Fin Troll

I sit with Freyja Golden-Tears on top of a barrow mound

pour barley beer and hops of spring in honor of Ingvi,

Freyr blossoms like a snowdrop, white, resplendent,

and we talk long of summer days and strawberry wine.

Thor walks out from the raspberry brambles, lips bitter

with the taste of early fruits, he delights in the sun,

god of thunder ruddy bearded with his April rain.

Odin carries Gungnir Ever-true and parts lush ivy,

a storm brews, the Fin troll tramples the sea, I take

Thor’s hammer and turn troll to stone at dawn,

he a cathedral pillar, giant who would usurp Asgard.

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Dvalin

I am the beaded beard, sun-beaten smith of gold.
My cavern forged Brisingamen, the stars freeze me
but only because I am in love with the day, so much
I, dwarven kin, turn to stone out of sweet firmness
of desire, piercing the sky with pointed red cap.

Freyja found me on a dew-wet morning, marveled at
my crafts and charms, glorious trinkets shining wild.
I asked her for a night in my arms, she gladly oblijed,
and her love inspired two twin arm bracelets of Sunna.

I am of the damp earth, but even dwarves dream of light.
In this coldest Yuletide, remember, spring awaken in
the softest of frosts, a daisy like Mardoll’s tears.
I am Dvalin of the Day, and I say, merry Spring-finding.

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.

The Long Days

Ottar my boar, my bridegroom, my steed!

Spill your hoof-blood on ruby red leaves,
ride on through autumnal romance, seek
ancestors in the stars of Hyndla’s eyes,
our union is one of hero and shieldmaiden,
brave the draugr and dokkalfar, your tusks
root for hidden Balder in dying sunlight,
the long days are coming, my steed, rut
with me as Syr, Sow, in field and furrow.

Trample the grass and know your legend.

Gold Mother

Your silky milky legs part, and out spills the new sun
you moan in ecstasy and from your mouth a rainbow,
from your heaving breasts sweat of mead and amber,
from your glorious cunt streams gold, sweet Freyja,
oh you are the Mother of Light, Mistress of Honey,
brass hair buzzing like bees, womb a bubbling hive,
your heart the seat of all magic, Bright Vanadis, Hail!

The Lord and Lady of Autumn

Freyr and Freyja rode out into the sun-dappled woods,
bows and falcon-fletched arrows ahand, aback boars,
the twins wore cloaks of wolf, fall was at its apex,
the smell of loam and Nerthus’ autumnal perfume rose
in mist like an intoxicating oracle past oak and ash.
The Golden Twins were hunting the white hart, dashing
through Vanaheim aback war sow and hog, spilling ruby
blood of Freyr’s sacred antlered stags, Freyja saw a
spiderweb woven of gold, and as Freyr roasted the hart
she strayed in her feather cloak and moonlight dress to
a dwarven hollow, where a soot-rough duergar smithed a
beautiful bracelet shaped like the sun, Freyja swelled
with gold-lust, for Gullveig is her witch-name, and the
metal of morning and dawn is her domain. Freyja spoke
words of want to the blackened dwarf: “Lay with me this
harvest tide, and you shall mine gems and find Baltic
amber on shores of the cold northern sea, my veins run
with starlight and I will give you a taste of my mead.”
They tussled and turned hay, and bliss was Freyja’s gift:
two shining arm bands her gift for a gift, she cares for
the small folk, be they man or wight, and she is never
selfish with kisses or praise, sweet Freyja raises men
and immortals up with her charm and enchantments, shining
Freyja is the first taste of morning dew on a strawberry,
and when winter came, the dwarf kept a strand of her hair
to remind him of the warmth of the Lady of Brilliance,
so was won the shining bracelets of Freyja Long-Weeping,
and so Freyr and Freyja returned to Asgard full-bellied,
precious white buckskin and golden ornaments for the glory
of the Van, that night they ate at Noatun with kind Njord,
and the gulls cried of apples and barley, and the earth
began to sleep, dusky autumn had arrived, peace abounded.

Of Frost and Fire

In the beginning was a gaping abyss, Ginnungagap,
but that Void dreamed, as all emptinesses do, She
dreamed a dream of love, and in her sleep was born
warmth, the spark of life, a great fire, and then
the liquid of birth and death, water frozen as ice,
Niflheim and Muspelheim, they dreamed only of you –
a being of perfection carved from primal elements,
in their dance they gave you the breath of wit, in
their kiss that melted and burned you were a child,
and you grew older as the fire grew higher, and ice
grew to tender water, layer upon layer of frost and
flame made you stronger, you were born of First Love,
before the gods ploughed the earthen dales, before
the elves made their shining home, before the dwarves
made brilliant gifts for the dwellers of Asgard,
before even the Norns let down their gray hair, you
were there, you the dancer in their tumultuous passion,
and I call you Ymir for you are a giant to me, colossal
in my mind, growing too large for my heart to contain,
and to love you is to die, be reborn in eternal dance,
for who is not frightened when their lonely universe,
the Ginnungagap in her chest, breathes life onto a
dusty heart, and the needfire awakens, blood quickens,
and Urda’s well springs up in her marrow, ices her mind,
and fire and water carve out a canyon for a perfect one
who the gods sent after prayers to wandering Mardoll
every night, giants are real, for you are Jotunblood
in my mind, a man of myth and legend, and to hold you
is to hang from Yggdrasil, and to let you in to the
beginning of my cosmos is a shy, tender task, but
my world would be nothing without you, so I will
be Audhumla and give sustenance to my altar of you,
licking salt and bleeding rivers of milky wonder,
and soon, I will ken your wanderings, but for now,
let me be your dream, be my driving force, and let
us be ice and flame, yin and yang, entwined like
Odin and Frigga, Freyr and Gerda, Loki and Sigyn,
to love a giant is easy – they eat girls, after all.