why "meadofpoetry"?

The Mead of Poetry is a Norse myth about the cost and complexity of wisdom, one that embodies the work I share with the world. The drink in this story is a blend of honey with the blood of the wisest being, Kvasir, and was born of the truce between the warring Æsir and Vanir gods.

Already this myth tells us something profound: inspiration and eloquence do not come from calm, but from conflict, sacrifice, and transformation. The mead is not pristine; it carries within it the violence of war, the death of Kvasir, and the sweetness of honey. Wisdom, the myth insists, is always tangled with struggle and loss.

When Odin sets out to win the mead, he does not obtain it by right, but by guile. He deceives, seduces, and shapeshifts his way into Gunnlöð’s guarded mountain chamber, and in three gulps he drinks down all the mead.

His theft reveals another truth: insight does not come to the passive. It belongs to those bold—or sometimes unscrupulous—enough to chase it. In Norse mythology, wisdom is not the quiet possession of sages but a restless pursuit, a prize seized by those willing to sacrifice comfort, dignity, and even morality to obtain it.

As Odin escapes Gunnlöð’s mountain, some of the mead spills into the human realm of Midgard, becoming the source of trivial verse and foolish chatter. Only the portion he carries safely to Asgard becomes the wellspring of true poetry. In this, the story recognizes that not all words are equal: some elevate and preserve honor, while others merely intoxicate or embarrass.

To speak well is to drink deeply from the divine portion; to prattle is to sip the dregs.

Ultimately, the Mead of Poetry is less about a mystical drink than about the power of language itself. Words can charm, seduce, persuade, or wound. They are intoxicating, dangerous, and sacred, as capable of shaping destiny as the strongest weapon. By linking eloquence to Odin’s daring theft, the Norse affirmed poetry as no idle art but a force that binds memory, glory, and truth.

To be a poet was to sip from Odin’s prize, tasting honey mixed with blood.

The name meadofpoetry honors the station of the skald, and uses ink to share wisdom through carefully-curated language. These stories sometimes manifest as fiction, but their truth is no less potent as when they are oracular workings for those seeking answers through divination.

May each word shared be of the wellspring of true poetry.