"yggdrasil" poems
[From Fragments, The Following...]
... so it was that the Urth bled less. The Birch Moot was becalmed by the Anvil Cloud of Impending Deluge.
The Young Gods made sport of Their Names, and aimed to Oblique the colony of clever flesh
groping at the tender roots of an insipid devastation. The First Ones had vanished.
But Time was born and the Mortal Whirl released the Hounds of Change. Transition fused -
with the Eternal; and the offspring of unloved Spirits, roamed the Tangible. All Suffering was amplified
in the diamond lungs of a divine corpse, dreaming.
... for when the iron heart of The Cast Out was retrieved, the Legion of Heaven poured unseemly Grace upon the Fathoms
and the High King of Doubt, forced his blade ' Nimue '
into the soft palette, of the First Mouth. The Stars were born and The Void overheard the First Naming.
A solid drizzle of enchantment cloaked the oaken Yggdrasil
and The Pattern unleashed the folly of Pattern
to mask the virtue of succinct Chaos. The Children of The Lower Sky ate their Masters and thereby swollen -
gathered in the underbrush of the Fecund.
They came to Know Regret by Answering Prayers. The Kingdoms of Wane were waning in the fearsome riot of Creation
and not a boy, a man from no woman
and no woman
a man.
... the siege lights of the petty stars, babbled in the wake of yawning eruption and nullification. the ****** theater of blood
was made Holy by way of forcing camels into eyes of needles in constant dystopian joy.
... and that's how the rain gets in.
[ From the ' Kingdoms Of Wane ', a Lost Tome from Antiquity and Dada ]
What ?
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
I am from water, from fire,
from earth and air,
the spirit to complete.
I am from the busy movement of city
from the busstling to and fro.
I am from historic land,
from where many jumped to find gold,
to find a better life.
I am from the prison of Him,
from where the truama begins,
perfect from all around.
I am from nights of games,
from spondgebob monoply
from Life.
I am from the seeds of the earth,
from where the magick starts.
I am from Odin, from Apollo,
the strong Yggdrasil to protect.
I am from the occult of practice,
from the forests and seas.
I am from long walks with Odin,
from his warm embrace,
from playing fetch.
I am from the theatre,
from Carlos, from tech.
I am from here.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 12:57 PM UTC
Atoms compressed to molecules
Carbon based vehicles of reality
Hello, my name is Jacob I am the sum of my parts
And a bit of you.
In fact I have a piece of everyone inside me! Is it not wonderful to share, human?
I love you and this is the vector:
English Language confounded by a single moment of actual existence!
What is this feeling? We shall call it love/hate!
Can you remember before you remembered?
You lie naked in your crib laughing at the shape of fingers against the pale backdrop of the nursery wallpaper. You gazed through the window at a bird on the branch! Joy!
Life!
Existence! It sings so wonderfully it's song of life. Perfect pitch notes! Sing with me being! We are alive together on this plane!
But mother comes in to see why you are laughing.
She follows your eyes to the dancing blue jay!
Bird!
That's a bird, Jacob (your name here!)
No longer a miracle, Jacob (your name here)
Just this label you must place upon the miracle.
Name it. Name it.
Bird
Tree
Mountain
Stone
Sea
Once we knew how to listen
Before we were taught to "live"
Once we were humans only being
Until we learned the names and feelings
Placing them in file cabinets Alphabetical
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
Naught the mages
Elm yellows plough
feigning eternities
dream of man;
the cradle of time
the realm of night,
Scathing Hekates
piacular restitution
heralded papally
upon Seven Hills
cradling Hades
tau cross-roads;
Eliciting with the iron
seminal sickle,
gifting the servants
of the servants of God
and slaves of slaves alike;
dismembering the boughs
of war- elsewhere,
Building broken bridges
Carving the lullabies
of humanity grafting
a sprig of Yggdrasil.
ELEETE J MUIR
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:26 AM UTC
Where does solitude end
And the beauty of love begin?
We must allow our emotions to permeate
Our spiritual vestibule
Before rapture dawns
Like an empyreal gust
Within, upon, and throughout us,
Then our bliss will no longer be ephemeral,
It will be everlasting.
