The solution

Long auburn free-flowing tresses
surrounded her sun-burned freckles
a hearty healthy image of femininity
Völva Vigga treads in her woodsy vicinity
seeking her highborn sister Sophia,
and it turned out that the locale
of sun-and shady woods was palliative
to both their souls - tormented in thunder.

The terrible request from whence
was more than the Völva could conceive
whilst in her mourning for what happened
so she had again required the presence
of her other self, her sister who knew.
Vigga the winsome Völva was in a quandary
a query to go on a violent quest
had been reqested by her ghostly granny
who had herself been molested as a child.
Grosswolf was the perpetrator's foul fame
written on the knife which the Völva
now carried again, helped by Elvish men
to have them grasp it from the raw rapist.

Sophia, her highborn and wise sister,
was there to spryly listen and partake
in her sister's debate with the ghost,
a clash she knew that the Völva Vigga
would not take lightly, even though it was
only a spectral visitant of the netherworld.
Yet, otherworldly symbols of conscience
can be as vivid and real as reality
and sometimes even more so - so Sophia
was preparing herself to defend logic
and wonderful wisdom to try and win
the battle royal of wise women versus a view
of an awesome aura of old time hate
and revengeful sentiments of the past.
Sophia had read all the classics, but
knew that all this may be for naught.

Vigga the Völva began by wondering why
their grandmother's ghost manifested
with such vivid force - since she was dead.
Meekly, the spirits were kind and gentle
in her life, Vigga vocalized, but not this time.
After all, Vigga was vacillating and did not
venture into murder, no matter how bad it seemed,
and she had been the perpetrator's victim.

Sophia, surprised by what she heard, had to stop
think what the Völva had just said,
she did not want to kill another fellow human,
so she, Sophia, did not need her elaborate speech
about slaying in vain and how it perpetuated
the same foolish patterns of intricate conduct.
"You are wise - not to adhere to our granny's wish"
was how she was going to phrase her sentiment
when Sophia felt a pang in her abdomen -
she keeled over on the fresh moss next to Ygdrasil
and could barely breathe,"give me some water"
she whispered, and Vigga the Völva quickly went
to the stream and filled her little flask
which she had in her leathery brownish belt.

Sophia drank with such need that Vigga indeed
searched for the answer why the brainy sister
was so heartily inflicted, after all she was free.
For the second time the ghastly ghost of their grandmother
stood before both sisters, Sophia whimpering in pain
and Vigga trying to alleviate her with water.
"What are you waiting for? Kill the male!"
She disappeared in a huff as quickly as she had come.
Vigga and now Sophia, stared at the place
where the appearance had mysteriously materialized.

Sophia, shaken, said,"I saw her. She wants you to kill."
Vigga who had been more used to communicating with
their granny of yonder, nodded and murmured, "yes".

Yggdrasil, the tree nursed to life by Vigga
shielded the women in the wild woodland
and then Sophia proceeded to tell her sister
what she had also seen, in that short time,
the male, for she described him to Vigga the Völva,
was in the process of ravishing a young child
in the woods not far from where they were,
in the village beyond the wild woods.
"We have to go", the wise Sophia said,
"do you have your sharp Elvish knife?"

The two women, the wise and highborn Sophia
and her seeking sister Vigga the Völva,
went on their way to find the malefactor.
Vigga who knew that the male was strong and
she and Sophia, her sister, were not cut out
to battle such an evil force without help,
the Volva, reluctantly, but resolved, drew
her hunter's horn, tiny brass instrument,
formed with a tinge of mystery to it,
because it only shined when tooting it
- otherwise it seemed drearily dull.
Three Elvish men appeared. Sophia puzzled,
"Why" she asked the Volva, "do we need help?"
Vigga, who seemed more like an old hag by now, tired,
told her sister that the male was too strong,
therefore they needed Elvish help, but not the males;
the females and about nine of them.
Vigga the Völva pleaded with the little menfolk
and got them to switch with nine elvish women,
promising them to invite them all to Beltane
near Yggdrasil, once this dreadful deed was over.

The two ladies in their woodland woolen drab clothes
began their vacillating walk towards the village,
the nine elvish womenfolk dancing along chanting
their age-old mystery Elvish song, luring males.

