by Sarenth Odinsson
You Who gave us oðr
Mud King, Marsh King
You Who gave us Will
Hail to You!
Whose friend and aide is Mimir
Who is confidante and conspirator to Odin
Who brings action in Vé’s wake
Hail to You!
Whose mouth is full to bursting
Whose hands held Ymir down
Who helped Odin and Vé craft many Worlds
Hail to You!
Whose silence is full of wisdom
Whose countenance is fearsome
Whose counsel is prudent
Hail to You!
Who knows the many ways forward
Who even the Gods seek in counsel
Whose divination sees the Worlds set aright
Hail to You, Hoenir!
by C. Greene
Hoenir, King of the lands of plenty,
what wisdom have You found amongst the marsh birds and the eels?
God Who granted will to Ask and Embla,
terrible will born of a slayer of Ymir,
Haunter of the lands most filled with Ymir’s blood,
what do You seek there?
Are the bog lamps the lingering flicker of Ymir’s synapses,
does wyrd stretch out its threads before You in the fog,
or are the cleansing places of the world whispering their secrets?
With whom would You share Your heron-wit?
Will the descendants of the driftwood born be worthy of such a gift,
or will we burn brightly and fade like the will o wisps of Your holy places?
Silence in the bulrushes may greet the querent, but that may be an answer in itself. May we be worthy Hoenir, may we learn from Your primal acts, and in Your silence may you not be forgotten.
To Hoenir the Long-Lived
It was sense and wit You gave
when Óðinn and Loðurr made humans—
the High One and Vé, Whom men call Loki,
came together in You, Víli, to form minds.
It was sense and wit You showed
when in Vanaheim’s hostage-ship with Mimir
and You kept holy silence therein—
only the best advice fell on Your ears.
It was sense and wit You had
When Óðinn was in exile and with Vé
You stood in His stead over the Æsir—
it brought you to bed with Frigg.
And, it will be sense and wit that are needed
when You stand after Ragnarök
casting blood-wands for Viðarr and Vali,
Magni and Móði, and Baldr—wise Hoenir, hail!
by C. King
Brooding hostage, silent God
Muddy throne, Your hall of reeds-
Sway and twist like feathers falling
Mossy hued, those slender spears-
Chime and shudder from Your spirit.
Wordless, primal prayers sung
That ripple and tug the vault of heaven.
There amidst the marshy bank,
With Ymir’s blood smeared as mark-
The dappled Crane nests and watches
Before the countenance of Man becomes it.
You that roused urge and longing,
With rune-song sang up and awakened.
Wise He who saw the first and sees the last, what will be the after?
Gray Song, may the riverbanks ever be Your treasure.
Demure Council, may wisdom ever consider all avenues.
Knowing Maker-strengthen our people against those coarse to the Holy Powers.
Long Foot, ward us against the profane and arrogant. Where our clumsy feet trail Midgard-strengthen our resolve to be worthy of the Gods that shine brightly.
Clever God, of mist and wing-
That briny fog your cloak and down.
Whom appears at will to mortals few-
And whispers wisely second thoughts.
I thank You, Vanir Captive.
I praise You, Vili of Odr
May Your name ever live on the tongues of Ash and Embla’s progeny.
by Dr. E. Kelly
(the birds pictured are sandhill cranes)
In Praise of the Marsh King
By Victoria Morelli
Swift You come, Helper to All,
Gods and men alike.
Silent yet sharp,
Sharp as a knife’s keen edge,
from You we gained the gifts
of wit and wonder.
High and Holy, the Marsh King walks,
strong of will and wisdom.
Storks and swans, cranes and ducks,
Your sacred messengers all,
and they herald the numen of Your passing.
Where You step, there is enchantment.
Where you wander, there is power.
The eldritch things that live in the mist
whisper fairy tales to hapless mortals
of red gold and blue fire and the pale God
weaving magic in the misty fen.
The strength of Your mind,
helped carve worlds into being.
The implacability of Your will,
helped drive the spear deep
into old Ymir’s guts.
Liminal places, bogs and marshland,
foggy groves, and dank swamps
are Your favored doorways,
and what comes out of them is hallowed.
You I praise, and I seek Your blessing,
Who ended a war with His uncle’s head
because He knew:
some sacred places are hungry.
Hail to the Marsh King.