Aesir, Asatru, Current events, Death, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

Husk or Horn


Nothing last forever
Save in story and in song
It took one final heartbeat
Then in the silence he was gone

Something fell to rest
Cold and empty on the ground
The question hangs upon the air
Was it husk or was it horn?

There was a time that he was brimming
Full of laughter full of light
Booming laughter
Surging blood in love and rage

The last drop has fallen
Cold and empty now he lies
How will he be remembered
In all that now remains

The husk gave all unwilling
Like a miser must be torn
Coin by coin and drop by drop
Broken and empty will he fall

The horn is raised high uncaring
From hand to hand is thrust
Stranger friend and lover
Drink deep wild and uncaring

Spilling over beard
Falling over thirsty breast
Burning with a passion
That makes cherry blossoms weep

To Hel’s own hand
The horn did pass
High she raised it
ere she drank

Head thrown back in ecstacy
Spilling from the corpse slack lip
Throat working as she drank it down
River of fire into the icy sea

Careless in her revelry
life wine spilled over unmarred cheek
Paint her cold white breast
As deep she drank his last

A sigh she gives
No tear she sheds
The horn is empty
Reverently laid to rest

Drink Mead

For Kirk Douglas 1916-2020, who brought Vikings to live so well, and for every one of those who have shared in this long winter seasons of those they have lost in their lives.

We are given just this

78. Cattle die, | and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one’s self;
One thing now | that never dies,
The fame of a dead man’s deeds.

We will all lie drained of life upon the earth.  Those who seek only to avoid death will fall as empty husks; life unlived when death claimed them anyway.  Those who embrace life will fall like the drained horn, to the cheers of the hall, their name shouted so loud it will ring in the halls of the dead to announce their coming in well earned glory.

Aesir, Asatru, Faith, Heathen, Heathentry, Pagan, Uncategorized

Envy you your Devil

Yes indeed I’ve heard your good news
Its just that I don’t care
I’ve nothing against your Jesus
But I’ve gods and goddess fair

No I do not need salvation
Only coupons get redeemed
But I envy you your devil
So much it makes me bleed

We Heathen’s have no devil
Nor will Loki play the part
For all the ill we do then
It was born within our heart

For I gave myself to frenzy
On the cup that Odin bore
But that cup was filled with my rage
And my eyes that guide the fist

If Frey bless my manhood
Or Freya fire my lust
It was my tongue that seduced her
And my spear that broke my vows

Loki may have laughed
When I lied to dodge the price
But the lie was my invention
The cowardice my call

The Mother knows I chose it all
The One Armed knows which oaths I broke
There is none who bares the shame but me
Of those deeds I would deny

Jörmungandr spans the world
But the venom spewed was mine
If it burned worse than fire
It came from out my heart

I don’t envy your forgiveness
Nor do I seek to dodge my price
There’s no denying that I did it
But by gods it wasn’t twice

No devil made me do it
For the failings all my own
My gods they show no mercy
Not to them they call their own

For each and every failing
All of those who paid for me
Not man or god can change it
Not the fear and not the rage
Not the failings of half measure
Not the trusts that I have broken
Nor those resting in their grave

I carry all the shame of it
It doesn’t balance all I’ve won
The two don’t touch each other
We’re not accountants doing sums

I will one day face my ancestors
With all my pride and all my shame
One thing I beg my gods each day
My ancestors every night

Let me never in my cowardice
Ask to be freed of my price
They day I take your devil
The day I claim it wasn’t me
Is the day I don’t deserve the ones
Who died to keep me free

Freedom isn’t free you know
Oh it has a bitter price
It demands you own your failings
It demands you own your lies
The day you dodge the shame of it
Is the day your freedom dies

For your total lack of mercy
For your cold and bitter truth
I thank my gods and ancestors
If in life I earned some worth


Aesir, Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized



Silence is shattered
The raven reaves
Huginn’s beak sword side
skull-fruit did reap.

