Today I used the prompt from NaPoWriMo.net, which was to write a poem inspired by mythology of the non Greco-Roman variety. I’m obsessed with Iceland, and interested int the Norse myths, so here ya go-but I have to say, I’m not sure using a prompt worked out too swift for me today:
It is easy to imagine that the gods retired to Iceland, when the rest of their world started to move on.
Its large unspoiled wildernesses of carpets of day-glo green grass, moss, lichens
Rugged stone faces of crumbling and ancient gray, spilling falls of pure, fine spray,
like sheer curtains
Hushing into dark pools below.
The land is everything myth is made of.
Why shouldn’t a god choose to dwell there, for as long as this place exists?
Where she may traipse over the ancient terrain, pulling up its magic as she pulls up her heels,
And returning the magic to the earth, plunging her fingers into the stony ground.
The gods’ children are still here,
They still speak the language of the sagas, and are called by the first names of their fathers.
The world has moved on,
But even a god can be comforted by tradition,
and pretend for a while longer,
That things are as they used to be.