I have been asked to contribute a set of eleven poems to a forthcoming Moon Books anthology of poetry, so I have been beavering away (hence the lack of musings and meanderings here). A few more left to write, but here's a first draft of a poem about that ginger enigma Loki, written in fornyrthislag metre.

Sigyn’s Burden

Bound in chains,                     Wolf-child and I
Deep in Darkness,                   Silently dreaming.
The Aesir sigh,                        They sing of peace
Yet the Grey Clan waits,        Grim, unquelled.

Poison torments,                     Time drips slow.
By entrails enslaved,               Such grief enchains,
Laying me low,                       What loathsome fate!
Eating my will,                        Each day dwindling.

Once salvation ceases.            When Sigyn empties
Her humble cup,                      Agony heralds doom
May Asgard fall,                     Mire Midgard
Down in wolf drool!               Despised sons rise.

Flee from our wrath!               A Wolf Age, fierce,
A Sword Age, savage!            When Van shrivels
We shall out-run wildfire!       Worlds devouring, searing
Breaking all oaths,                  Outcasting all kith

We will eat the sun,                Let moon and world quake!
Reborn anew,                        A world refined,
Purged of Loki’s like,             Land of frith
Or lotus dream            ,          Lamed realm for fearful folk.


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