Thursday, September 21, 2006


There was a place that women knew,
a lookout high above the saffron seas
where girls and mothers long stood to stare like statues
upon the honey horizons where dragon-men sailed
and sang into the mouth of jealous death.
Strong hands shaded brimming sapphire eyes
and words like prayers to gods both old and new
dropped like birds from off their cliffside nests
and flew with powerful hearts in full pursuit
of the men they needed to make harsh living sweet.

Old love, new love, each had its private voice
when women of sea rovers spoke alone
on Toss-Love Rock, west to the setting sun.
They spoke of things too tender to say aloud
to men who sang at night of blood and steel,
to men who were no strangers to fear and pain
and yet loved well the women of their fiords.
But like all women they knew the weight of loss
when adventure and life call men to seek Valhalla
and lose the heaven of their lonely lovers' arms.

The emptiness of waiting long without word
honed the edge of quality left behind
when Viking women took the place of men
and built their kingdoms with hard arms and minds.
Pride as strong as love, preserved like gold,
kept hope alive and fathered queens for continents.

(Gone to Gossamer)


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