Röverik Capeło Raltonstön and Fenrir

      I am peacefully crafting a sword for my young boy who has recently become a soldier. When a I hear a knock on my door. The vibration from the knock is so powerful it shakes me out of my seat. I walk over to the door scared. Before I am able open the door it slams wide open, cracking wide open. In the doorway stands a broad soldier man almost seven feet tall. I do not confront him about the damage he has just done to my home for I am to scared. He says quietly but sternly “come with me immediately.” I comply without much hesitation. He points me towards a carriage that is laced with gold, a carriage for a noblemen.

       When I get into the carriage it sets off with speed of a thousand horses. The broad shouldered man is sitting next to me breathing heavily. Across is a man dressed in a paper white tunic, golden shoulder plates, and a silver crown. The crown shimmers with sparkly jewels and precisely engineered engraving of old Norse that I can barely read. He starts to speak to me in a mix of Latin and Icelandic. I express confusion and he tells the broad shouldered man what I think means translate. The broad shouldered man reaches into a bag across from him and pulls out a golden fish shaped item that he fits into my ear. It burns at first then turns room temperature. The nobleman says something and it is perfectly translated into my native language.

       He tells me, “You are called upon by the gods.” I am shocked by the statement and am almost in disbelief. Me, a simple craftsman living in a small unknown town in south Germany

What a beautiful thing

Yogurt, what a beautiful thing

I praise it like a royal king

When it’s gone I let out a scream

That leaves a ring, in every thing


It stays there, disappearing till it drops

Till the yogurts filled to the top

But what if it is not, then it’s like a shot


Into my fragile dairy heart

when there’s no yogurt in the cart

For then the pain will truly start


But luckily for me and you

There’s always yogurt fresh and new

Showing up, right on que

The yogurt less moments are few

But when they happen. The memories stick like glue.


Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

When I write these poems, people smolder

With every one of the remarks my confidence gets smaller

But as I go on, the list gets longer

With poems I want to write

And my love for yogurt grows fonder and fonder

Time will go on and I’ll start to ponder


When I see it in the fridge

I imagine a bird and it’s prey

It white, vanilla clay

Blessed with flavor

That I savor every single day

Authors note: Yogurt is one of my favorite foods, no, it is my favorite food. I don’t think the average person really thinks about yogurt that much. When there’s actually a lot of care going into it. Also, people think there is only one type of yogurt which bugs me sometimes.
There’s over a hundred types of yogurt surprisingly. There’s skyr from Iceland and beltovicks from Russia. Lots of diversity in such a glossed over food.


Blackout poem

Rowing my mind


I couldn’t trust

Stood for a moment tense and undecided

It hasn’t made it any easier

I shall wait for him

Anger passed swiftly