They found the male... he had just done the deed
looking up and smiling viciously at Vigga,
his eyes glinting with such vigor and hate
that she jumped back - the Elvish ladies started
luring him away from the child,
a bonnie little lass of six years of age.
The child was in such a state that Vigga the Volva
only knew this, get her away from the spot,
into safety and loving care of the healer.
She motioned Sophia her highborn wise sister
to take the child to the wise woman's hut to clean her up
and calm her with a memory altering brew for now.

With a whiff of her hand she commanded to the Elvish women
to bind the male with age old charms and keep him tied up,
so he could not move any of his limbs.

'You are evil", she told him, "I have been commanded
to kill you, but that would be too easy for you".
She took out her knife, "you recognize this, I believe?"
his eyes showed no remorse, just dullness.
"I have to wait for two more to arrive", she said,
you will then have your say, you may defend yourself
in front of the twelve confronting you".
The male was still, bound by Elvish treads,
wisely he had stopped moving, because when he made a motion
the Elvish robes holding him whipped his limbs
so strong that he felt being brandished by irons.

Sophia came back and then her grandmother's ghost
got her say, "whatever he says kill him, otherwise he
will continue his evil deeds. Anyone who molests a child
should not be allowed to live one day on this earth!"
The ghost grasped the prisoner's throat
and started squeezing, so angry was she,
and only when Vigga commanded her to stop
did she reluctantly relinquish her ghostly grasp.
The man coughed and sputtered and moved vigorously
and then he screamed, he had forgotten the Elvish strings.

Sophia, wise, and worldly, calmly said, "have your say"
and the man condemned the whole world including the ghost,
Vigga, but out of his mouth came the names of everyone
he had violated. He had been violated too,when young.

Vigga, Sophia, and the nine Elves, as well as the ghost
took their vote, and with the exception of the ghoulish
grandmother who, greenish, yellowish, foaming with anger,
commanded, "Death to him". The eleven, the Elvish ladies and
the two sisters voted for him to live as a eunuch,
an emasculated servant who could never do the deed again.
The male screamed his anguish and pleaded "I will rather die"
but Sophia being the lead judge told him, "No,
you will live till you are old and grey and you will never
feel pleasure again - only when you learn to love."

The determined Volva and the elves took him near the brook,
so she could wash off the bloody knife after her surgery
and he was awake, but not moving because the Elvish females
made sure he did not move. His eyes had only fear now.
The knife glistened in the sunlight, and as Vigga the Volva
was carefully cutting and removing the stones and sewing
his empty sack together again with the needles provided for
by the elves, she shook thinking this was the worst
she the Volva had ever undertaken.

But behind her her grandmother's ghost grew
gripping the stones, threw them triumphantly in the air like balls,
and Odin's ravens Hugin (thought) and Munin (memory)
snapped them up screeching their shrill cry
being called upon by ancient magic to vindicate
all the perpetrator's victims. Alas, he had been a lamb too,
but he had a free will, and Vigga the Völva wanted
him to understand the why behind her reasoning.
He was completely quiet, and she had managed to get
some water with some healing herbs in his mouth,
he stared with empty eyes - not really grasping
what had become his fate - an emasculated male
one who could not ejaculate anymore, even though
sometimes it can be reversed, there was ancient
magic sown into his empty, effeminate satchel.
He was being eunuchized - purebred - demaled!
His punishment was harsh, but no harsher
than the many wounds he had inflicted,
and all the children both males and females
were being wound up by Elvish skills
and helped with the utmost authority,
so the dreadful deeds would not perpetuate
in eternity and elucidate authenticity.

The male was released from Elvish binding
and stumbled across the woodland floor,
a little tired, and he was heading towards
the healing woman's hut hoping for a reprieve.
She had just finished her cleaning up of the child,
and the girl was whisked back to her family
by one neighbour helping the wise woman,
with a charm and a witch's brew,
but there were many souls to heal.
So the she-healer, alerted, would not
say no to an extra hand, he could sleep on the floor
near the embers of her stove on a mattress
and in the morn when he had rested,
they would talk about his duties - if he stayed.
That way the whole woodland could then keep
an eye on the misery maker - and be reminded.

The Völva Vigga and her highborn sister
had a feast to prepare being Beltane to next night
and she had promised the elves a feast of renown.

