Up against the wall

Damn I hate writers block.

I've been trying to ease myself back into writing non-poetic stuff over the last little bit and it's taken a little while for things to jell properly so I'm afraid you will have to wait a little bit for a new short story. For the moment however I still have some unused poetry sitting around so you can have a read of that while you're waiting.

Freyja

Dear Freyja,
old Edda told of thee
of withered hand
and feathered cloak
long moulted
and throne away.

Do you shiver,
dear Freyja?
With shoulders bare
and alters empty?
With hair cast off,
to wither in the soil?

Do you hate,
dear Freyja?
at the lovely maid,
or the virgin thief?
Who took from you,
all once you had?

Or are you proud,
dear Freyja?
A queen amongst
a special few?
Who still holds court,
clipped wings or no?

My dear Freya,
old Edda told of thee.
Of healing touch,
of red and gold.
a midnight queen,
a pretty lass.

A missing god,
long gone,
made new,
and people ask,
with open arms:
who now holds you?



Not really sure what I think of this one now that I'm reading it a bit after writing. The original idea came about while I was poking through an old essay I wrote on the archetype of the trickster in ancient mythology (one of the examples I used was Loki, which led to reading up on some mythological Norse poetry, which somehow lead to Freyja) and I seem to have got the idea I was aiming at across, but I think it still needs one or two alterations.

Anywho, have a read and comment etc etc.

Will have a short story up in a bit. Maybe even a nice little picture to go with it.




M.