Truly Terrible Heathen Poetry


Valkyrie in my Pocket
Semi-saga of the Sysadmin
A Poem to Loki
A Poem to Odin


zoomorphic line


I am a raging battlemaid
I really rock the house
I live in Germanic legend
With Sigurd as my spouse
I don't suppose you've seen me,
Or that you really should;
Though I'm warped in Wyrd's weaving
I'm not what you'd call good.

Before I was a Valkyrie
I was a maiden in a bower
Valfather Himself picked me,
And gave me Choosing power.
Now Odin has many Choosers
That He trains on battle fields
We become His arms and legs
Because His tools we wield

And because Odin is so busy
With way too much to plan
He said that my assignment
Was to pick the best fighting man

When He tucked me in your pocket
He blessed you with Chooser's care
And you should burne on a pyre
Rest assured I will be there.

Return to Top of Page

zoomorphic line


In the wind you hear it - the first notes of winter's song
The days dying early and the nights living long
And they who travel the sky's black cloak pace among us
Gale and gust and cold's bitter kiss makes their presence known

In the streetlight's glow, a child shuffles through dead leaves
Sees them caught up in a sudden biting breeze
She thinks she hears a woman's voice and children sobbing, thin -
Frau Wodan rides the wind

In the woods a man lingers in the bloody light tracking a wounded prize
The gust's icy grip tightens as he watches sun blood leave the skies
Does he see horses made of moon and cloud, hear mad howls of hounds and horn?
The Wild Hunt rides the wind

The farmer's field is turned under and ready for the snow
Tools are shelved, seeds are bagged and he's covered up the plow
But in the field, like in his sire's, stands a lone sheaf, neatly tied
For a weary eight-legged horse when the Old Man rides

Night neer rules the city - true; bright neon holds it at bay
A comfort, those false fires, to those who crave the sun
But if you dare the dark beyond the circle, beware you're not alone
Until Day gains upon Night, you 'company those who ride the wind

Return to Top of Page

zoomorphic line

Semisaga of the Sysadmin

What's heathen about the poem, you might well ask. Well, it's truly awful poetry written by a heathen. By definition, that makes it Truly Terrible Heathen Poetry.
Strong was the sysadmin
Defragging diskspace
creeping crashes.
tapes towards an
warehouse. Wondering
might be misformatted
Inventorying the office
useful for fixing
Checking the budget
Sceaming seriously
for medling management
to pass while pontificating
to explain events
but not by
to challenging computers
sensing problems.
to defend against
Carrying backup
offsite terrabyte
when data
by misguided users.
for old parts
foobared computers.
in case of cost overruns.
senseless excuses
needing manure
to pinheads higher up
preventable by Eris
human bondsmen
coming unglued.

Return to Top of Page

zoomorphic line

A Poem to Loki

Animate me with your absurdities,
Agent of the absurd.

Bestir me with your brainstorms,
Blazon of the brain.

Carouse with me in your complexity,
Cavalier of the complex.

Deploy me with your defiance,
Defier of the divine.

Embroil me in your engagements,
Emissary of emergency.

Face me in your facetiousness,
Flambeau of the fracticious.

Gamble with me in your gambits,
Gamester of guile.

Haunt me with your havok,
Harrier of the habitual.

Inflame me with your infamy,
Inciter of intrigue.

Joke with me in your japery,
Jester of jeopardy.

Keep me alert with your klaxons,
Kaiser of kibitzers.

Light me through the labyrinth of life,
Loadstar of logistics.

Make your mockery of me,
Master of mischief.

Mystify me with your madness,
Maker of mysteries.

Needle me with your nuisances,
Needler of nerves.

Oust me with your outbursts,
Outlaw of the outlandish.

Puzzle me with your paradoxes,
Patron of the peculiar.

Quicken me with your quanderies,
Quasher of the quiescent.

Rattle me with your rabblerousing,
Rogue of radicalism.

Share your sharpness with me,
Shatterer of sameness.

Taunt me with your tangles,
Trampler of tradition.

Unleash me with your unconventionality,
Underminer of the usual.

Visit me with your vagaries,
Vanquisher of vanity.

Wake me with your wagers,
Wayward wanderer.

Yell your yarns to me,
Yardstick of yammer.

Zap me with your zest,
Zenith of zip.

Return to Top of Page

zoomorphic line

A Poem to Odin

O, Lord Odin, regard
Your deserving devotees,
The diehards who do dare
Rage and redeem the fleas

Who run from fear of death.
We wrangle and, with hammers
In hand, hurl ourselves hard
Against the hateful shammers,

Shameless in their fright, yet
Too frightened not to fight. They
Rise up with their own might,
To strike from fear, and they pray

Not for victory but
To live another day. Let
Us battle them fiercely,
All-father, let us set

Upon them like ravens
To rip out their worthless eyes
As they hang helplessly
From the tall trees while we rise

Up in triumph. Lend us
Your strength to strive stoutly
In the battles we bring
To burden enemies, free

Ourselves from their foolish
faint-heartedness, and honor
The harsh truths that strike those
Who disregard your lore.

Return to Top of Page

zoomorphic line


No dusty pedestal shall e'er I claim
Nor to dry academe do I aspire
Fast fleeting or imagined be my fame
Yet daily with my pen I do conspire

For inspiration is a moment's thing
And moments do a lifetime thus compose
And from the last, the next will surely spring
Like blooms from 'neath the compost of my prose

Return to Top of Page


Return to Loki: A Paean in Progress
This page is (almost) continually changing.