leftover from milkweed, soft as the rolling clouds
over the valley of my heart, sweet archangel, kiss
away all my fear and bathe me in the sun, embrace
me on the edge between poetry and prose, I am your
fledgling, you are my falcon, eternal saint, smile.

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Gold Canary

Her yoni blooms into a lotus pink as dew on a rose.
Hair a mane of sunlight, skin like starlight, dakini
dancing with six arms in yogic poses of sunny bliss.

The Lady melts winter and spring blossoms in her arms.
Her eyes are green, she laughs like swaying gold barley,
honey drips from her eyes as tears of amber joy, sweet.

Valfreyja! Syr! Mardoll! Gullveig! Horn! Gefn! Skjalf!

Melt the ice of the Wild Hunt’s heart. Ride Hildisvini
across bitter grasses and trample roses and strawberries
into fruition and rumination, grant young bride’s dreams.

Hail Freyja! Hail the Dancer! Hail the Lover! Hail Her!
Honor to the Vanadis, Honor to the Lady of Folkvangr.
She will take winter’s shawl off the trees, bring summer.

We shall rejoice when the new sun rises, and all is well.

Angel of Mercy

I thought you were a lion among lambs, golden
mane and braids like promise, blue eyes lambent
as the starlight whose name I christened you,
sweet Angel of Mercy, you carry sunny torches,
stoke bonfires with laughter, dance in the sand
as your bold song sails like a swan on the sea.
Ariel, Zadkiel, Sachael. I can’t choose your name.
It was borne aloft far out of reach moons ago.
All I know is that you are my twin angel, forged
in the flames of blue and violet light, haloed
and hallowed, with magenta gown and gold robes.
You waltz with me, run with me, fly with me.
Leonine Animus, Blonde Wonderboy, Golden One.
The strand of sand and foam is your dominion.
The waves and wind your birthright, general of
heavenly lightning, fiery sword and silver shield.
Hail the Angel of Righteousness. Hail the Light.

Father of the Wolf

Since Farbauti struck Laufey with lightning,
kindling primordial fire in earthen cracks,
you have sailed through skies a deceiver,
Gammleid, vulture’s treacherous path, oh
Flaming Bastard, how you made troll women
your whores, fetters your mistresses, lies
your bridesmaid gown at Thor’s marriage feast.
Loki, swift one, enchanter and cunning fool!
Father of the Wolf, Master of Death, Progenitor
of the Snake, you are poison par excellance,
shooting poet’s veins with silver tongues,
and I’m tangoing to your madness, gleaming
fire your toothy grin, teeth tear witch
hearts apart, you burn everything that stands
in your way, tear it all down, charred to the
ground.

Gebo

When I was young, I thought with my silver tongue, that the world
was my oyster, but Andvari’s treasures are cursed, and Brisingamen
is won through lies. Gift for a gift, well I am the gift for gods,
hair like hearth, wit and humor, jester and trickster and fool.

I exist so that you and a million other lips can sew mine shut.

And neither Angrboda’s strong arms nor Sigyn’s caresses can whet
my madness, chained for the two-man con, so that Yggdrasil would
blossom with mistletoe, I whispered in Hodor’s ear, “Aim true.”

But the blindness of the Aesir are what have driven me broken
and cracked, there’s a hole in my brain you see, it lets the
light
in.

Lord of Flies and Souls

Yours is a life that is quiet and steady as rain –
hair of fog, is it any wonder I cannot see you?

Baal of Storms, Baal-Zebul of souls, enchanter,
you are the eye of a hurricane, sweetest spider,
and the tempestuous lightning? Your silk of fire.

You are the quietest and most reserved infernal,
General and Prince of Hell’s Armies, albino freeze,
the White One, the Pale Warrior, the Lord of Flies,
you slosh red wine and watch the jester calmly,
hold Satan’s leash like he is a dancing monkey.

Aren’t we all fragile curiosities to you?

Who holds the power in Hell?
He is quiet as snow.
He is ice, he is cold death,
he is sterility, silence.

Sweet Baal, you are tender to the few you love,
steadfast shelter, my friend and sometimes warmth
when the lowest circle freezes, mayfly in the sheets.

Freyja Rides Out

To be like the Great Sow, Mother of Battle.
they say I have gold tears that hide smiles,
my teeth are bright as tusks, my breasts be
mountains, little one, my thighs crush men
and as I strangle their necks, they grin,
pour wine into my lap, and drink down blood.

See me on the battlefied, bright armor shining,
See me in the bedroom, resplendent as a pearl,
See me High Seated, prophesying Valraven’s fall,
Odin may be Frenzy, but I am the Blade, see me
cut the Norn’s hair and spin it on my fingers,
See me ride out with Valkyries and Svinfylking,
See me scream and beat my shield, see me ravage
all who oppose me, or bed Ottar’s images, I am
the chooser of the slain, gods’ gift to men.

Worship me, make love for me, call out my names.
Mardoll and Freyja, Bercha and Syr, Butter Dame,
Gullveig Gold Drink and Heith Ill-Speaker, sing
for the Lady, dance for the Lover, cry for the
Wife and heal for the Lover, worship me sweetly
and offer me your strawberries, your amber, mead
bright as honey and the bones of hallowed dead.

I am the First Witch, a delight to evil women,
Learning seidhr at my veiled mother Nerthus’ side,
I am the survivor of Ragnarok, the Veteran of the End
When Muspell’s flames burn my body will quench them,
when the Aesir speared me and roasted me, I was thrice
alive, the most noble of battles was fought over me,
I am the coveted prize of the Jotun, but I fly falconwild,
and no man may tame me, neither Odin nor Freyr nor Ottar
nor dwarven makers of Brisingamen, for I am ineffable,
the Beauteous Maiden who breaks all men’s hearts, so
crawl to my bosom and breathe down my arts, I shall
rock you by Noatun and sing of your future wife, I will
speak softly of your first love and last lullaby, I will
comb out your sorrows, little one, and hold you tight.