I Am, I Will Be Drunk

Content warning: mentions of intoxication and drinking alcohol

Charles Baudelaire,

He said be drunk

I know what he means

I do.

To be drunk on

“Wine or poetry or virtue”

Oh how I would love

To make you drunk on poetry

To feed you my words

Shot by shot

Fiery and sweet like absinthe

Green like envy

Slipping acidly down

Your gullet.

Hot like love

Like love like sweet, dark love

Wrapping around your tongue

In every language

A polyglot of emotion.

Speak to me, speak to me

Tell me are you drunk yet?

Drunk on phrasing,

Innuendo, entendres double

And beyond

A polycule of hidden meanings

Or not so hidden

A flash of cleavage

In a dusky speakeasy.

I’m going to tell you

A secret though

I’m already drunk

Drunk on your presence

Your easy love

Not easy as in



Or even


But easy to be in,

To lose myself in

Freely given in return for

Worship and offerings

And words, words, words

Takk fyrir


My mead, my wine, my drunken heart

Spinning like a head after a

Significant birthday party

My salt-rimmed sweet and sour treat

Cynical and adoring

In equal measures (50 ml)

I know what he meant,

Be drunk, always be drunk

On divinity, on cosmic wonder

On you.

Lokean Beads

Contains UPG.

My husband took a liking to kombolois while we were in Rhodes last year. I bought him one from a Greek merchant, crafted from pieces of volcanic rock. I later felt that special niggling feeling you get when something close to you wants something – maybe it’s time to refill the glasses on the altar, or draw a card… but in this instance, there was the very strong feeling that Loki would also like some similar beads.

I’d never considered making prayer beads, although I had seen some beautiful ones crafted by other members of the community. The komboloi is, as far as I know, not particularly religious but more of a set of worry beads, for fidgeting with to alleviate anxiety, or simply for fun. I agreed to make some for Loki, and had a couple of great moments during the process.

I bought the beads and thread from an Etsy seller. She included, for free, two tiny “S” shaped decorative pieces that looked very snake-like! I’d ordered blue thread, but she threw in some gorgeous rainbow thread that, of course, was what I ended up using.

I’m really pleased with the finished result which now resides on Loki’s altar, and I do use them as part of my practice – so they have, after all, become prayer beads. What do you think?

Moon Day Mondays

Waxing Crescent – First Quarter

Last night it seemed so bright and strong

A bow of light

A bower capable of

Lifting the world

As I glided home along motorways

Lokabrenna searing my eyes

By my side the whole way

Orion’s companion

A torch of hope and clarity.

Today I feel like the curvy deliciousness

Though fatter and seemingly firmer

Is a fragile beast

Barely keeping together

Fighting through clouds

Of miscommunication

Battling light pollution

Too many egos

Too many cooks

Spoiling the broth

Putting salt instead of sugar

In my already weak tea

What a baffling phase this is

Tentative and changeable

Sat upon its curve and swinging, swinging

A hopelessly beautiful hammock

Oh just let me sleep.

Shouting Fire

I want to shout it out

From the top of a




Aeroplane in flight

Hang suspended in the clouds

Shouting fire

Upon the unsuspecting.

Fire of inspiration




Just make something

Make something make something

Make me something then

Share it

Share it with the world

I want to shout it out

From a falcon’s wings

Slowly and inexorable

Fanning flames

That both destroy and protect

From caught in a spider’s web

Eight legs sacred

And well remembered

Shouting fire that

Not so much burns

As cures

Like a pot in the kiln

Possibly a little cracked

From time to time



Yet hard and unyielding

Ready to be filled

Ready to pour

Ready to be exactly as useful

As I want to be.


Image by Simon Berger via Unsplash

Brigid came on the wind

Blessing the brat bhríde

Soaking it with cool rain

Not quite winter waters

Not quite springtime showers

Tears from that in-between

Liminal state of season

A grief, a keening for the darkness

Slowly washing away

In the inevitable turn

Of the Earth.

She stroked gentle fingers

Down the cloths hanging

From trees, posts, baskets

Sprawled on Hawthorn

Or tucked into cracks

Waiting for her blessing

Draped in hope and faith

Those gentle fingers

Bely great power

Surging fire and weight

Filling smiths and poets

With inspiration that burns

Like the forge fire

The wind her bellows

Pumping, coaxing

Drawing out something new

Something new for Imbolg.

Great Brigid

Do you coax forward

The snowdrops too?

The first lambs, staggering,

Uncertain and fragile

Yet joyous in life

As we are before

Your mighty presence?


I was always falling for you

My whole life

Sometimes dancing so close to the edge

Hearing the call

Of your tales

Both terrible and comic

I felt for you

Like no other

I fell for you

Little by little

You guided my empathy

As I grew

I always protected

Defended the underdog

The one the others

Turned against

My foundational ethics

However dubious

Came from you

As I orbited

The rim of the cave

For twenty years or more

I denied myself this

Until even my other guides

Raised a metaphysical eyebrow

Pushing me, gently yet inexorably

Into your embrace.