Blindness blessing
He leaves me not
For blue fire dances
Like Aurora on the ice
No memory does he bring
Just the pain beyond pain
Shadowed wings hie
To the tree
The hanging tree
The noose draws tight
Skull eye raped
Neck groan the gallows grip

For the runes I won
I reach with fumbling hands
And failing sight

Elhwaz slips from me
Strength fumbled from failing hand
Algiz bites my reaching hand
Wisdom failing
I howl my rage
Thunder shakes the heavens
The tree lashes
I scream defiance
Lightning lights the raven
Eye gulper
Wide beak laughing

Lighning flare
Ansuz burns
Inspiration offered
I hurl my rage
Rune-writer’s will
Feed the flame
Scar the tree
Nauthiz mars Ansuz

Needfire burns me
Inspiration rejected
Rage becomes the battle-bliss
Wunjo blossoms
Rage joy
Pain and pleasure drunk
The raven laughs
My laughter booms
The thunder quieter

Huginnseye flaming
Sight broken
Tree bound
Nauthiz to win power
Wunjo for the struggle
Ansuz the madness
The vision no eye can see
Wisdom no sane may hold

When cut my thread
Fear my coming
For I am too much
His creature

—–For those who are the Tree-Hanger’s own, those days the chronic pain o’er tops the controls we set upon it, usually when one pushes the flesh past the limits that will can ignore the costs, you get to discover where your current 10/10 resides on the pain scale.  Oddly enough, you can find Him there.  Stupidity has a god, and his laughter helps me find enough anger to survive paying the price of my own idiocy, again.

Raven Eye

Aesir, Asatru, Faith, Heathen, Heathentry, Pagan, Uncategorized

Ragnarok Comes


The runes were cast
The answer cold
Ragnarok was come
The message clear

Who broke faith with us
Shall to the darkness
To the fire
To the ice fall

The fire raged; half the world burned
By mankind’s hand
In mankind’s greed
The nuclear Fenris shackles broke

Nuclear Explosion

The sky grew dark with ash that took the sun
The dawn brought fire that took the air
The earth groaned
Poisoned beyond salvation

Come now the Jottun
Fenris howling in the van
Surt marches
Serpent rising from poisoned seas

Alone the sons of Ask
The daughters of Embla
Face at last
The final night

No gods to lead them
No gods to save them
Those who forsake them
To stand alone

Pitiful few, the tanks did roll
Against legions beyond counting
Infantry locked and loaded
Jets screaming took flight

Sky grown black with Nidhogg’s brood
Lancing with fire to burn all that dared
The skys on the last day
No living could face them

Reign of Fire

The ground shook beneath Jottun tread
Spears of fire shatter armour
When through artillery march
Unharmed the foe

There is no hope
The young soldier cries
There is no chance
The pilot weeps

From above the hearth,
The veteran takes
The arms he lived to set aside
No longer will that be

Daughters of Freya
In the darkness scream
Not despair but madness
Dancing, move towards the line

Daughters of Frigg
Food they gather
Water they bring
Warriors will need both

Children of Eir
Bandages bring
Gloved and masked
No fighter to fall unaided

Sons of Tyr
No hope was promised
Only the right
And the will to stand by it

Sons of Thor
Laughter rings out
The final storm
Who would stand aside?

Children of Odin
Blood and madness
The feast of all ravens
March song on their lips

Hel in her fastness stirs
No prophesy to bind
Her own council keeps
Her charges set loose
Abrams and Leopard
To Jottun spear fall
Dread guns no match
For the fires of primordial chaos

Hel veiled

From the wreckage ghosts rise
Tigers in slate grey
Dun coloured Sherman’s
The guns of the dead speak

Jottnar reel,
As the first deathless fall
When the dead march
Where the living yet stand

Infantrywoman weeps
And loads her last mag
A hand closes on her shoulder
Grey and cold

Her grandfather to one side
His grandfather the other
Grey and cold the guns of the dead speak
Where the living dare stand

Surt in his fury
A sword of entropy bears
That no god or man may stand
Yet Frey grows from the earth
Antler in his hand
About him the poisoned earth
Gives forth green life
And fire burns it not

In the air the dragons scream
Red Baron soars
Bishop on his wing
Hurricane and Spitfire behind
Messerschmitt and Mustang
Phantom and MiG
While the living dare the sky
Will the dead make their slaughter

The Serpent from the sea boils
No force in nine worlds may face
All fleets shatter at its coming
Yet Thunder does sound
Where men and women flee
From warships serpent shattered
Does Thor stride to the shore
Hammer raised and joyous cry

