I have always written poetry, and was one of the first Asatruarmenn to have his poems published in the Ring of Troth's Idunna. Below are a few of those earliest poems (note the use of "New English heathen" terms no longer used):

Gods wake to wit To read the runes
As we do the work of the worlds
Deep in Vinland South of Markland
A bede is reborn for the bold.

Elves leap and laugh Dwarves sing and say
We sing the runesong of Wodan
Deep in Vinland South of Markland
We sing the love song of Freya

Thunor awakes         As Lord Ing waxes
Earthwars of the world feel the hope
Deep in Vinland         South of Markland
Groundheards of the home feel the glee
For in the worlds         And in the wangs
In the forests and fields of the land
ANd in the lakes         And in the leys
Wierd ghosts dance with gods with much glee.

Reborn the Troth Blessing the theods
Strong Troth of the true and the tired
Deep in Vinland South of Markland
Strong troth of the true is reborn

This we should seek This we should save
That which is called gold of the gods
Not iron or ice Not soil or steel
But that which our forbears found

This we should have This we should hold
That which is not fire of the flood
But gold it gives To man and maid
With warmth of the waster of wood

If of these words         You do not ween
Then reach for the soulsof the skies
For Vanir will teach         And Aesir will tell
Wisdom is called the gold of the gods
That we should get         That we should give
The wisdom our forbears found

Bright doe like eyes         Dear to the sight,
Hair like flax flowing around your face,
With lovely lips         Wreathed in brightness,
And your skin shining like a sig wife.
A ferth (soul) so fair         A soul so soft,
Your high's thoughts thinking of every need,
Always of love         Of winsome life,
A goddess dreaming in heaven's night.
Yet strong as stone         Warder of wights,
Bold sig wifewreaking woe on evil,
Warding your kin         Warding your kith,
I see wiles waxing in your eyes,
Lovely Brunhilde         Was half so bright,
As my well wishing Walcyrgie this night.
Giver of sig (victory         Saver of life,
With your sword sparing my loss of life,
Saving my maegen         Saving my might
No sig wife waxed ever half so bright.

Ing Frea the fruitful,
We await your wain's gold horde,
To bring forth the new birth,
Amid frith and frells (celebration).
Great one of this world,
Make the Sun shine on us,
And sprinkle wet the soil,
To bring harvest home.
Ing Frea the fruitful,
We do hail your horned antler,
Outshine the Muspill's son,
Amid frith and frells.
Ing Frea the fruitful,
With the weih (sacred) Sun wend sky's way,
Make weihholy your world,
And show winsome ways.
Ing Frea the fruitful,
We await your wain's gold horde.

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