Andvari’s Cave

I see your shallow hover
stippled summer shadow
chalk eye dead to the shore
blindside sterling consort
tiny escorts to your
toothy torpor

though tell me old gaddr,
while you bathe in Freya’s
aureate tears,
before their horse hairs
make music from your jaw
where did you hide your gold?

Worthless Is The Power Of Kings

each schoolboy used to know the saw
laid deep in tracts of Danish lore

Forkbeards pious son and heir
Cnut the great konungr

his throne set to the boiling awe
somewhere along a Hampshire shore

but was it somewhat further north
he faced down scorned Ægir’s bore

his person kissed by Trisantona
upon her banks at Gainsborough

Dive

skinny bombs,
a fierce and dumb
squall, that shatter
the living glass
fall one after the nother

grubby pink sparks,
showering the bottle
green thirsty elastic,
plumb and bob
and dog it back for

one more gleaming careen
off high suspension
then dash for cover
before their mother’s
termagant screams

Tros Hynt

the venerable tribes knew
her waters, primal born
from dragon stills,
as trespasser

feminine of form and mind
voluminous in her passage
long fashioned through lime
though never content to lie
alone her teary kisses shared
over way beyond her realm
with every ridden ford
puckered at her rim