Tag: Algiz

Summer Solstice

Run laughing towards the serpent’s jaws, where England meets the sea Breathe in the old dreams of the dead that travel on the winds A taste of salt, of love, of things left unsaid, undone A face like sunlight that burns my eyes and my soul That haunts and comforts, whispers of what could have […]

New Blood IX

Another New Blood post to share the latest creations.

À la Lune

The moon pours to the heart its white intimacy Of a vaporous dream where passes a beauty, And in the hollow paths where the freshness exhales Adds to the puddles some opal-coloured pools. – Albert Lozeau – To the Moon –

She recited curses and spoke magic words

Circe, daughter of the Sun, recited curses and spoke magic words, worshipping unknown gods, with unknown incantations, by which she used to dim the face of the bright moon, and veil her father’s orb, with moisture-loving cloud. – Ovid (translation A.S. Kline) – Metamorphoses –

La couronne effeuillée II

J’irai, j’irai porter ma couronne effeuillée Au jardin de mon père où revit toute fleur ; J’y répandrai longtemps mon âme agenouillée : Mon père a des secrets pour vaincre la douleur. J’irai, j’irai lui dire, au moins avec mes larmes : “Regardez, j’ai souffert … ” il me regardera, Et sous mes jours changés, […]

La couronne effeuillée I

J’irai, j’irai porter ma couronne effeuillée Au jardin de mon père où revit toute fleur ; J’y répandrai longtemps mon âme agenouillée : Mon père a des secrets pour vaincre la douleur. J’irai, j’irai lui dire, au moins avec mes larmes : “Regardez, j’ai souffert … ” il me regardera, Et sous mes jours changés, […]

Like slithers of a Fallen Moon

Lightlessness. Each man’s hands clutch at spears and amulets. My own fill with hacksilver, its small grey fragments like slithers of a fallen moon – Laura Webb – Coda, from An Anthology of responses to Skaldic poetry –

A Storm of Swords

Soon comes the cold, and the night that never ends. – George R.R. Martin – A Storm of Swords –

Valhalla Rising

Kare: We are more than flesh and blood. More than revenge. – Nicolas Winding Refn – Valhalla Rising –

The Dream in the Witch House

Mazurewicz came home at six o’clock and said people at the mill were whispering that the Walpurgis-revels would be held in the dark ravine beyond Meadow Hill where the old white stone stands in a place queerly void of all plant-life. – H.P. Lovecraft – The Dream in the Witch House –

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