The next eve around a magnificent maypole on May Day
the sisters stood and watched the merriment,
their arms around each other and murmured joyfully.
The Elvish ladies were decked out in their finest
silvery shimmering see-through long dresses,
their hair adorned with blooms and leaves,
the men, handsome, offered to dance the night away.
Yggdrasil had spouted its first flower,
a golden-orangy double knotted blossom, and
the ghost of their granny was smiling benevolently
befitted to a night of mysterious joys.
In the night's sky Hugin and Mugin were but shadows
against the moonlit woodsland - the frogs croaked,
Beltane came and went once again...

Alas - what half?

Equal pay - Equal pay
screams the world's half!
Equal work - equal work
screams the world's half!
Alas - alas - alas!

To-day's Word

Word of the day
from the bible to the lexicon
to-day's winsome
first used in Beowulf
to denote pleasant.
Word of my day
taken from weather perusing
today's winsome
because the sun is out
spring is balmy.
Word of any day
depending on circumstances
you win some - you lose some
wherever you are
your strength is
in your winsome words.

ruffled feathers

feathers of ostrich
featured in old-time photos
of the fair sex
so the males can dream
achieving their little wet
while we today label them
pornographic art -

the Internet provides
wet dreams of any kind
online in real time
and nobody is outraged
accepting whatever
except maybe an old broad
with ruffled feathers

A little bitter

Bitter oranges
sadness gripes
badlands

Bitter chocolate
gladness seizes
wasteland

Bitter almonds
madness attacks
wilderness

Poetry month

Poetry month
search a hunch
of brilliance -
alas, my words
never to be heard
of resilience!
They can kill
words of great ill -
use temperance.
Verses of love
are just a shove
of top romance.
Stanzas of lines
idiotic rhymes
turn by chance
to grave truths
and so the sleuths
of words enhanced.
So poets uphold
your pact untold:
lyrics of fer-de-lance.

Penalty dance

A slightly, tipsy dance
will really just enhance
with a grey fer-de-lance
the dance of death entranced.
The judges all talk about death
academically - not like Macbeth
murder, crime - done by Seth
the high court will now and yet
approve the final prospect.
The laws of the land advance
a knightly, autopsy romance
with annuity of game of chance
an ultimate penalty of haute finance.

The US is discussing the death penalty
and wants to have it reinstated nationally

Mom haiku

Mom, I need help, please!
Ok, what do you need, child?
Listen, Mom, Listen!

The Volva's command

Fiery frosty feisty Vigga the Volva
wrought her thoughts
over whether to revenge herself
on her rapist or not.
The elvish folks had found her knife
and stolen it back to her.
She met them near the brackish brook
where frogs and flies fought
during the Eostre celebration -
the month for venerable Venus.
The elves had picked the Vernal Equinox
an auspicious day to bring her
her grandmother's elfish knife
with the word "Grosswolf" engraved
on the tip of the brilliant Toledo blade.

She thanked them humbly and offered
them some darkly mead for their pains.
The elves were grateful as their travails
had been long and laborious.
Before she could say thanks again
they had disappeared in their elvish mist.


She became pensive and pondered
as she perceived the awe-inspiring assegai.
It had meant to kill and protect innocents
of their attrocious assailants.
Now it was waiting her cruel commands.
Could she kill, maim, harm another being?
Her ruthless rapist had had
no quenchable qualms where she had been concerned,
could she do what nature's law required her to do,
or should she albeit ascribe to the law of mercy
The bolster in which she had carried
her knife was in her maidenly hut
and she went in to fetch it.
She simply sheathed her grandmother's grand knife
into the leather and strabbed it onto her lithe leg,
brushed her long favourite frock and strode out
of the hut into her well-known world of woods
feeling infinite more safe, even though she knew
that she was a very vulnerable wrench,
but a wise woman with burdensome bourn:
to strike or not to strike, preemptively:
revenge or hindrance that the molesting male
would do his heinous degrading deed evermore.

She strode out into the woods going first to water
the yearning Ygdrasil near the little brook
the Eostre's bid of blooms was spectacular,
the yellows against the dark forest floor shined
like majestic moons - the Earth greatest gift
life - stood in greatest opposition to
what the Volva Vigga wavered - to take a life?

