POETRY & STORIES
Atop A Mountain
In the midst of fog
Penetrated by moonlight,
do I stand.
The smell of rain is strong,
Shifted afar and around
By the howling wind.
Mighty trees stir wildly,
As the wind howls
Shaking dew from off their leaves.
Clouds swirl in the moonlight,
Shining luminously through the trees.
O! what incandescence and delight.
Spurts of mist and dew,
Follow the wind unbound.
Were it not for the wind or trees,
Hear would I, not a sound.
Atop a mountain do I stand.
Surrounded by fog, illuminated by moonlight,
Amid the icy mist and wind,
Remains my stance steadfast.
Sound am I.
Still am I.
One am I.
At peace am I.
Bound are my eyes,
To the Lunar aura.
Bound is my heart,
In awe of beauty.
Sound is my mind,
Gazing into the tranquil sky.
Sown is my soul,
Within the purity of nature.
Forever am I one,
With the might
Of the everlasting Creator.
Sound am I.
Still am I.
One am I.
Pure am I.
-Taylor Wade
Voyage to the White Island
A Folk Tale in the North Sea Tradition
Oscar Strik
The fisherman took a breath of salty morning air as he stepped out of his little house. Raising his nose to the wind, he savoured the feeling for a while. He always hated the stuffy smell of his house, and though it was most certainly cosy together with his wife and children, he could not bear the air in there for longer than the nights he slept. Taking in the early day like this, he couldn't help but stretch out his arms and close his eyes, letting the sun wash over his face. Though it was a cold day, the shortest one of the year, to be precise, the warmth of the sun gave the fisherman strength. With a content heart, he made his slow way towards where his ship was moored. Only now, as he neared the sea, did he notice that there were many seagulls out over the water today. They screeched at the top of their lungs, as if hailing both the new day and the fisherman himself.
Read more in the Fall Issue of HEX magazine.
Darradtharljodth (Song of the Spear)
~ poem from Njal's Saga referred to in Were Valkyrie's Real?
Blood rains from the cloudy web
On the broad loom of slaughter.
The web of man, grey as armour, is now being woven;
The Valkyries will cross it with a crimson weft.
The warp is made of human entrail;
Human heads are used a weights;
The heddle-rods are blood-wet spears;
the shafts are iron-bound, and arrows are the shuttles.
With swords we will weave this web of battle.
The Valkyries go weaving with drawn swords
Hild and Hjorthrimul, Sanngrid and Svipul,
Spears will shatter, Shields will splinter,
Swords will gnaw like wolves through armour.
Let us now wind the web of war
which the young king once waged
let us advance and wade through the ranks
where friends of ours are exchanging blows.
Let us now wind the web of war
and then follow the king to battle
Gunn and Gondul can see there
the blood-spattered shields that guarded the king.
Let us now wind the web of war
where the warrior banners are forging foreward
let his life not be taken;
Only the Valkyries can choose the slain.
Lands will be ruled by new peoples
who once inhabited the headlands,
We pronounce a great king destined to die;
Now an earl is felled by spears.
The men of Ireland will suffer a grief
that will never grow old in the minds of men.
The web is now woven and the battlefield reddened;
The news of disaster will spread through lands.
It is horrible now to look around,
As a blood-red cloud darkens the sky.
The heavens are stained with the blood of men,
As the Valkyries sing their song.
We sang well victory songs for the young king,
Hail to our singing!
Let him who listens to our Valkyrie song
Learn it well and tell it to others.
Let us ride our horses hard on the bare backs
With swords unsheathed away from here.
~from Njal's Saga trans. by Maggnuson & Palsson
[TOP] |