Odin dances in the madness
Runes of victory he casts
Spear making great slaughter
Mad his laughter
Bright his eye
No hope do I offer
No hope do I bring
I am the promise only of death
Yet I am the promise kept
The battle embraced
The price paid
That no foe shall master thee
That no night shall befall
The children of Ask and Embla

Wolf Fenris howls
His dread jaws close
The Victory Father’s thread cut
By the wolf of war

Silent and bold
The son of the King
Viddar the jawbreaker
Fenris bane wrought


While still stand to battle
When all hope is lost
The sons and daughters of men
Shall never stand alone

The dead will uphold
Those who keep the watch
The gods will give strength
While still you dare fight

Will the dawn rise?
Will tomorrow come?
Will it to be mortal,
Then make it so

Rainbow dawn

Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

To the dregs

Old Giantess
Broken in my prime
They gave me drugs to take away the pain
Fenris fetters broke
Ran wild inside my skin
Ran red on my fists
I cast away the drugs
Bound the beast in howling need
Sought beyond the worlds
A way to live with the pain I could not treat
Old woman found at the wheel
Steel screaming upon her stone
Vast as giant
To me she gave a gift
Bound my pain like howling Fenris
Grinding wheel
Years of shining life
Battles, glories, mistakes and pain
Wine women and song
Daughters grown to strong glory
Proud and potent
Wyrd weaves doom again
Hanged man swing from the tree
Wandering between the worlds
Flesh bound to the tree
Old woman at the crossroads
Horn heavy in her hands
Wickedness glittering
In eyes blacker than hate
Fenris Horn
Laughing she presses
Heavy horn to my thirsting lips
Bitter brew chokes me
Blood and bile, pain and fear
Bitter ashes of defeat
Potent rage like ice and fire bound
Wode awful and naked
My body bends back like hunting bow
Giant crone ring hand locks behind my head
Not permitted to refuse this cup
Both hands lock around her horn hand
Eyes wild and fey
Beard running red with clotted blood
Bitter ashes of defeat
Bright burning rage fills my soul
Giant witch hissing
Strives to pull from me the horn
Snarling I gulp it down
Sea deep the bitter brew
Horrors born of my memory
Pain written in my bones
Death written in the oaths I spoke
Mine to the dregs
From her she hurls me
Unbroken I snarl
Bitter brew like blood from my muzzle drips
Cold eyes blacker than hate
Cold truths older than time
Meet mad eyes broken and risen
Stronger for the brew of endings
Not unmade but reborn
Howling I rise
Snarling she slams me back
Upon the tree
Hanging tree where I will ever be bound
Breaking One eyes children
Cannot stop us
Ever rising bound to the price of our path
Drink the cost of our choosing
To the dregs
–You never named yourself. Years ago you gave me a gift I cannot repay, one that freed me from the drugs that made me unsafe to be around those I cared for. I see the end of our path, although I cannot know when it will come, know I will not shy from it. I knew the price at the first sip, and I will drink this horn to the dregs.
Aesir, Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Pagan, Uncategorized




I am the son of rage

The son of song

But neither burn nor sing

I am the son of passions and mysteries

But god am I

Of leavings


I do not boast

Nor whisper soft

I do not care for secrets

Remember me with scraps of boots

I am the god

Of leavings


I do not wave a banner bold

I sound no call to battle

I end the wolf

That grows fat on such

I am the god

Of leavings


My father picks o’er the field

Gathering the fallen

Who cares for those who marched away?

Who but the god of debt repaid

Who but the god

Of leavings


Silent in my father’s hall

Silent one they call me

I have no time for empty boasts

Not with so many needing

I am he who neither speaks nor rests

I am the god

Of leavings


For Vidar Odinson


Slayer of Fenris Wolf, Avenger of Odin, the Silent One, the Jaw-Breaker.  Honoured once with the scraps from boot and shoe making, and who receives still the trimmings from my own laces.  Vidar is the god of leavings, the god of prices paid, the god of costs.  Vidar starts no conflict, only ends them.


Seek him if you are the leavings of strife, shattered, tattered yet unyielding.  From such as us he crafted that which broke the jaws of Fenris Wolf.  He is Empty of Boasts, he is the Unbroken, he is the God of Leavings.  In a society as fundamentally as broken as our own, he is more needed than his father.