Happy birthday to anyone, who might have birthday today! Here is another poem by Andy Syddell. Feel its power and the Wode be raised to Asgard!
A journey begins, the price is paid, destination unknown the plans are laid
How far shall I travel no Wight portends, what will I find on this road without end?
First comes the Fee, bright coins glowing
Sheep in the fold, cattle lowing.
Concealed in my pocket I carry my wealth
From those that would have it and trouble my health.
Men become dragons, treasures are hidden,
Jealously hoarding a sparkling midden.
Have just enough that your kin want for nought,
Value the worth of the things that it bought.
Too much of anything brings anger and strife
But a man’s modest wealth is a boon to his life.
Mighty the ox, a fierce shaggy beast
Descended of the primordial licker of yeast.
Indomitable spirit, untameable heart,
Inscrutable life force in cave dwellers art.
My soul will soar and my own heart will race
As the herds hooves thundering strike up the pace.
Snorted breath steaming, sweat covered hides,
Foemen and illness swept clear aside.
Coming to rest the fury is ended,
Benevolent beast, wildness befriended.
Next are the brambles, tangled and ruined.
The Coney’s delight and the hunter’s undoing.
Sweet fruits are borne to those who show care,
But not to the hasty whose skin it will tear.
When handled with grace a reverser of curses,
Not so for the churlish, a portal for thurses!
At home in the wildwood, the heath and the hall
A help for the farmer, the girl and a thrall.
The maidens delight, the roses adorn,
Protector of beauty, the bloodthirsty thorn.
An intake of breath, a chilling sensation,
Hyperborean wind, divine inspiration.
Giver of poetry, constantly seeking,
Behind the tree bole one eye peeking.
The giant in the well, the breeze in my hair,
Ancestral father I know where you stare.
Fill me with wordcraft and know that I speak
Of things for the worthy and not for the meek.
My mind is catching your Wode like a sail,
As I stand by the Eormensyl, Allfather Hail!
The riding is pleasure for me on my horse
The beast of burden stays true to his course.
Fair weather aids progress, the miles they pass by,
But storm clouds can easily blot out the sky.
The man on the road oft times has it worse,
Wind, snow, mud, rain, his journey will curse.
The fireside explorer seldom hungry or cold,
Adventures aplenty in his armchair so bold!
But he’ll never know the thrill of it all,
The riding that happens away from the hall.
Bring me my torch and light my way,
My eyes break the dark, come what may.
Guiding the way, the tallow sizzles,
Steadfast comfort through mist and drizzle.
But a torch will burn you if you act without care,
So be mindful if this boon you bear.
But it for the wise dark secrets reveals,
As nights thick blanket back it peels.
But never a word of praise be uttered,
Until your torch has burned and guttered.
A wanderer sometimes a gift will find,
But be sure to meet its like in kind.
Joyful things despite their worth
Break the waters of friendships birth.
A poor man’s bread or a rich man’s gold,
Are of equal standing the truth be told.
Be wary of baubles from flatterers and cheats,
For in their glitter lies deceit.
But these foul givings must be matched,
And ill plots killed before they’re hatched.
Joy to the journeyman can be many things,
From a wildflowers’ scent to when a bird sings.
Food in the belly, a fellow well met,
A stick for the walking, a fish in the net.
The dew in the morning, the kiss of a maiden,
The sun on my face, a burden unladen.
Joy’s not yours alone; it belongs to us all,
To the fellow downtrodden, the beast in the stall.
So take as you find it and give when you may,
And happiness often will walk down your way.
Whitest of crystals, coldest of seeds,
Worker of misery and wintry deeds.
Exposed on the hillside the thrall yelps in pain,
A cry from the farmer as it thrashes his grain.
As the barley is battered the grains are well strewn
With the sun’s warmth and bounty crops grow anew.
One single ray from the shield of Sól’s daughter,
Destroy the cold hail and return it to water.
A blocker, a blinder, a mystical force,
A breaker of bonds when stuck on your course.
Need on the road can take many a form,
A horn and some bread, a fire to keep warm.
Toil provides means, a meal and a bed,
A hearth for your feet, a pillow your head.
A stick and a stone are the breakers of bones,
But can also make fire for the needy alone.
For want of need, where would we be?
No cart for the highway, no ship for the sea.
To the idle it’s scornful, a burden to move,
For the wise it’s a reason to strive and improve.
Cat ice in the margins and frost on the ground,
A killer that creeps without any sound.
Binding, constricting, the roof of the lake,
Takes you sleepy to its’ breast, never to wake.
A floor of gemstones in countenance fair,
The traveller on unsteady pathways beware!
But impassable rivers are crossed now with ease,
The ice brings respite to fever’s disease.
Mud, mire and bog, in treacherous marsh,
Can safely be traversed in its grip so harsh.
Harvest is come, fruits of our labours borne,
The onion, the apple, Sir John Barleycorn!
Days at their longest and weather so fair,
Nights full of promise and joy in the air.
We reap our rewards at this time of the year,
Hard work is repaid in bread cheese and beer.
