God of Style

You wouldn’t have heard the story

because Odin would have disapproved,

Baldr died too soon afterward, and Freyr

was never one to leak secrets to strangers,

but when Freyr was sowing his oats,

before he settled down and married,

he had been struck by the beauty,

incomparable really, of Baldr

in the prime of his youth, and Baldr

on his part, being fresh, eager, and needy,

had found himself drawn to Freyr’s

impressively enormous equipment,

which he offered to polish

and then take inside.

 

So they hooked up and got busy,

comingling their divinity until they

erupted into an orgasm like—

well, there’s really no adequate

simile for the fusion of gods.

Since it happened in Asgard,

where the laws of human biology

didn’t apply and the miraculous

was merely routine, their union,

though short-lived, produced

a child, a son whom they called

Tofar and sent for safety’s sake

to live with Freyr’s compatriots,

the Vanir.

 

In later years, when both Baldr and his

accidental assassin, Hodr, were long dead,

and Freyr was well established in his fertile

heterosexual marriage to Gerdr,

rumours of Baldr’s resurrection

circulated widely, but Freyr knew

the truth, that the reappeared one

was not Baldr as supposed, but

Tofar, who had grown into

the image of his other father.

 

And whereas the same-sex thing

had been little more than a bit of

experimental pleasure for the fathers,

the son was gay for real, with a husband,

a golden ring, and nothing in the closet

but a fabulous wardrobe.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper

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The Horns Not Blown

RadhusetTowerwithStatues.jpg

The Rådhus tower

dwarfs the shadow

of its miniature

pointing to the

same cerulean sky

as the lur-blowers

raise their horns

in readiness

to announce

the arrival

of a virgin

passerby, but

their arms are tired

and their bronzed

mouths breathless,

their instruments

never played,

eternally silent.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper

Sankt Aleksandr Nevskij Kirke

RoyalQuarterAleksanderNevskijKirke

The triple onion domes, gilded and crossed,

atop the stripe- and diamond-patterned bricks

of the Muscovite-revival façade leave little

doubt of the church’s Russian pedigree;

its name confirms its dedication to the nation’s

sainted patron. Yet here the building rises

from a street in Købnhavn, like a single

vodka bottle on a shelf of akvavit,

having been financed by the second

Tsar Alex after the marriage of his son

to the Danish Princess Dagmar, who

would become Tsarita Maria when

the younger Alexander ascended

to the imperial throne. Though fate

struck a cruel blow to their son,

who lost his head when the Revolution

felled the Romanovs, their church

in Denmark stands, solid and orthodox.

 

Copyright 2017

T. Allen Culpepper