Loudly it sounded,
The horns message clear,
The gods had been warned,
The giants were near.

From Jotunheim to Midgard
To Asgard they came,
Their intent was clear,
Their purpose the same.

Loudly they shouted,
They yelled, and they raged,
The gods and the giants
Were battle engaged.

Thor with his hammer
and Vidar with shoe,
One would think battle
Was all that they knew.

Tyr with one hand
And Frey with no sword,
They should have stayed back,
But of their own accord

Into battle they leapt,
Into battle they ran,
Against the giants
To make their stand.

The moon and the sun,
Luna and Sol,
Went into the bellies
of Hati and Skoll.

Tidal waves crashed
all over the world,
Out of the oceans came
The serpent of Midgard.

Thor ran at the beast,
The great Fenrir Wolf,
But he was soon
In snakes coils engulfed.

Thor pounded away,
He hammered the snake,
But he did no damage,
No dent did he make.

The great Fenrir Wolf
Rushed at Odin,
The god stabbed with his spear,
But the great wolf did win.

Vidar rushed at the beast
With his big heavy shoe,
Kicked in the jaw,
The Fenrir Wolf flew

Away from the battle,
away from the fray,
In the depths of space
The Fenrir Wolf stays.

The gods and the giants,
The battle they fought,
And in the end
it was all for naught.

They destroyed each other,
Each and every one,
And out of the darkness
Came a new sun.

In the sun’s warmth,
A great green was spread,
The great land had died,
And was back from the dead.

Two gods were left,
The young sons of Thor,
They were spared because
they were good and pure.

The gods met with two humans
Who had lived through the strife,
And together they planned
a new and better life.

And for this reason,
The Norse people say,
The gods stay in Asgard
To this very day.

But if in the future
The giants attack,
The gods will come to Midgard,
And they will attack.

1

You said 'The world is going back to Paganism'.
Oh bright Vision! I saw our dynasty in the bar of the House
Spill from their tumblers a libation to the Erinyes,
And Leavis with Lord Russell wreathed in flowers, heralded with flutes,
Leading white bulls to the cathedral of the solemn Muses
To pay where due the glory of their latest theorem.
Hestia's fire in every flat, rekindled, burned before
The Lardergods. Unmarried daughters with obedient hands
Tended it By the hearth the white-armd venerable mother
Domum servabat, lanam faciebat. at the hour
Of sacrifice their brothers came, silent, corrected, grave
Before their elders; on their downy cheeks easily the blush
Arose (it is the mark of freemen's children) as they trooped,
Gleaming with oil, demurely home from the palaestra or the dance.
Walk carefully, do not wake the envy of the happy gods,
Shun Hubris. The middle of the road, the middle sort of men,
Are best. Aidos surpasses gold. Reverence for the aged
Is wholesome as seasonable rain, and for a man to die
Defending the city in battle is a harmonious thing.
Thus with magistral hand the Puritan Sophrosune
Cooled and schooled and tempered our uneasy motions;
Heathendom came again, the circumspection and the holy fears ...
You said it. Did you mean it? Oh inordinate liar, stop.

2

Or did you mean another kind of heathenry?
Think, then, that under heaven-roof the little disc of the earth,
Fortified Midgard, lies encircled by the ravening Worm.
Over its icy bastions faces of giant and troll
Look in, ready to invade it. The Wolf, admittedly, is bound;
But the bond wil1 break, the Beast run free. The weary gods,
Scarred with old wounds the one-eyed Odin, Tyr who has lost a hand,
Will limp to their stations for the Last defence. Make it your hope
To be counted worthy on that day to stand beside them;
For the end of man is to partake of their defeat and die
His second, final death in good company. The stupid, strong
Unteachable monsters are certain to be victorious at last,
And every man of decent blood is on the losing side.
Take as your model the tall women with yellow hair in plaits
Who walked back into burning houses to die with men,
Or him who as the death spear entered into his vitals
Made critical comments on its workmanship and aim.
Are these the Pagans you spoke of? Know your betters and crouch, dogs;
You that have Vichy water in your veins and worship the event
Your goddess History (whom your fathers called the strumpet Fortune).

