Sunday 8 July 2012

If I Were to Die in Battle

If I Were to Die in Battle
By Munin's Kiss

If I were to die in battle,
Who would invite me home?
Would it be Odin or would it be Freyja,
Whose hall I'd be taken to?

Would Odin want me,
Would I make the cut?
Am I the type he'd want,
To be fighting by his side?

Would Freyja have me,
Would I feast in her halls?
Would she find me worthy,
To lend her my sword?

The two they stand together,
Ready to make the choice,
Him with his initiator,
Her initiator with her.

As the Valkyries fly me closer,
I can't help but think,
Is it them that make the decision,
Or was it always my choice.

From Blessed Womb and Serpent's Seed

From Blessed Womb and Serpent's Seed
A Summer Solstice Poem
By Muninn's Kiss

Summer's heat has come again,
And with it a growing womb.
The union formed of May's young flowers,
Begins to start to show.
The risen lord's seed runs strong,
The laughing queen was ripe.
In summer's heat, her sweat is sweat,
The warmth that forms within.
She smiles sweetly in Solstice sun,
Spring's rain fades away.
The white veil gone, her golden hair,
Darkens to chestnut brown.
New moon's time, a darkened moon,
A bonfire burning high.
The dancers dance, round and round,
A fever burning high.
The Horned King sits close by her side,
His smile as big as hers.
The summer sun it rises bright,
Round like her growing womb.
The moon moves on and starts to grow,
Just like her unborn Child.
Summer's heat has come again,
And with it a growing womb.
The womb will grow to harvest time,
The Child that will be born.
From blessed womb and serpent's seed,
The Mother of all life.

Sub Rosa

Sub Rosa
By Muninn's Kiss

Around the Altar, the roses lay,
Blood red pedals and black of night,
A black stone Altar, absorbing light,
Dark stone tower, a hollow cave,
Upon the Altar, they laid me down,
In black, black robes my hands are tied,
Head laid back, stretched out flat,
Two coins are placed upon my eyes,
Beneath the gold, in shadows black,
The Twins they dance and in my laugh,
She stands above me, her robes jet black,
Her veil of red so loosely hangs,
A dagger black she raises high,
Blackthorn rod it passes forth,
Down and down comes the blade,
My life it passed but was long long gone,
Upon the Altar where they had me lie,
Among the roses both black and red.

Howling Gale

Howling Gale
By Muninn's Kiss

A forked tongue is in the East,
She sings to my in the early Dawn,
Of the Sun's how Fire and the morning Dew,
Of red, red Rock and a howling Gale.

Her Mountains rounded, the sweetest Breasts,
Her water hidden down in the Cress,
Her light is blinding, the morning Sun,
Her hair is tossed in a howling Gale.

In the West a straight tongue sleeps,
He rises late and strongly grows,
His Mountains sharp of granite strong,
His voice a roaring, howling Gale.

His hair is Lodgepole, growing strong,
His shoulders sharp and granite strong,
From among him strong rivers flow,
And from his mouth, a howling Gale.

For Power flows from West to East,
A howling Gale that never stops,
Over Mountains and across prairie wide,
And back to Mountains, his morning Bride.

There is a union, where West meets East,
A copulation, a uniting Power,
In the valley, the very core,
Where Power blossoms forevermore.

And there is sits, the seat of Power,
Where West meets East down in the bower,
Where Northern Cold and Southern Heat,
Come together in the howling Gale.

The Aspen Moon

The Aspen Moon
By Muninn's Kiss

The barron earth seems barron still,
The snow is gone but green lost still,
But on the Aspens, the catkins grow,
The male, the female, each in the wind,
The grow and grow and ask to be seen,
A sign of life in a barron land,
The males they dangle, the females erect,
A source of life, before the leaves,
Winter's gone and Spring has rose,
The Aspen Moon approaches full,
A few small leaves upon the ground,
A strawberry, a flower, some blades of grass,
As the Apsen Moon begins to wain,
Fast rushes Springtime just like the Bull,
The catkins promise, the leaves fulfill,
New life, new living, the Aspen Moon.

The Flower Moon

The Flower Moon
By Muninn's Kiss

Each bud opens to meet the sun,
An ancient dance renewed again,
Under Flower's Moon and Dancing Twins,
Each flower opens, bright and full,
Yellows, whites, purples, blues,
Each standing out, each calling forth.
The fields of green, the brilliant leaves,
The water clear, the building clouds,
All has risen, all has rose,
All is growing, none still waits,
The world is full, the May Queen wed,
The Flower Moon wanes from full.

The Aspen's Song

The Aspen's Song
By Muninn's Kiss

Calm moving sounds of rustling leaves,
Aspen trees in Spring's strong winds,
They calm be, call me, bring me peace,
They only ask for me to sit for a bit,
Closed eyes and warn sun's kiss,
Sitting quietly lost in thought,
The Aspen's song the only sound,
A smile it plays across my lips,
My soul at rest, my soul at peace,
A sanctuary older than any church,
A grove of power, a grove of love,
Apart from all I sit so still,
But one with every leaf and twig,
Forever lost, forever found,
The Aspen's call, the Aspen's Song.

Rustles and Whispers in the Wind (2)

Rustles and Whispers in the Wind (2)
By Muninn's Kiss

Rustles and whispers in the wind,
Speak of secrets lost long ago,
Of power and might and holy fire,
Of crafting and training and hidden light,
Of creation, destruction, and all between,
The Aspen's rustle, the secret call,
All the secrets of the world,
Of Sun and Moon and Stars above,
Of Earth and Sky and Chthonic depths,
Of Sea and Mountains and Plains between,
Of Trees and Rocks and all the Beasts,
Of Iron and Copper and Stone and Wood,
Of all the secrets known to man,
And all that's lost beyond the pall,
What's known and forgotten and known once more,
Whispers to me in the moving leaves,
And all that is and all that was,
And all that could forever be,
Is there to hear by the truest heart,
Rustles and whispers in the wind.

Rustles and Whispers in the Wind

Rustles and Whispers in the Wind
By Muninn's Kiss

Wind rushing,
A mighty roar,
But silent as the grave.

No sound itself,
No sight itself,
Only movement.

But Aspen leaves,
And Aspen groves,
Moving, rustling,
Whispering, talking.

Each leaf a single voice,
Each branch a quiet chorus,
Each tree a mighty legion.

The grove a roaring,
Rushing, soaring,
Loud yet stilling,
Calm and peace.

Constant movement,
Loud but softly,
The Aspens lull me,
To my rest.