It's Still Life

The Architecture of a Moment

Notes: Rooted in the oldest English tradition, Anglo-Saxon accentual verse follows the rhythm of breath and heartbeat rather than syllable or rhyme, where meaning is carried by cadence, image, and pause.

The Architecture of Sēlic (long form)

They had a word for it: sēlic.
Even when wind was a wolf,
even when frost bit the bone.
A word for a pleasant hour
when mead stayed in the cup,
when the fire took spark the first time.

It did not mean gentle,
or soft, or obedient.

It meant the brief mercy
of pain that never came,
the warmth of a shoulder in the dark,
the taste of bread
when the harvest failed.

A quiet triumph,
a day without blood.

A moment so plain in its peace
it required a name
to keep the howl at bay.

They had a word for nice.

A small, seaworthy word.
Stout boat for the unassuming.
And the fact they built it
is nicer than any modern ease.

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Sēlic (Anglo-Saxon Accentual Verse — Flint & Bone)

They named it sēlic —
wind a wolf,
frost a blade
at marrow’s door.

Mead unspilled,
fire first-sparked,
small mercies held
like hoarded grain.

Not soft, not meek,
but pain-withheld,
shoulder-warmth
in winter’s throat;

bread’s sharp sweetness
when fields failed,
one clean dawn
with no red ruin.

Peace so plain
it needed naming,
word as shield
against the howl.

Sēlic — a boat
on black water,
small but sure
and storm-worthy.

A “nice” beyond
our easy speech,
rough blessing
carved from hunger.

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Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge, prompt “nice”. Poems/prose, some AI/images ©Misky 2006-2025.