It is Ragnarok in the heavens
as the long snouted giant wolf Fenrir
faces off against rust colored clouds.

The Midgard serpent
stretches its purple, orange, and grey
body across the sky,

while embers of Surtur’s raging flames
cascade like spiraling waves
during the last seconds of
this dying day.

High above and brave;
Taunting the waters below.
With this bridge we have conquered
Open spaces
And Time opens its wings
To let us pass without aging.
Who ages on the bridge?
No one.
Children are arrested in a state
Of wondrous apprehension.
The old forget gravity's pull
On their brittle bones.
It is a marvelous thing that connects
Our world to
Middle Earth and Rivendell; the great
Castle of Gormenghast, Narnia and
The fathomless depths of Cthulu; the
Temples of the Oracles; the lost rock
Walls of the Necropolis; the emerald
Towers of Oz; the Memorial to Krypton
In the Fortress of Solitude; the waters of
Lethe; the expanse of Midgard and the
Rainbow Bridge; Mount Olympus;
Daedelus' Labyrinth; the Inferno, the
Purgatorio and the Paridisio; the dark
Forest's of Pan; and the broad field's of
Chiron.
And the galaxy of stars, of worlds destroyed
And created by your Will, that shapeshifter
Of Prima Materia that stretches out in
The limitless space that is your mind.
This ancient construction of arched
Rock, mankind's greatest achievement
That draws the curious, the adventurous
Without verdict or punishment, and gives
Them the ability to walk on air, defeating
The current of death that rushes
Obliviously below.

The Ravens

On a rainy night so boring
I heard Munin soundly snoring,
I grew tired of my poring
Perched above Valhalla’s door.
“Munin!”, screeched I to the ceiling,
Sending the poor fellow reeling,
“Let’s deal out a joke to Odin,
One that he’ll be falling for -
Just one joke, and nothing more.”

After barrow ghosts-invoking
Odin entered, wet and soaking,
And I started with my croaking
From the dark above the door:
“I’m the first and oldest Volva!
All my secrets I could tell ya,
For the right price I might sell, yeah”,
And I cawed, “Would you know more?”
(He is crazy about lore.)

“What!”, cried Odin, “Quick, be talking!
At the price I won’t be balking.
Searching wisdom, I’ve been walking
Wandering from door to door.
Let my need for knowledge reach you,
All my own skills I would teach you;
Tell me all now, I beseech you!”
Quoth I grinning, “Nevermore!”
(Just a jest, and nothing more.)

Odin with frustration sputtering,
Munin laughing, wildly fluttering,
I was dead-pan and kept uttering
Nonsense about hidden lore.
For his need he found no quelling,
All Valhall woke from his yelling –
Oh, the fun to keep on telling
Him that one word, “Nevermore!”
(We thought it was a joke, no more.)

In the morning ceased his raving,
But that did not end his craving,
And we saw our master waving
To our roost above the door.
“Friends”, he said, “Now I will ride out;
Over Midgard you shall glide out:
Seek the Volva in her hideout!”
- Then it felt a joke no more.
(And Munin, to this day, is sore.)

Every day we must keep flying,
Always for that “Volva” spying,
Acting as though we were trying;
Well, the joke’s on us, for sho…
To escape a rightful chiding,
To this day the truth we’re hiding;
By this tale we are abiding,
And we’ll tell you nothing more!

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

I lift heavy covers to expose
What's mine to behold.
Snow skin, sweet drops of
Salty dew from within.

Flesh female, lady
Bones, choir cells whisper
Their name; Woman.
Woman. Woman.  

Eyes smiling. Mouth smiling.
******* smiling. Womb
Smiling. The rest either
Giggles or shines.

Tattoo of the Midgard Serpent
Around her upper thigh.
Snake of Norse mythology,
Coiled around the world,

Own tail in mouth. When it
Lets go, the world will end.
Its fangs are mine in you.
Poison lust. Venom love.