Mulling over what her new choice wrought
she looked at her tree and talked in her mind
not with Sophia her highborn sister - but
to her grandmother's ghost, wrestling - wondering.
The woods which had been sun-baked as
she came out of her hut were now dark
the water in the brook whorled dangerously
and Ydgrasil's light branches screeched.

Vigga the Volva's grandmother stood in
her mightly eery sheen, ghastly ghostly green
spoke spookily to her granddaughter
only one word - "Kill!"

Words - mimosas

Words - full of imagination

a world within a mind

just - once upon a time

pictures the words

Thaumatolatry

Thaumatolatry - a marveling of worship
with the seven wonders of the ancient world
Tomatolatry - a tomato worship of deadly demagogues
where you could smash the tomato in their faces
Potatolatry - a potato worship of playing politics
in which you can be a vp and spell the word with an e.
Idiotic idolatry - of thaumatolatry - think twice

(with apologies to the tomato and the potato!)

Orange Gates

My black tshirt says today
the Gates in New York City
It takes me back to a Sunday
of Christos' art committee.

The weather too allotted parlay
deeply burrowed in the Park
every mood on straight display
people walking under the tarp.

We gaped at the vast societé
from the roof of the Museum
ORANGE may it never decay
in my memory's mausoleum.

Spring tree

white spikes
glinting slightly
everywhither
in the big tree
withstanding
the wild wind
versus the greyish
evening welkin

Briiliant

Brilliant colors in a little puddle
in the woods, in the cityscape,
in the tiniest, humble crevice.
Puddling lives of amoebae,
double helices of hesitant lights -
turning to mysterious essence
a muddling puddle - brilliant!

Spring in Rain

Rainimation will bring
Flowerisation of spring
Celebration we sing

Rainimation is a neologism: meaning rain animating the earth
Flowerisation is a neologism: meaning flourishing conversation
(earth respeonding to the rain) and growth, especially of flowers

Genetic makeup?

Why do some people clothe frumpily
while others slip into "fashion smarts"?
It relies on genes and/or nurture!

Why do some people pick at foods
while others eat in exuberance?
It hinges on genes and/or vulture!

Why do some people ignore finesse
while others make merry in all medias?
It depends on genes and/or culture!

Ode to my its

I dream of the million eyes
gawking and yawping at me
me and my dust mites galore
I hate to hoover - it's a bore

I dream of the million legs
tramping all over the place
me and my dust mites ample
I love to read as an example

I dream of the million mouths
devouring from north to south
my less than perfect dusty abode
I have to vacuum - end of ode.

The waiting

She was incessantly sad, the Vølva Vigga,
it had been nine mournful moons
since she had lost her granny's knife -
the one carrying the name Grosswolf -
to her ruthless rigidly relentless rapist,
sitting at her cherished spot near Yddgrasil
the little tree she planted and wetted
with tears and moonlit dewdrops.
It had grown vigorously into a sycamore,
one that she could find shade under,
so she could feel close to its roots.
It had pruned itself into half an ash,
so she felt even more whole resting there.
Just like its precious predecessor
the ash willed its roots to find water
underneath the underworld of dirt,
a fairly fey woodland with toadstools
and unfathomable odd spry seedlings.
This ash and her calm surroundings
could not have stopped the wrought villainy
neither could the villagers close by.
The Vølva Vigga had sat most afternoons
near the yearning Ygdrasil - daydreaming.
Her abortion had not metamorphosed her
into her confident constant courageous self.
Only the sweet phenomenon called time
would timely heal her and her revenge.
Vigga the Vølva wondered why she needed
to be near the damned deed's place,
but it was also the spot she literally loved.
Ygdrasil, because it had transfigured itself
she understood that she needed to do that too.
She was almost there, ready to repossess
her wielding weapon - her grandmother's knife.
Right after her rape she had sent out scouts
of a special kind, the elves who had promised,
to repay her lasting loyalty and right the wrong
that one of their tribe a wrought another Vølva,
her grandmother at Tintagel - a long time away -
and not long ago in their own buoyant backyard.
She was waiting for their scouting results.
Spring tide was almost here and spout time
and with that assurance of rightful wrath
her strength coming back with vivid vengeance.

Pink April Fool

Pink elephants on a rainy morn
visiting my childhood
my mother saw them vividly
every April Fool's Day.
To this day I tell my daughter
that I saw on her childhood road
every April Fool's Day
the pink pachyderm in the rain.