Bind me to the sharpened tree,

the sacred sword you made of me,

tie me with my son’s insides,

poison me and more, besides,

bind me to the blade, a shade

of loathing left to die,

and empty me of laughter, fade,

where Ragnarok’s shadows lie,

for I am the poem’s final line,

the great song, absent sound,

I am the dead gods’ death, divine,

I am Loki, bound!



Little Blue Sky

Azure as the sky,

a cerulean hue,

cornflower, sapphire,

brilliant blue,

it is navy and wavy,

the song of the sea,

red drained from purple,

the sadness in me,

it is indigo and windswept,

a siren, absent sound,

barely a whisper,

but pretty, profound.


Dance of the Damned

Inscrutable, immutable, power, irrefutable,

beware the spirit in the song,

engaging, enraging, the page, a cage, unchanging,

the chance to dance along,

unsuitable, disputable, sex is executable,

beware the spirit of the song,

staging, rampaging, the raw war we are waging,

the chance to dance along,

the chance to dance along,

the dance to Satan’s song.



Immortal Beloved

Sometimes I sit

In the silence of

My own soul,

Serenading you

With a song

Only your spirit

Can hear,

An echo of our


The miracle of our


The family we forged;

The home in

Our hearts.

Whilst you breathe,

Non omnis moriar.


Stones Are Not Necessarily Silent

I watched the waves wash in to shore,

The shells and stones, that once before,

Lay dormant, stayed performance,

Played for prophecy and lore,

Encore!  They implored, struck a chord,

When explored, whilst they glistened,

By whore and lord, who would have adored,

The song if only they had listened!