Refusing to release the
Ragnarok of our common heart,
I slowly kiss its every scale in
Submission.

.
Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

Dear Odin,

My friend, I hope this letter finds you well.  I’m writing to avail myself of your knowledge of the Playing God term project, we all know you aced the final assessment and I’m having major problems.  I would appreciate any advice as I’m not altogether sure where I’ve gone wrong.  

I gave my creation free will but they don’t appear to understand it.  I completed the “Creating Beings In Thine Own Image” portion of the practical but went further than skin and bone, subservient existence.  I wanted to make certain they could control their destiny, that they had no need to look to me.  I thought it important that they be self sufficient, their existence remains finite but they were supposed to embrace the opportunities offered by autonomy.  My son is meant to be assisting me but I haven’t heard from him in two millennia.  His experience with my project was not a favourable one.  An unmitigated disaster if I’m being honest.  

Things have gotten a little better in the last few thousand years, at least they don’t sacrifice their children to me anymore.  Or threaten to, I told you in our previous correspondence of that ****** Abraham and his son Isaac?  What was the man thinking?  He honestly believed he was in some sort of communion with me.  If I had designed my project in any way that allowed me to interfere I would have made it abundantly clear that this man needed help.  The terrible thing is, they lauded the episode as some kind of miracle that I stopped him in time and provided a ram instead (one just happened upon the scene).  More than likely he didn’t fancy the stoning.  He gave me a real headache, that Abraham character.

It’s this thing of miracles that’s the lingering issue.  I’ve tried ignoring them.  I used to listen occasionally, Moses had my ear for while, I didn’t mind him, entertaining sort.  I never act on anything though, never have.  That’s the point of what I wanted to achieve with autonomy.  I infected them with this ‘humanity’ virus early on and it seemed hypothetically possible that Playing God could be more of a social experiment (I called it 'the study of humanities', which I thought rather neat).  However, the miracle thing just won’t go away.  They queue up in droves, even now, begging me to feed starving children, heal fatal injuries, protect them against natural disasters.  They even plead for forgiveness when natural disasters occur, they think it’s some sort of retribution, I mean, it’s just weather.  It happened like that with the flood, I didn’t cause it and I didn’t tell Noah to build a boat.  He was just a clever bloke with a bit of initiative.

Anyway, the real problem is this, because I gave them free will, but they don’t quite grasp that I cannot fix their problems and all that, (don’t even get me started on this idea that they’ll all live happily ever after if they do perish, a real obstacle in managing their own destiny) they have become frighteningly progressive.  They have mastered technology without realising the environmental fallout, harnessed the power of the atom and are increasingly in danger of self annihilation.  If they go and blow themselves up, apart from half the sphere praising me for doing a job that the other half implored me not to do (and vice versa) I will fail this term again and have to start over.  I can’t be held back another term, I’m still struggling after the dinosaur debacle.

Please help!

Yours ever faithfully,

The Alpha.

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.

Old one-eyed jack,
old all father
dressed in
****** black,
walking down
a windy path
while Fenris
nibbles on his chains
and the Midgard serpent
goes on searching
the tree of life
for something
like an apple
to sink his fangs
into.

Slipperier than
all his other
trickster friends
Loki
doesn’t make amends
just contends
with puckish trends
acting like a nave,
a slave
to playful
impulses.

And all those
Asier,
Asgardian,
Norsemen,
Reapers
valiant Valkyrie,
well I would concede
gratefully
going to the halls
to drinks some mead
but I am not a warrior
just a very bad bard.

Dressing the day,
Beaming purely, on bankers
Hours, spinning such fine, spine
Wheel ways, painting the stones
Of grey, never so faraway, showing
Mighty, mirth in maddest Midgard,
Bearing blooms dizzily, trailing
All the new, children who play,
Pick and count, humming with faces                                                
Bright as the late bedding stars
Joyous in the offered cheers
Of the crowning sun, gifts
All, in endless amount.