[Dream Gate] [Poet Glas]

Three Tales

Genesis Six

We gave them what we could: tools and lore
(Penemue's gift would bring the strangest curse).
We stayed a while, and then we asked for more
Not knowing that His ire would turn to worse.
Oh, it was sweet! The mortal fleshly love
Was wine to us, so far from Heaven's gates.
But then the One, so often seen as Dove,
Grew wroth with us, our petty loves and hates.
Where Istanbul would one day watch the strait
Of Sea called Black, we saw the waters red
With dust and blood, as rain beat on our fate
And backs, and drowned the cities we had fled.
Our Sons and Daughters perished in the Flood:
Our gaol was else, trapped in eternal mud.

Volupsa Mead - Yggsdrasil and Falling

We wheeled the wain and statue through the night
As in the frozen sky the Great Wain wheeled;
And some of us would worship from our fright
Of Vanir's Curse, before which they would yield.
Many more did love our wooden beard
Or him for whom the idol stood in place.
But Freyr's lust did not bring me my wyrd
Nor draw me to the night-time wagon's pace:
The elf-god's folk were safer than my own
Of farmer's Donnar, oaken Tiwaz' Sky.
But crossing Bifrost came my flesh and bone,
My hangèd brother, with wisdom in his Eye.
He will become the god of kings and skald...
My crooked fate: to see his kingship stalled.

Balor's Eye, Breas' Beauty

How bright they are! The Folk of Danu come
And frolic with fomori from seas blue
And outward isles; and of that union some
Are Breas-bright, and handy as good Lugh.
But watching with the pigs we toast and drink
To what their fate will be with Balor's band.
Betrayed by Breas' beauty, one would think
That beauty would no longer be their brand.
But they are wed to lust of stately gait
And lovely face, a brow both free and bright
With all limbs in their rightly place, and straight;
While Firbolg like us skulk through bogs and night.
The Battle of Moy Tura was our loss...
But soon this Folk will learn of Beauty's cost.

copyright 4 September 2001, Atmore, Alabama (Creek Family Restaurant, Poarch Creek Indians)
by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw

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