March 2020

Back to Issue 7

ᚠᚢᚦᚩᚱᚳ (futhorc)

By Carl Walsh

a rune poem


ᚠ        fee-entitled we take our due

ᚢ        aurochs on our western shore

         thorn in the side of Romans



ᚩ        mouth agape you 

ᚱ        ride


          flee before us


ᚳ         torch aloft we burn.


ᚷ        gift of calm sea

          in bold &

ᚹ         bliss

          we ship for new lands  

ᚻ        hail-heavy winter falls behind

ᚾ         need draws us fore

ᛁ          ice-crusted sails

          snap the wind


         harvest of seas

          & shore-dwellers

ᛇ         yew bows & iron swords

         pear-wood buckets

          to spill the sea

ᛉ        elk-sedge on alien shores

        sun splashed fire

          upon the waves.


ᛏ         glory in gods

          & war

ᛒ         birch rod to blind-backs

ᛖ        horse-hoofs drum the distance

          & away.


ᛗ       man we were made

          to sing

ᛚ         water from springs into oceans

ᛝ        hero to our hearth &

ᛟ        estate

          that we will gift this

ᛞ        day & all days.


ᚪ        oak boards underfoot

ᚫ        ash-masted tree of life

ᚣ        bows to hand

          silent snaking

ᛡ         eels we slip into villages


        grave it holds no fear

                         – or favour yet.