Song At New Boat Launching Gather around the ground sun those of you who would listen to tales a man sail flapping has to give open wide twin sound holds of your crown bark draw close, know truth as sure as heartbeat mother. Let these lesson knells pass from hand to hand like flames through forest arms cleft by Odin’s fire swallow them as you would still blood fresh from spit. You were born to do much more than spit back pearl mead from joy casks of your mother your deeds behind this night will spark a fire that long beyond your quickened sand shall give heat and light, sun logs and branches to all who hear telling of feats done by your well guided hand making forest teeth join loom spawn into trusty bark Babbling of your tongues will stray far from your mother left weeping on loafs of father bones as you rise to who you are leavened by the salt and oil of your own spit nourishing all heart sprouts to whom you lend a hand so climb aboard this young wave stallion, ride far and give breath to tongues in far lands on voyages in this new bark in all corners of the whale road, to all new wharves of fire. These four knowings with your voices spread on every hand. First make the fruit of your bent back bend to use every bark to add value to what your work fish touch, for each mother build a rain shield, furl a seed brow, pile tides of food for fire leave strength in what you build on every sound and spit let your man oars row prows of promise, on true course give star strong guides to future man wings answering call of who. Next remember to extract wisdom from brain sack, always give reign to reason, weigh consequences; heat, air and fuel make fire use logic to point the prow. Results of your actions determine who you are remembered as, if your passing added blood fire to the spit to feed generations, taught sound twists different from the dog bark so lessons taught by reason going forth are passed from mother to net catch of fertile loins that raise sails of knowing hand to hand. Preserve in each place to which you sail the feelings of fire as it courses through your man drum into each drop of spit and sweat a passion pyre to preform each living act of hand with touching smiles reflected from the deepest keep in bark; quell, not cause porpoise stairs of tears for child and mother sister and brother; honor wounds and scars of your father who fell forest hair for air ribs of sea kettle that now to you we give. Finally in your journeys far, know there’s bite behind most bark trust the knowing that does not speak its name with your hand for guidance to safe ship beds and rock less bottom coves, to give you the breaths of AEgir and Ran that favor the direction of who voices left behind continue to spread our stories like wild fire leave our words ringing like Thor’s drums on all soil that we spit keep our swords tips sharp beyond the long table of our mother. Sons, sail far upon the whale spit safe with fire of your voice and firm hand of your mother and father–this bark we give to our future who. D.Russel Micnhimer 11-5-2013 This poem is in the form of a septime, a form devised by Canadian Poet Elaine Stirling. For the seven end words I have chosen seven “ultraconserved” words—words whose roots remain identifiable in many languages for thousands of generations. I have employed the old Norse Gods on occasion and through out used the Old Norse poetic device known as kennings. And just for good measure thrown in Jung’s concept of individuation via the balance of mental, emotional, physical and intuitive energy.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Nov 2013 08:41:44 +0000
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