Posts Tagged ‘goddess’


Author’s note- I don’t really like this one. I’ve decided to post it anyway, as half the point of this year of hymnic/poetic blogging is to force me out of my comfort zone and into putting things up whether I’m happy with them or not. So, here it is. 


Freya the bold stands on a hill at dawn

wind blowing the ends of her skirts at the edge of the world

booted feet treading the darkened line

at the tip of Yggdrasil’s shadow.


Freya the beautiful lays in wait

to claim that which is rightfully hers;

love, and pleasure, and riches, and joy

wealth brought forth from the earth to her hands

to adorn her lovely neck.


Freya the seeress blinks her eyes

and foretells your doom-

at point of spear, or crack of wheel

her runes fall true, and do not lie

nor do the visions that play across her eyes.


Freya the Warrior leads the gathering horde

of women and crows and clouds of death

she marks you with blood and bone

claims your breath in a rush of wings

and ascends to the higher realms

as you gasp your last…


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(meant to be chanted in a pattern with 1 measure of 6/8 followed by two measures of 2/8. ONE two three FOUR five six ONE two ONE two, repeat. The last word in a phrase gets a breath after it, or held. “BREAD of my MOUTH (breath) MOTHer MOTHer”)

Bread of my mouth

mother, mother.

Dust of my bones

mother, mother.

Blood of my thighs

mother, mother.

Salt of the earth,

mother, mother.


Wrap me in arms

mother, mother.

Feast on my heart

mother, mother.

Devour me whole

mother, mother.

Build me anew

mother, mother.


Spin me in silks

mother, mother.

Drape me in rags

mother, mother.

Warm me in life

mother, mother.

Cradle my death

mother, mother.


Gave to me birth

mother, mother.

Created my flesh

mother, mother.

Under my feet

mother, mother.

You are my world

mother, mother.


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Some have called you


and rightly so.

Shrouded in the smoke of  a thousand camp-fires

your clarion trumpet

sounds the way

to glory,

to slaughter,

to immortality.

Bright-eyed, you lift the torch

you illuminate the chasm filled with the chariots of the damned.

Your spear pierces where it will-

sharpened to glossy perfection

you hold nothing back.

Guide us, maiden of the battle cry-

make our heads discerning, our hearts brave,

and our only battles


lead us to unwavering victory,

and then,

to the spoils

of peace.

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