The winter

Vigga was merely not only mad
The vølva was furiously feeling cold
iced within her old frame - not fabled
not truly feeble either - just jinxed
that life was taking its toll (what a cliché)
alas there was something strange
within herself, body or soul -
wondered what it could be - hell
was not hot - hell was for her icicles
ice-laden and ice cold - beautiful
as such devilish images of inbred
cultural and pervasive preordained
beliefs of a tedious tradition -
hammered in through mother's milk
- alas - she was a vølva but her birth
(some of her umpteenth upbringing)
was of the festering male dominated kind
it was in the lovely language that
she swore she would forever like
- but it snug in the patronizing patriarchy - 
without her wanting to hear it
and  her expressing the esoteric feelings
of being quiet about herself -
the only other being the highborn Sophia
her sister-in- spirit  would know.
She muttered again chilled
by recent male-dominated domains
of their tremendous tediousness
that why wherefore and how could it be
that persnickety people were gullible
that evil was not out in this world.
She had had too a along and lengthy life
to be still astonished and in awe
that history again would be written
by the odds of truthiness gone to pot
and frightening followers frump
a search for doing what is right
sometimes surely doing it correctly
but by the wayside throwing it
to the terrible bunk of burying
everything everywhere - truth torn
from itself a historically hell
again - not unlike the Dante's
descent into the deep dipper.

Tugging her cape around her
wasted waist wallowing in self pity
she shook her now whitish mane
chilled and not quite shellacked
- I am a old fool - she mumbled
numbed by the wintry weather -
but  I do not believe benevolence
has gone from the caring community
there are people searching for
statutes which will lead to
some kind of hope and hankering
a long time albeit in coming
but each generation will try
and do better or else - humanity
itself iced from not remembering
recalling that history will gestate
another generation's lack thereof.
And, of course, they have forgotten
to acknowledge that Gaia rules
and she is tired of not being able
to breathe, to joyfully jingle
so she will be coming with
withering storms, killing quite
obviously her own wonders
sealing the steers so that only
nothing is left, viruses will proliferate
happily until the common man
(read con man) realizes suddenly
that he needs to change his needs
so she the Earth may prosper
in earnest - otherwise she will
icily implode of man's improper
care taking skills - the so-called
dominator will be deathly doomed.

Vigga the Vølva wiggled her toes
in  her heavy wintry booths
walked down to her little brook
looking so forlorn  but as she
stared along the beige brown brink
she suddenly spotted a small
green shoot - quietly - inaudibly
her gloved hands grossly shook
and she bent down to look closer
yes, true the verdant wonder
was there - and a wow-factor
took her by sudden surprise -
mayhap miracles could come about
rose herself up brushing off
the dirt from her woolen cape
- hopeful - she started to walk
briskly along the downtrodden trail
reminiscing the old poet's thought
after the cold spring must come!