Honey, Grain, and Amber

The Shining Twins wear amber and green
golden hair like barley and wheat, eyes
blue for Mardoll, green for Ingvi, Vanic
rites of sweetening harvest, first shaft
of wheat springing up in the fields, wains
carry the Twins across Germania for pageants
no sword may be drawn, no blood spilled,
for in the temple of the Golden Ones is frith
prosperity tilled from the soil as lovers
lay down and know Gerda’s passion for Freyr,
heartsick Freyja’s tears of jewels after Odr,
the Twins themselves rut in the dirt like boars
like Nerthus and Njord before them, Sacred Rite
of scythes falling grain, and rains aplenty
the Lord and Lady walk in peace come eventide.

Dandelion

Freyr shapes me into a fragrant yellow flower
at first I am a green bud, ripe with possibility
next, gestation, my pistil and stamen stretch,
bees grace me with honey kisses, each fertilization
a dream of mine petaled out in glory like the sun
fall comes, he plucks me with the harvest, blows
my hopes and desires and wishes across the fields
my dreams are carried to far shores, and I live on.

Freyr

The curve of a tree, weighed down by blossoms
is my favorite place to find you, one with the
roots, your antler curved like the branches,
hair the gold of yellow ochre fall leaf bower,
buckskin leggings the color of bark, green knit
sweater smelling like basalm, pine needle eyes
that open and shudder with morning grass frost –
I sat down with you in the grove, you showed me
how to become one with the trunk, the flowering
of Yggdrasil, Ratatosk and Nidhogg in their quiet
burrows – you are a part of that tree, Gebo light
as falling leaves, for the gift of the gods flow
down to Midgard, where we revel in the roots, god
and devotee, man and girl, my beloved Shining One,
your frith fruits with compassion, and your sword
was given for love long ago, and service is your
true name, to kindred kith and kin, you tell me
that there is no greater gift than noblesse oblige
forefather of my Yngling clan, Hail the Golden God.

Freyr Woos Gerd

I came to you with open palms, a gift
of my sword to your gardens, we met in
Barri Woods, I stripped golden in sun
you silver with shining arms, dear Gerd –
mistress of my heart and my kennings
when I first saw you from Odin’s throne
I knew what it was to die, more than
being cut as the first shaft of barley
come harvest, my rain and bounty are
nothing compared to your Etin grace,
my ship and boar and humble antler just
trappings to adorn our bower of trees,
we were wed then on dewy grass, we took
pleasure in summer sun, echoing fjords,
does and bucks danced in Vanaheim and
the Ljosalfar sang dead elven songs
as we knew each other, became one, you
are my orlog, my wyrd, my life and fate,
and our children are all of men, love
what we reap, my Jotun maiden, seer of
frith and faith, peace and good seasons
you till from my body in the soil, and
together, we blossom into Yggdrasil.