Poem: “The Guest’s Blessing” (2021)
Together tonight, inspiration stirs
Sitting within this glowing hall,
The icy snow spins and whirs,
Radiating light from where the flame falls,
In each filled glass of honey wine,
In each bite from the dishes we dine,
We find the spark of life singing,
We find the voice of art bringing
Him, the all-knowing one.
Oh, great grandmothers and grandfathers,
Oh, divine ancestors, spirits, and shades,
Welcome in too, this wizened stranger,
This shaded visage suggesting danger,
One eye staring, one eye gone,
With many names and many faces,
Shape-shifting and wandering all alone,
He has appeared before,
Passing, staring, aiding,
Wearing bodies like the dawn,
A snake ever renewing all that we’ve known,
A poetic madness, skin in shedding,
Shining with cryptic sayings,
Him our god, the all-knowing one.
Do you not remember him?
A witch sent a rune,
And you called upon him.
He came twice promising a third,
Each time one eyed, his other blank,
Filmed over and multi-colored,
Staring and all-seeing,
Of both what is hidden and revealing,
Glancing over his shoulder,
Working on time’s end,
In anticipation of the battle,
Quelling evil to grow
A new era of men.
Can you not recall?
There was a beautiful grace,
Wasted and displaced,
Radiating light upon your daughter’s tear wracked face,
Filtering through evergreen leaves,
Touching every corner of the hall,
In hazy wisps of memories traced.
He looked upon her and told her of the tree,
Whose roots penetrate the hidden realms,
Whose boughs ascend to godly realms,
And whose knowledge makes one free.
He wiped her tears,
And whispered his name in kennings,
Told stories of hanging
And new beginnings,
For nine days and nights
Of kaleidoscopic sacrifice,
Of blood-flecked runes that weave themselves,
Into the sunshine of our DNA,
Rhyming the ancient verses,
Of a people’s strengths and curses,
That we may grow strong in many ways.
He told her too of war like riddles,
Of dripping fluid to grow the earth,
This is our lord, the hanging one,
Ancient father, the all-knowing one.
Though he knew the touch of youth,
The fickleness of mortal gaze,
The greed of nine farmers in the field,
That hard labor readily concealed,
He also knew the honor of the monarch
Knew the hardworking of the common,
And the loyalty of man to woman.
For these of middle earth,
He drank to know the draught of proof,
To sing spells at the end of days.
They say it was the mead of poetry,
He let the wracked intoxicated daze
Of intelligent delirium seduce his ear,
To make poesy and lofty lays,
To make immortality of fading light.
Nine days hanging upside down
Cognizant of every cause
Prior to its happening,
He divulged the paradox, both lost and found,
Of living sacrifice
To better know the realm of being
To know the runes and the power
Coming from the Well of Urd.
His disguise shaded visage
Turned around a bend of sight:
Two riddles perched upon his mind:
Left brain right,
Swans of blood,
Upon the branches of a tree,
Pouring out not his life
But rather flowing liberty,
Sweet to drink
And visceral to know.
This our guest sits in blessing
Though his name is known,
We are ever guessing.
This our guest who knows all things
Lauds our love and what it brings.
*Please excuse the spacing. Medium as a platform seems to force odd spacing despite all of my efforts.
