I call to our rite the Hermes
who is Master of the games
of life and war, daring and devastating
Lord who wields the net and hunts
by moonlight, leading from the mound
a phantom host with baying hounds,
hungry for blood and terror. He wears a red
tunic and white Thracian hunting boots,
black cape and wolf’s head for a cap,
and as the ghostly God rides out a crow
and albino dog follow close behind.
The Giants fear him, and the Titans too;
all those in the Underworld bend the knee
when he comes to visit the Zeus Below,
and he’s always well-received in wine-rich Nysa.
So let us all greet and hail the savage Argeiphontes,
protector of our home and infallible guide
through the twists and turns of our labyrinthine lives.

Hermes the interpreter, intercessor,
and inconvenience eliminator I pray,
you who bear messages to and from
men and Gods and the dead
and make signs for us to find
in books, on billboards,
through songs and overheard snatches
of random conversation,
Hunt Master and pattern finder,
manipulator of meaning
and expert navigator of chaos and flux,
help me as once you came to the assistance
of waywinding Odysseus when he was
on the isle of the lovely sorcerous Queen
from the faraway barbarian North.
You gave him the flower that Óðr
once went in search of
which can transform even the stoniest of hearts,
taught him techniques for unbinding enchantments,
told him clever words to say
and how she liked a man who acted
direct, dominant and assertive,
and so it went well for him.
He did not become like one
of those wretched, sniveling, powerless beasts
who like to gorge themselves on soybeans
and wallow in filth, ignorant
of their true identities and potential.
Hermes, if it is within your power I pray,
likewise spare my people from such an ignoble fate.
It’s one thing to be lovely-thighed Kirke’s oinking footstool,
far worse to be reduced to a servile state by nothing,
bad politics, marketing and modernity.

Hear me, O Hermes the wise contriver,
weaver of deceit, inventor of the written word
and of commerce and lawsuits, you who design
religious rites and were first to map the stars,
crafter of the lyre, measurer of the sports field,
one who lays the foundations for temples and helps
us maintain the necessary boundaries in our lives
and world, calculator of distances, differences and probability,
instructor in philosophy, mathematics, science and magic;
hear me, I pray, through the din of confusion and uncertainty
and show me the way to order myself rightly with the Gods
that I may know my purpose and how best to proceed
in every situation and obstacle that comes my way,
and more, grant me clarity of vision, ingenuity
and creativity, and most importantly will and agency
that I may turn all adversity into opportunity,
as you, Hermes, so elegantly do.

O Hermes who protects the pantry and cupboard,
the stove and sink, the parlour and bedroom, the library
and womens’ quarters, the porch, the door and all
of the windows – hail to you, Guardian God that
keeps things running smoothly within and bars the way
to poverty, illness, misfortune and wrath as well
as all the wicked and destructive entities
who are responsible for stirring such nasty things up.
None can outsmart you, or best you physically,
and even among the Gods only Hekate comes close
to rivalling your magical might. The home that keeps
your shrine always full of incense, food offerings
and most importantly plentiful libations such as
a thirsty, road-weary traveler might enjoy
will see their fortunes and standing in the community flourish,
for you are most kind, generous and hospitable O Lord
Hermes, son of Maia and loud-thundering Zeus the King.

I hail Hermes who has traveled wide
and mastered many wiles along the way,
he whose form is as changeable
as his mind is guileful, lover of puzzles, tricks,
games of skill and games of chance;
magician and executioner, informant and extortionist,
thief and problem-fixer, babysitter and trusted adviser
– there is no task too small or too large
that you cannot bring to a pleasing resolution,
O friend of Gods and friend of men.
You grease the wheels, find what others cannot,
make what we least expect occur, and know all the right words
to persuade, lull, compel and excite as you please.
Panoptic Argos, long-haired Hippolytos, the bearish
and guest-devouring brothers Agrius and Oreius,
the Thessalian witches who sought to rape Selene,
those xenophibic Lydians together with their expat king
Pelops the benefactor-slayer – all these can attest
your might and glory, Lord, for each in their turn
felt the unsuspected sting of your implacable wrath,
God who journeys by moonlight, swift as raven’s wing,
unseen unless he wishes to be – to you I turn my voice,
Hermes who hears the prayers of those in need,
and answers.