You transform me

You burn away

The echoes of doubt

You shrug until I stand

On my own two feet

And we both laugh

When I stumble

In a matter of days

You helped me take

Myself less seriously

So much less

Than ever before.

You made me humble and proud

All at the same time

Worth so much more

Than this coffee

(Milk two sugars)

I bring you each morning

And the spiced mead

We drink together

At night.

I was always

On my way here

And falling never felt so much like


Inspired by Loki

Huge amounts of UPG here, read my Disclaimer post for more clarity.

I’m not and never have been a Heathen, or involved in Norse Paganism of any kind. I have, however, always had an enormous fascination for the mythology, history, and culture of Scandinavia and the Norse, and in particular, as a child, was enormously fond of Loki. I imagine there are plenty of children who identify with the Trickster.

Over the last few years, my thoughts and feelings have wandered to Loki and then away again. Over the past year, in particular, this was happening more and more often. This came to a head when I was commissioned to write a poem for a charity auction winner. I asked what topic they would like. The answer was Loki. This felt like an enormous coincidence considering my thoughts at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that Loki is very popular and well loved, so perhaps not that much of a coincidence at all.

Writing this poem for another was like opening a hidden hatch in dark room. I can’t share the poem here, because I literally gave it to the winner to keep as their own, but the themes of change and transformation just seemed to flow onto the page. Researching for the poem reminded me of my childhood love and admiration for Loki, and since then I’ve become what I can only refer to as attached to the Trickster God.

I was a little frightened and confused at first. Having no basis in Norse religion, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was biting off more than I could chew. Thankfully, good friends steered me towards some reliable, inclusive sources and information, and I was able to get some advice on discernment, imagery, associations and more. I’m so grateful to those taking the time to be there for people like me: stunned, floundering, and basically wondering what on Earth is going on!

My reunion with Loki as an adult is quite possibly the most intense thing that has ever happened to me. After 5 days of spiritual whirlwind and a slew of UPG-rich poems and journalling, I finally calmed down a little (just a little) and settled back into some more serious reading and researching. I’ve set aside a space for Loki and created a Spotify playlist of songs that make me think of this inspiring God. Loki gets fresh coffee on a morning and mead at night.

Re-meeting Loki in this way has also inspired me to attend to my other deities more, too. It’s as if I’ve been reminded that my divine connections are real and vital, and that caring for them is also about caring for myself and my spiritual well-being.

Takk fyrir guð minn.

Monday: Moon Day

I’ve been thinking a lot about the different aspects of my Pagan path lately. One of the things that has been constant since I was very young is my fascination with the moon. I think it’s the fact that the power of the moon is incontrovertible. That beautiful satellite moves the tides, affects the water table, and changes appearance on a cycle that’s as fixed and predictable as the sun rising and setting – and yet those cycles can affect us all in completely different ways.

My favourite phase of the moon has always been waxing gibbous. Not quite full, but in anticipation of completion. Growing, slowly yet inexorably. Filled with promise, plump and gorgeous, teasing at greater things to come.

Right now we’re moving into the final quarter of the moon, just shy of waning gibbous and almost to a perfect waning half moon. Recently, I considered why I’ve never thought as deeply about the waning gibbous as I have about its waxing counterpart. I decided to try and write a few words about it. This is what I scribbled in my journal:

…the plans that seemed so promising at the waxing gibbous seem impossible now… but you still have the power… your energy is lower but do what you can… your will you keep going and see out those plans… let your feet keep moving and see where they carry you…

I love that last sentence. Let your feet keep moving, and see where they carry you. Sounds like the start to quite an adventure.

Lightning Eyes

I don’t understand

How people can’t tell

I’m walking around

With lightning eyes

Your fire light struck me

Ran through me

Like magma

I’m glowing with lava

Red hot to the touch

Slap a radioactive

Hazard warning sign

On my back

And send me into

The decontamination showers

That won’t do any good

It’s pouring

Out of my soul windows

And into the world

Every laugh

Every word

Every touch of kindness

And sarcastic whip

Every choice to be brave

And ask for what I want

Or make my own luck

You struck me

I fell

How can’t they tell?

I’m dancing around

With lightning eyes.

Frosty Morning

Photo by photos_by_ginny on Pexels.com

Soft grey sky

Belying the killing cold

Temperatures plunging

Diving in to that icy pool

Wood pigeons fluffed up

Cocky against the cold

Marching smugly

Through frozen grass

So steely

The wind doesn’t have a chance

But we stay inside

Admiring echoes

Of misty Niflheim

Wondrous at beings

Resilient enough not only

To bear it

But to revel in it

To thrive in what can kill

Having said that

We smile and create

A tiny corner of Muspelheim

With nary a fear

Of burning the house down.