Monday, October 1, 2012

Swordsmith and Wordsmith

Here's what Petr's been up to with my poetry. Writing them beautifully on handmade paper. I think you'll agree that the items themselves are far more beautiful than the words that describe them.


The smith stared at
steel glowing red,
laboring long
he'd layered its form,
secret spruce-grain
singing grimly,
eager to eat
both elk and deer.





Remember well
our race's making,
born of driftwood
Bor's sons hallowed.
We learned ere long
to labor, crafting,
sweet things we made
splendid and fine.

One was carried
by warrior's belt,
its steel streamed forth,
steady, flowing,
from burnished collar,
bright, engraven,
Emblar bróðir,
ashen-handled.





In days long done
dwarves stoked their forge,
smelling of smoke,
soot-covered, black.
By Brokkr's bet
a boar was forged,
golden, gleaming,
a gift for Frey.

His sister also
sits atop one,
fierce in fighting,
Freyja's war-pig.
Their ward is given
when worn outright
high on a helm
or held in the palm.

A craftsman I know
will carve their shapes,
bristle-backed boars,
bold, protective.
Many, menaced,
commended him
when they wandered
weapon in hand.



Copyright © 2012 Myles Mulkey
Images courtesy of Petr Florianek (gullinbursti.cz)

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