Someone on this existential expanse
Loves you
Beyond words, Beyond thoughts, beyond
Time & space,
With cosmic understanding;
Like, age-old supernovae
Radiating with stellar light
Until their macrocosmic romance
Waxes nebulous:
—Dust to dust.
You who are gleaning these words,
Contemplate your immortal value
As a living legacy
That Burgeons & blossoms beyond the day
Of your exodus from the Earthly Plane
For the soul is a seed
Radiating with the Eradia of Ages;
Therefore, shine
Until The Flora of Yore, Yggdrasil germinates within.
Lamentation makes you more loving,
Just, wise, and strong;
Yes, embrace every moment
That life brings
For Providence safeguards you
Within His Celestial ramparts.
"But the path of the righteous is like the bright morning light
That grows brighter and brighter until full daylight."
(Proverbs 4: 18) (NWTSE)
You have an undying will within you,
You are a vessel of sanctity
Intemerate & hallowed;
Yes, you have been set apart
For an ethereal crusade
With no known beginning &
An indeterminable end;
Exhale, you are Life, Love, and Liberty,
And a Spark of The Divine.
It is true, that you are the experiencer of
Your joys, your sufferings,
Your exultation, and your woes,
But you must ne' er forget
That you are not alone;
Therefore, walk forevermore
In the Baptismal Rays of The Sun
For you were borne with purpose,
O, Warrior of Light.
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 1:48 PM UTC
you cannot finish need.
it fiends in wretched globes of dwarf
swelling to tremendous steam
a Bacchanal of vineyard borscht
a moonlit morsel of demolished dreams...
we serve at the pleasure of the absurd
gilding shadows with clay confetti
and the nictitating membranes of blue crocodiles.
and blank verse.
felling the Yggdrasil, by all means; you maraud the larder
in the night kitchen; nicking blackbird-pies and pinky-russet salamanders
[ the loose farthing ] and the hard liquor... all gone now
your potato sack, rakishly slung from the shoulders of an Atlas, entitled ' Promised Land; betrayed '.
a new map shrugging off old kings from dead valleys
revealing the hour of your worthless estate,
in-lieu of the boundaries of your lost holdings. unhappily -
you inherit the unripe peach
in a hound's mouth.
you slouch rough, slowly
to your beast
of a couch:
there, to remain unholy and due South.
there, to remain unknowing
by all account.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Like a hammer that’s too short.
Like a wall that feels lacking.
Like a land of giants, vanished.
Like a god among gods who aren’t your own.
Perfect in an imperfect world or
imperfect in a perfect world;
your imperfection shown.
Yggdrasil overgrown and all the options leave you empty.
At first nine worlds seem plenty
but soon you hope for twenty,
finding no treasures tempting.
Your desires in the waters
of three holy wells reflecting
a thing that seems calm and collected:
an ending to the ending;
soft but not,
like a pillow made of rock,
you rest your head upon
the thought of Ragnarök.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:27 PM UTC
Gazing west,
we forget the North at our peril.
Frost giants die
for lack of attention
Bifrost molders in grimy skies
and the wild hunt
goes hungry again
Yggdrasil is dying.
As omens go,
this is not a good one.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
What is the World Tree?
What is the Axis Mundi?
What is Yggdrasil?
What is Ygg's Steed?
What is Odin's Steed?
What is Sleipnir?
What stands at the Centre of the World?
What bridges worlds?
What is the rainbow bridge?
What is Bifrost?
Where is the Centre of the Compass?
Where is the Circumference?
Who am I?
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 9:34 PM UTC
Thy tallow flame burns brighter than the rest, my love,
Warming the jealous heart within my breast, my love!
Thou art the envy of all lovers' lovers eyes,
Thy whim commands me unto thy behest, my love!
Arcadia proffers to thee her beauty throne
Where shepherdesses gather to attest, my love!
Wild winter plants her lilies over autumn crown,
Setting pure ice born crystals for thy crest, my love!
Yggdrasil bows and offers thee a fledgling branch,
A gnarlèd sceptre, life and spirit blessed, my love!
Erato guides old Argo unto Colchis bay,
Thy stately robes to fetch from hydras nest, my love!
All-seeing Delphi Oracles gaze heavenward,
To beg thy wisdom (or they lied and guessed), my love!
And I, your humble servant Tryst, declare to thee,
Thou art my sacred never-ending quest, my love!
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.
Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.
Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.
Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.
Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
ancient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.
Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.
Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.
Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.
~D.C.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
Every tree has its time;
Every tree, with its every root, has its rings,
Treasures kept in the stories they tell,
History written on its paper leaves.
Kind branches reach around me,
Breathing my breath,
Kissing my lungs from within,
With food for fire;
Its greenery grows,
Seconds gathering layers,
Becoming minutes,
And months, and eons;
Twigs become branches,
Become trunks.
The tree is bending slowly over the ages,
To the will of the winds, so swift and passing;
The roots are weaving through the soil,
Searching for moisture beneath the earth,
Digging deep past the soft sand to the stone below,
Laying its blankets on the bedrock.
It makes no sound,
But breathes nonetheless;
Children climb its branches,
Overwhelmed by the mystery,
That something so big,
Came from something so small,
That something so deep could reach so tall;
With hands in the homes of the bird and the worm,
They are the stitches holding the earth and sky.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Nine realms, stood still
Connected by the tree of life
Or as known to the mortals
By the name of Yggdrasil
In the kingdom of the thunderer
Deep beneath the shadows
Standing still at the heaven of the goddess
Gazed by the half-brother
Yggdrasil, or the tree of life
So be it
A mythological expression of life
That will hold on forever
|AB|
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
Wolves in the sky are chasing
Sun and moon.
Winter is cold and cruel;
There is a great deal
Of fear and foreboding
In our stories.
In our lives
Light is dimmer,
Hell is nearer,
Brother slays brother in dark places.
The dark places are growing.
In a once great city I watched a man
Be eaten by shadows.
When fire and hail have scoured the earth,
And the riders of Muspelheim have trod bones and blood,
When the sun and the moon are gone,
And humankind has given out its last collective wail,
Will you be there,
Waiting for me beneath the branches of Yggdrasil?
Will you be there?
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 10:02 PM UTC
An ash tree stands
at the place of creation
it is called Yggdrasil
A high tree
well-proportioned
the source of the dew
mother of winds
Green it is
standing over
the well of fate
Its roots draw
from the waters
that freshen that well
In old English there is a word
Treowth
it means both
tree
and truth
This tree is truth
its latticework of leaves
and branches
more intricate
than the Milky Way
It is a lung inverted
inhaling heaven's mists
exhaling the wind
It is our guardian tree
planted by a mighty race
that came before
A sentinel of hope
a goad to good works
and the last remaining sign
of a dawning
when the human mind
was first formed.
Rest now in its shade.
The final journey will soon begin.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
Darkness
All consuming shadows
Black water that's shallow
Drowning the rose
And nobody knows
Center
And nobody knows
The drowning rose's
White petals breathe light
Releasing life into the night
Revive
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
A troll is a large creature with smelly feet
That lives in a corner of Middle Earth
On the same plane of Yggdrasil as men
Some turned to stone in the sunlight
A troll is one of the creatures Tolkien wrote of
As being an angry and stupid creature that eats flesh
With the characteristics of the above
A troll is a wind up merchant
Who disturbs the equilibrium of unstable situations
They giggle when someone gets upset
And keep themselves hidden in dark places
Occasionally coming out to play
"Now you see me Now you don't"
They enjoy having others argue while they sit back and watch
With the characteristics of all the above
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Will you wear a mask for them? A painted plastic shell for them? The ones that bid you no farewell and sent you sugar while you fell, so far. Deeper than Yggdrasil's roots, farther than forever. Wear your Other proudly now, no man is your brother.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
The tinge of secondhand cigarettes fill the air,
Meshing with the scent of a stale motel.
The waft of solitary *** lingers on the unmade beds.
The dilapidated roofing, cracked and chipped,
Threatens to fall on its ghostly residents,
Who care little for the subpar shielding,
Which lets in the acid rain and crumbs of insulation.
The outside, which was once filled with children
Blowing bubbles, filling the moving air with floating life,
Now rests as a statue grey, unnerving in stasis.
Behind the front desk stands the concierge-
As timeless as the cobwebs in the corners and
Dust on the grandfather clock, long since unmoving.
"He was once a great man, as tall as Yggdrasil itself"
Residents were once told.
Now he stands grey and hunched,
As his residents lay sedated and soft.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC
Terror steed.
He drinks from the well
where Mimir’s head
hoards the runes.
