Frey's Road
a poem by Jack Roe
The laughing lord leaves the locks
Of Woden’s world, and wends his way
Through seas of thirsty salt, the sands
Of Vana land lie long and veiled leagues
From where fair Frey fares forth.
His father’s ship fears not the shoals
Of Vana shores, its well-hewn walls
The waves repel, the rippling weed
Of mermaid’s manes delay him not.
The dearest lord dismounts in time,
In summer’s silken season. The singing
People pour out their welcome.
Waes hael the Golden God, who gives us
All. The elm and alder, apple and poplar
Watch his progress among the people,
Watch the women who throw themselves
At Frey’s feet, their bodies to be blessed
By his fine phallus. He rides the road to
The final field, his horse’s hooves
A booming beat that binds his doom
As his hands are bound by daisy chains.
Crowned and wreathed, he rides ahead.
The waving wheat, the woman waits,
Her sickle sharp as summer rains,
Her visage veiled in raven’s raiment.
He kneels, he knows the need, he smiles
And lifts his living throat to this, the end
That is not an end. The blade, the beating
Heart and blood that seeps scarlet
Into the earth. The howl goes high,
The hue and cry, the wailers wander
Far and wide, the word to spread,
The blood’s been shed, the babes will live
And bellies filled, and filled again.
We do not see the winding road
He walks each year, to Hel’s hallowed home
Where softly sleep the sighing dead,
The dread and darkling gate that grows
From snow and ice. The maiden Mordgud
Merely smiles, her spear cast aside,
She greets the golden one with kisses
Caught only once a year. You have come,
And now you must go. Doom’s door does not
Open for you yet. Next year, then, this time?
And so he turns, but only two steps takes
Before his vision blurs, the veil between
The worlds is whirled, his head is held
On the lap of love. Gerd washes away
The gash, the hurt, her gift of kisses
Life’s instead of death’s, and it is done.
The folk fed, father, mother, daughter, son,
And this is why he is the Golden One.