Njord and Skadi

Njord and Skadi

Skadi loved the mountains,
Njord loved the sea.
Where they should be living,
they could not agree.
High above his harbour,
Njord built Noatun,
his palace home for Skadi,
then he turned to her and said:
“Now will you come
and live with me?”

Skadi came from Thrymheim
where thunder has its home.
She cared not for gull cries
or the fall of foam.
She turned to him and said:
“I love to see your ships,
cruising from the coast,
but I miss my bears and eagles,
and the folk that I love most.”

Njord nodded his head and said:
“Then let us spend winter in my palace,
to hear the waves of the icy sea,
and spend summer in the mountains
where you grew wild and free.”
Skadi smiled upon his plan,
to which she was happy to agree.

So it was summer in the mountains,
and winter by the sea.
Njord built a boat for Skadi,
a floating mansion
with masts and sails,
to furrow through the ocean
on the paths of whales.

“Like the albatross of the arctic,
I will fly to you in my winged coat,
and I will live with you by the sea,”
Skadi promised Njord.
“Though I will pine for the mist
on the high horns of the mountains,
and the paths made by the goat.
I will help you put on your silver helmet
and your white cloak,
for I sense your love is strong for me
with roots deep as any oak.”

So they lived for seasons in the mountains,
and seasons by the sea.
Njord and Skadi found a way to be.
Freya was their daughter,
and their son was Frey.
They paddled in the water
in the north lands faraway.

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Nothing Happened

Nothing Happened

Let the crowd thin, then begin
to see why they gathered here.
When clear, on your own path steer.
That was the instruction
he had been given.
Now all he could see was
an empty city square
with pigeons nodding about,
looking for bread crumbs, no doubt,
orange peel and apple cores.
So nothing happened here at all, he thought,
as he walked off in the wind,
passing by the windows of the stores.

The inconvenience of reality,
he had to tackle every day.
He needed money in his wallet,
if he wanted to go away.
And every shuttered face he saw
seemed harassed, guilty of some crime,
and the railway station tower clock
had quite forgotten time.

So he sat in a hotel lobby,
and tried to look involved.
In his mind, a private detective,
his last case almost solved.
A force that splintered light,
and shredded every sound,
drove him to the dock lands,
to see where all the ships were bound.

Maybe he was feeling paranoid,
but the lamp post looked annoyed.
He wondered if he could ask someone
who could tell you who you are,
certain that he had a guide,
but blank clouds hid his star.

And a woman on a balcony
was pointing at the sky,
as if she had never seen before
an aeroplane fly by.
And though nothing had happened,
he felt one day it could,
when all the gates were open,
and he survived the wreckage
of the fire and the flood.