His avatars stand in forgotten corners.
I found one in a fragment of green
saved from the sprawl of the Great Wen;
his grey trunk was lightning-scarred,
yet bravely he held up his broken arms,
and under his root, bees were nesting.
Beset by serpents, nibbled by stags,
still he bears up the weight of the world.
Without his breath, the air we breathe
would choke, not nourish. Our lives hang
on his outspread arms, athirst for the sweet
inspiring ale which Bragi brews.
Wisdom’s words
lie in the well;
you must ride the terror-steed to read them,
but the price is high, and few will pay it,
though one eye sees more clearly than two
how when the ash shakes the earth trembles,
and terror-steed bears off the quick and the dead.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
You make dead things out of living things just to make money
You make lies out of the truth and make anyone who tells you otherwise to look a fool
You make God cry and you made me angry
You tried tearing Yggdrasil up by the roots
But those were knots your fingers could not untie as carefully as you twist your tongue
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
bathing
chandel eirs
exhausted by
nomads retreating within
the
paracosm of a Mountaintop
snow in your voice
a bell being sounded
bell(((((
)))))
receptive to the running water
a sauna made of afterflower
you have heard the gospel of lazy shoepolish/obsidian palms
and worried over
beaches that are really just an exte
nsion of the whole
jealous Pacific
flaura shyly stripped of glory
whisp ering
like a convent
about the mist applause
the python noise of
hot springs
where its inhabitants were born/why they release a certain
desperate O
to the mountaintop sleeping with spirited confidence
this palace of stone which relies
on no approval
not even the sky, or the early tangerine
dawn
not silence
or previous wars, these travellers seek to cocoon & spring forth as a
colossus
that no longer has the capibility for tears
where home becomes world
as rock communions with Yggdrasil
and the leviathan of time will
collapse
unceremoniously before the first leaf
of the newly formed valley has
ever heard
Autumn's seductions
ah, the golden migrant wreathed in
the liquid base of their worship
may oneday achieve
an
absolute renouncement of the soul
for a bluebird to be born
amid the
overgrowth
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
I hear the voice of the desert --
The wind-swept dunes of barren Deep Springs.
Or the elysian spire Mount Roraima,
Yggdrasil hewn bare by angry gods.
I hear the beckoning call of Alaska! --
The chickadee’s croon from an ice-rimed spruce.
Or the mountains of Maine in the autumn,
Swathes of arboreal flames crunching under my boots.
What does it mean to hunger for something?
What does it mean to leave the beaten path behind?
A plane vanishes beyond the azure horizon.
One day, I plan to be riding it.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 11:18 AM UTC
Where life exists
You often find a carpet
Of grass or moss or whatever.
And in sacred groves and forests
You will find
The tree.
The tree: nature’s skyscraper,
Deep roots, hard bark and leafy canopy:
Linking the Underworld to The Heavens.
Looming beauty my words can but strive
To describe.
A tree can live for many an age,
Legends about it, even longer.
Since ancient times the tree has been revered.
The Norse People had Yggdrasil:
A cosmic tree linking many worlds.
Comprehend the Eastern Indian Kalpavriksha –
A jewel of a wish fulfilling tree.
The Peace Tree of the American Iroquois,
And many more.
In West Africa the Oubangui People plant a tree
Whenever a child is born.
The Bible tells of the Tree of Life
And the Tree of Knowledge
Growing there
In The Garden of Eden.
Bow to the Tree Goddess.
Bow to The Tree
Bow to its sturdy bough.
Our tree is home
To many a creature
Nymphs and Dryads too
Maybe.
A skyscraper indeed,
Full of life
Safe in its shade
Some behind walls
Of solid wood.
We lose ourselves
Just looking
At that tangle
Of twisting branches
Spiny twigs and clouds of leaves.
Will it stoop over
And pick us up
With its enormous
Hands?
Or will it just keep playing us
A lullaby
With that whistling wind?
Oh Tree,
You show such grandeur,
Goddess-like indeed:
Shaken by gales
Yet not disturbed
We trust.
Long Live The Tree –
Even giving us
The air we breathe.
Let your branches spread
While you reach ever upward –
A towering spire.
Paul Butters
© PB 26\5\2020. With due credit to Wikipedia.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 6:21 AM UTC