Tag Archives: death

Vagvísir

Now, to a darker one…

Have you chosen your place of death?

Is it in the shade of blossoms, 

where the 

wind 

blows to carry words

no 

one will 

know? Or 

is it outside a

lighthouse – where 

whiteness stands so 

close to

gold,

where

maalies* glide,

the great wild bairn* 

free and 

shameless?

Now, in

the 

eye of

the compass,

you see the meaning of

your birth –

your talisman 

in between breasts,

the 

tattoo of

staves in circles;

what’s left of

It lives inside you,

deep inside

the womb of the dead, and 

yet you need me

as a

guide – as

no one points to

their last 

breath.
Notes:

(From Shetland dialect)

maalies: fulmar petrels 

bairn: child 
© Nat Hall 2016 

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Filed under 60N, Arcania, geopoetics, home, island, life, literature, north, poet, poetry, scotland, shetland, shore, spirit, verse, verse poetry, vikings, winter, wordplay

Five Photos, Five Stories – Day 2

From the lightness of being, to the darkness of despair… Or, is it?

For tonight’s second attempt, I chose a “raw” image – not gore, but dark within lightness. That carcass of life on white sand. Mortality as the finality of life.

 
The poem that accompanies the image is called Bird on Your Shoulder

and goes like this:

 So many feathers 

outside cage.
Long,

black, broken,

creased, keratin –

inside my book of elements,

jinxes & spells,

blend in

swift’s

tongue with

snapdragon and

asphodel –

tell me

you can dream 

on the wing,

share an

apple

with

a

waxwing,

high on a roof

     with a blackbird.
Chose si belle,
above spring waves,

with storm petrels

that avian

urge to

reach

your

home,

and
lose your way across 

the sea.
© Nat Hall 2015

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Filed under 2015, 60N, Arcania, birds, colours, earth, geopoetics, iceland, poet, poetry, poets, scotland, seabird, shore, spirit, verse, world, writing

united

Before might of Mother Nature, in disarray when her crust shakes, fashions herself though molten rocks, we need to yield and face chaos.

In unison with prayer flags flying at will between Lhasa & Katmandu, every arête of mythical Hymalayas, I have unleashed my humble ones.

A quake terrifies us all. 

Man may wage wars against his kind, inflict suffering to the world through various ways, including planet poisoning… But man remains powerless before anger from his homeworld – as that thin layer we call ground destroys his own making… 

I watched yesterday’s first reports via a French channel. My heart sank at the people directly affected by yesterday’s massive quake. However, I was also appalled to hear of their [French reporters’] focus on “the terrible loss of UNESCO buildings & fear of French nationals on the Hymalayan slopes.”  …As if they were more preoccupied by stones & privileged mountaineers in search of fame than the Nepalese folk dying under the rubble. 

Let us hope the media change their discourse & that humanity responds quickly enough in an effort to help everyone affected by such natural disaster.

Man has learnt resilience. 

I live in an island not so far from Iceland, where tectonic plates, rifts and volcanoes can be felt at my local level. I wonder how the world would react should it happen closer to us… 

 

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