For the fellow that failed his soil to tend,
His kinfolk go hungry and he’ll have his end.
But the wise man toiling with ploughshare and beast,
Will surely be blessed with a bountiful feast!
I pass by a village with a Yew tree so tall,
A mighty sky pillar beloved of all.
Tip high in the sky roots deep in the earth,
All of us know this ancient tree’s worth.
In springtime around, the dancers may go,
In autumn a gift to the hunter, a bow.
Keeper of secrets, always in green,
Wisest of forest folk, calm and serene.
Sentinel tree round which all things revolve
Twigs speak of mysteries, riddles to solve.
A seat in the hall, warm by the hearth,
Watch the girls dancing, hear gamblers laugh.
The Lotbox is shaken the dice they are cast,
Three sisters look on and future is past.
Fate is like ripples, rings on a pool,
From the drop of a pebble from wise man or fool.
None can escape it but our chance we can take,
Choose our own pathway, our story to make.
None outrun death but there’s one thing I’ve learned,
Immortal the wordfame of a good man well earned.
The Elk in the wood, staunch firm and fast,
Antlers raised high, defiant to the last.
Avenger, protector, his enclosure he’ll keep,
Safe from all harm that his kinfolk may sleep.
None shall defy him, proud stag so alert,
He roars out his challenge to all that bear hurt.
But those that would hail the great beast as a friend,
Will ever know that he lives to defend,
From words or weapons, all are the same,
Raise arms to the sky and bellow his name!
Daughter of Sól, bearing your shield,
Shining your rays over hilltop and field.
Sister of Máni, sweet Golden Sow,
Life giving sun on the land that we plough.
Killer of Hail and the Ice Maiden’s end
Truly you’re known as the Seafarer’s friend.
Breaker of barriers, victorious sigil,
Ere chased by Skóll in your endless vigil.
Warmth on my face, I bask in your light,
Till your brother rises to herald the night.
Bringer of victory, three Tyrs on my blade,
Right, truth and justice, a sacrifice made.
Leavings of the Wolf, noblest of gods,
To you we call to even the odds.
The gift of a hand with no hope of gain,
But to make fast the fetters, the price being pain.
The straw dead will serve in the Legions of Hel,
But with a timely cut Tyr I can enter Valhöll.
Prince of the Temple, unfailing king,
Be my companion when I ride to the Thing.
Sacred the Birch tree in springtime so green,
Your youth and your beauty a sight to be seen.
Slender your branches, no fruits do you bear,
Come little Birch tree, your secrets please share.
Under your canopy the woods fruits do thrive,
Magical shrub, you keep them alive.
Combined with need’s spark you kindle a fire,
That burns hot and bright, fanning desire.
Skin white as snow, your treasures reveal,
You give those who know the power to heal.
Noblest of beasts, the warrior’s friend,
Beloved of Princes, steadfast to the end.
A traveller’s joy and the hill’s decoration,
Brothers of the steed founded a nation.
Four legs a hunter, eight for the Slider
Like Bagri Maro’s and six with a rider.
His hooves beat a rhythm, he snorts and he whickers,
Sing his name and slip twixt the worlds in a flicker.
When the going is heavy, the travelling long,
See wind in his mane and he’ll carry you along.
I met a man as I travelled along,
We shared a meal, a drink and a song.
We spoke of places far and wide;
We told our tales, we laughed, we cried.
When at last we came to rest,
And spoke of things we loved the best,
Gold it dulls, fine ships can leak,
Byrnies rust, blades become weak.
But share an alehorn and food in a pan,
I’d say every man rejoices in man.
A sea to cross, waves are boiling,
Beneath the bowsprit brine is roiling.
Rán’s daughters dance and seek a mate,
To drag below to a watery fate.
A name to call, to still and calm,
And save my ship from certain harm.
And when my fields are bare and dry,
No crops will grow, its’ name I’ll cry
Until the clouds burst pouring rain,
The soil is fertile once again.
Fertile loins and wholesome soil,
Just rewards for honest toil.
A life inside, the growing seed,
A thought, a child, a worthy deed.
Home and hearth, where lies the heart,
A place to rest and then restart.
End of strife, free from worry,
A course to set, no need to hurry.
But keep alert and best beware
Of endless labours with no fruit to bear.
My eyes are open, a new day breaks,
Dark night has passed now as I wake.
Murk is banished, all is clear,
Answers to riddles now appear.
A time for plans, new ventures start,
The will to change, indomitable heart.
We meet in the middle, a balance, a scale,
Hopes and happiness hearty and hale.
So wisely use the dawn’s new light,
Before returns the cloak of night.
O for home! We return at last,
The lot inherited, ancestral past.
Rewards that come from the toil of the clan,
We inherit ourselves, become more than man.
Deeds of the folk are mine now to claim,
I’ll live in a manner to bring them no shame.
Walls of Ásgarð, ramparts of my mind,
Defend and protect, transcend and align.
When men become gods and gods become men,
Destiny mine, we are free once again.