Sword Songs

Mythic, mystic poetry

Wild Joy

You ask if I am happy.

Happy as the solitary pine

Naked on the mountain precipice

Writhing roots death-gripping crumbling stone

Black wind wailing ghostly requiems

Across a sky of ebony inlaid

With veins of royal purple, while I wait

Breathless, yearning for the two-edged axe

To freeze my blood, that I may warm man’s hearth.


Burning Rose

Rose they call me,
A sweet, delicate flower
Tender petals on a yielding stem,
Shy and equable.

Why don’t you bloom?
Still in your mother’s shadow.
Hands bejeweled desire
Scarlet for their bouquet.

Fools. My soul is fire
Hot and hungry tongued
Burning darkly behind a hedge of thorns
Bitter, long and deadly.

Bless the cooling shadow
Of my mother’s bravely blistered hand.
When I leap beyond her palm
Words and worlds will burn.

The World Is Changed

On a winter morn the Spirit came,
Lit the ember of a two-edged flame,
Sealed my brow and gave me a new name,
Spoke my mission: His word to proclaim.

“Much that was is lost, but at your song
Dreams shall waken that have slumbered long,
Music harmonize where notes went wrong,
Old enchantment be rewritten, strong.

“Lo, I wake the three-fold gift you bring:
Rhythm like a heart unfaltering,
Rhyme unbent, unbroken, true to sing,
Piercing words to give each vision wing.”

Heart to hand He through me thrust His word
Set my soul to soar, an unchained bird
Out of darkness inspiration stirred
Voices spoke – “The world is changed” was heard.