Jewel of the Gobi,
gem nestled in the Sayan crown
Mongol kindred
throat-singers breathe
echo of pure, primal faith
playground of Mongol Khan and Kurgan lord
the coveted paradise
of Russian Tzar and Kara Shaman.

 THE GOD-KING OF KATHMANDU

The God-King of Kathmandu,
the son of heaven, star and moon,
prince of Mustang and forsaken Sikkim,
stone of strength, seat of wisdom,
the terror of demons, oh young son of the turquoise heavens.

Walker of the road of truth and lies,
sojourner on the ancient paths of enlightenment,
light step,
shakes the pillars of Shangri-la,
this tracker of spirits, this hunter of souls.

Bather in cool pools of good and ill,
seas of knowledge, ponds of solitude,
secluded,
moss-draped vales of verdant shadow,
fissures of mistrust, canyons of hatred.

High mountain stronghold of winter and ice,
the haunting road to Bhaktapur held in the frigid grip,
for the living sacred, abides in the abode of snow,
realm of the Lama Kings,
where yeti sing vibrant, visceral operas.

When Tibetan lips shout with joy,
and Mongol nomads dance the ancient rite of war,
Chinese hands will wring…with the sweat of fear.


HYMN OF THE CLOUD KINGDOM

At bang of sacred gong and blare of eternal horn,
the Cloud-King comes,
High Dragon Lord,
adorned with a necklace of tiger claw and God Bear paws,
iron-clad Rhinos hidden in elephant grass,
rain forest radiance and Himalayan passage.

Orange-robed priest of the ancient Arahant,
walk from the east, from Tara’s crescent,
young almond eyes of wisdom and light,
wind burned faces of truth and inner strength,
in the glittering snow lands of Jhomo Lhari.

Brooding Ice age movement, yak milk and Yeti,
mist monkeys full of play and mirth,
suckle deeply at the bosom of earth,
verdant forests singing with life,
the river in the sky, Mo Chhu, flows with a sacred verve.

Golden temples of sleepy Buddha,
dreams of bliss and contemplative joy,
echo in their singing,
hear it, feel it,
these lofty mountains and secret valleys,
calling you home again,
to the Cloud-Kingdom of high Bhutan.

 TUNGUSKA’S ROAR

Let me take you to a land over the hills and far away,
let’s sing the song of the once ways,
let’s sing the song of the elder days,

Timijin Bah-Bah.

The Tarpans cry for their horse lords,
in the thunderous surging storm of the Golden Horde,
crack the whip and hear them neigh,
horse and rider charge from dusty steppe,
and the fear of the gods, fill the hearts of lessor men,
for as mount and rider become one,
great songs are sung in remembrance of deeds such as these.

On a dewy Eurasian morning, as the mist stings the flesh,
hear the pounding drums of war,
hear the hooves of ten thousands steeds,
feel the blood rushing in your veins,
this is what it means to be alive.

Let me take you to a land over the hills and far away,
let’s sing the song of the once ways,
let’s sing the song of the elder days,

Timijin Bah-Bah,
Timijin Bah-Bah.

 RUNE LAMENT

From the wind, flame and rain,
we are forged.

We had to be,
so, we had to have gods.

From the womb of earth we are born,
upon the earth in life,
within the earth in death,
repeat the cycle and walk the iron wheel.

Yet…
the gods stir and their echoes haunt the mountains.

Behold the , ancient lords of the moon and sun,
leave them to their slumber if you are wise,
for if they wake, the world shall tremble.

And…
Asgard itself may fall.

RUNE CHANT

Full Moon ascendant, hooded Dwarves chant
The night wind witnesses this ritual
Mettle is tested with metal
Knives carve, crimson furrows mark the passage
Irons scold, leaving swirled brands in their wake
Needles for knot work, Ink and blood mottle the skin
No drink or drug to deaden the pain
Torture is his remembrance to cherish
The ordeal is far from over
Elements whisper of things to come
Earthen bass reverberates from the stone
Fiery baritone brings solace
Tenor of wind and wave soothes the soul
The song sours through pain to finally crash
Into howling aguish as the self drains away
Relentless loss, leaving a husk, to be filled with pure force of will
All former rites surrender to the Voruut
The world quakes with fear

…And Wonderment

RUNE ORDEAL

Behold, upon the altar of Vorgan
Supplicants are laid, bound, and made ready
Branded by the white hot tongues of fate
Etched by the colors of the tempest
Carved by the relentless, surging tide
Forged in the furnaces of the Earth
Tempered in mountain ice
Witness the rune ordeal
Arcane arts, like hammers on anvil
Runemasters beat the Eldritch spark into them by shear brute force
What was learned, what was known is stripped away
They become Seething Elemental Power - if they survive
Behold the primal masters, Gods, but not Gods
Eternal in being, Pure Iron Will

…Behold The Voruut

MIDGARD OUTPOST

Let me take you along with me
To a land beyond the Swan’s Road Sea
To a land of fire and ice, thunder and wave
Were the Vikings once roamed
Once home to men of the north

…Men such as Eric of the Red

Let us sing the songs of the once ways
Let us sing the songs of the elder days

Men that roamed, ruled, warred, and plundered
High adventurers in the height of life
Horned kings and hard-ruling Norse-men
…Demanding their freedom
…And taking it

Finding their freedom in the vast places were mammoth
Rivers of ice, for Eons, have crept and stood and groaned
Were Hell’s gate opens to the surface
Hissing, scalding, titanic cauldrons yawning to spew
Molten Brimstone

A realm ruled by a giant ice lord

Vatnajokull

…Not a care in the world has he
He cast his enormous blanket of white
Mottled with blacks and grays. Forever picnicking upon
The slopes and filling all the near by valleys with his
Frosty presence to cool his horns of mead.

…Liquid libation, close at hand

The castaway, banished beyond the rim of this
Frigged vat of steam, is Surtsey.
This brooding bastard son finds himself marooned at sea.
Forever casting his one good eye skyward in search of his firelord father.
Longing to be freed from this prison.
This sea of loneliness.

The new man comes, man of the modern world, looking.
Is he searching for answers to questions yet unknown?
Or answering questions only half dreamt of?
…Does Asgard yet gleam?
…Does Odin yet Brood?
…Does Loki yet Scheme?
…Does Thor yet thunder?
…Do the Valkyrie yet ride the skies in search of warriors lost?

Ask your riddles of Vatnajokull

He may turn from his everlasting meal of stone and earth
And answer your quest.
Or, He may give you naught but a fleeting glance
And treat you as the bug you are.
…A marauding ant.
...Invading his feast
…And his solitude.

Jim began writing poetry at the coaxing of fellow writers/poets, Michael Lohr and Michael S. Raper. Since then, he has published poetry in several publications around the world, including magazines in England, Iceland and South Africa. His writing is also archived in the International Fiction and Poetry section of the National Library of Australia.

He has been published in the global poetry anthologies The Book of Hope and the World Healing Book (Beyond Borders Press, Iceland, 2002), global anthologies of dialogue among nations.

Jim is currently writing a few short stories as well as completing his first children’s novel. He is spiritual man, Roman Catholic by birthright and choice, he also extensively studies Buddhism. He possesses a wealth of historical and folklore knowledge about the Steppes culture of Mongolia and Tuva and is of Mongolian/Tuvan heritage. He earned a Bachelor of Arts in Education from West Liberty State College and is pursuing a Master of Arts in History with an Archaeology concentration.