How the blog works

The poems on this blog are mostly written on the basis of my historical reading and are intended to be both educational and entertaining.
Recently I have also begun posting some of my work with Anglo-Saxon charms. This work is somewhat speculative and is conducted as an amateur researcher and keen Pagan historian.

Please feel free to use anything on this site as a resource if you think that it may be relevant to your needs.

Saturday, 3 December 2016

Thunor's Revenge


The 23rd June 2016 had much significance, it was both Mid Summer's Eve – a night when the fairies are about and pookas lead people astray (Puck being the Shakespearean incarnation of these of these characters). It was also a Thursday – the day of the god of thunder - Thunor (Thor).

Perhaps it was more than a coincidence that at about two o'clock in the morning began a lightning storm over London, the longest and most intense of my lifetime. It seemed to stay parked above the capital for two hours, keeping me awake.

What followed was flooding and travel chaos.

Here is a Heathen take on all of this:

Thunor's Revenge Mid Summer's Eve, Thursday 23rd June 

On this special day, the fairies are loose,
Old Puck is about, he wilt thee seduce.
No one lights bone fires, to drive him away,
So he has his fun, and leads folk astray.

Thunor's day fell on, a mid summer's eve,
Such a long lighting, maelstrom he dost weave.
Thunor is angry, and shows all his might,
His hammer strikes hard, throughout the long night.

The heavens open, let loose their large load,
Wuldorfador rises, to see what flowed.
Thunderbolt landslip, chaos at Kings Cross,
Waterloo is shut, and flooded across.

Thunor throws more rain, down from darkened sky,
The heavens open, is the end now nigh?
Then Loki decides, to have his way,
Submerging the land, and causing delay.

Westminster station, has cascading stairs,
People are marooned, in London's great squares.
Three polling stations, are water submerged,
Best go home early, the public is urged.

Thousands left stranded, underground delayed,
Some remainers hope, of voting dost fade.
With many unable, to cast their vote,
What now will unfold, I don't need to quote.

Copyright Andrew Rea November 2016 

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