#viking
the anvil cold iron
fire in the forge
hammar rhythmic ringing
fire into axe and sword
the orkneyingasaga
psalm songs
on the lips of men
St Magnus, Earl, Martyred Saint.
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 9:39 PM UTC
They fled toward the ships,
steel and smoke behind them.
The tide of England was turning,
and the gods were silent.
But one man stayed.
No name carved on his shield,
no song promised him after.
Only the bridge,
and the oath in his chest.
He faced them alone —
axe heavy, breath steady,
not for victory,
but for honour kept clean.
Blows rained like storms,
and still he stood,
laughing once —
not at them,
but at the fear that never came.
When he fell,
the river ran red,
but his spirit walked on,
unbowed, unbroken —
and the gates opened.
For Valhalla is not for those who win,
but for those who stand
when all else runs.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 7:38 AM UTC
From Saffron Walden wends the Panta,
Willow lined, its gentle flow.
On to Bocking wind the waters.
Green and lush the Willows grow.
Then to Coggeshall, Kelvedon, Witham,
Maldon; once past, then the Sea
Where ebb and flood dictate its passage.
Wading waters to Northey.
That island where the Norsemen be.
And from where they threaten Maldon;
Wealthy merchants, Royal mint.
Maldon, silver pence which sing
For Ethelred, the English king.
So, Byrhtnoth, Ealdorman of Essex,
Bid your wife Ælfflæd farewell.
Buckle sword and shoulder shield.
Have roused the warriors of your hearth;
Chosen men who will not yield.
Have sworn to honour Byrhtnoth’s name,
Byrhtnoth’s treasure, Byrhtnoth’s fame.
While you who watch sit back, take in your breath
As Byrhtnoth and his chosen men ride singing to their death.
Reflect, what is it that you see reflected here?
Terrors threatened? Terrors braved?
Maldon threatened? Maldon saved?
Or is there something more that we might glean?
Come, read on with me, and through my words
Might we together view the tragic, glorious scene.
———————-
Rise up you men of Essex,
Come forth with me this day.
There are Vikings to be fighting
And their ships are in the bay.
The harvest it must wait for now,
Take down your bow, and heft your spear.
Your women, leave them with the plough
For we have foes and they draw near.
And Byrthnoth wants the fighting men
Of Langford, Haybridge, Woodham Walter,
Forming up and locking shields.
To launch their spears and not to falter.
And, as you form his chosen men
Will show you how to brace your shield
To make your ****** when high, when low,
To stamp, to push, thus as they yield
You will not stumble, but will ****
Trygvason’s ravens. And by your cutting down,
Those not dead will turn to run.
And in the darkening water, there will drown.
—————
The Essex men they loosed their arrows,
Lancing, dancing to the sky,
To turn them, make them deathward plunging
On those Vikings standing by.
This whilst Aelfere, Wulfstan, Maccus;
Grim, named-men and skilled in war,
Placed by their Earl to block the causeway,
Roared their boasts. Defying Thor.
And Olaf tore his beard and howled
His hatred for the English there.
‘You will not fight as man to man.
Shield to shield you do not dare.
So, craven Saxon, if you won’t fight,
Dare by combat, take the field;
Give me Danegeld, compensation,
Ethelred’s silver to me yield.
Then I will take my boats away;
Slake my thirst elsewhere to fight
With men of metal, stalwart warriors
Unafraid of Viking might.’
—————
Byrthnoth called his men together.
‘Free your horses, give your hands.
We fight for Ethelred and for Essex.
Win or loose, here Byrhtnoth stands.’
Then strode he forth, both proud and grim.
He raised his shield, he shook his spear.
He cursed those men across the sea-tide,
Swearing words for them to hear.
‘We give you nothing arrant sea wolf.’
Loud words hurled across the water.
‘Come, with me fight and I will promise
Spears and swords and ****** slaughter.’
Eager then the sea-wolves wade.
Across the causeway now they go.
Pushing past those face-down floating
With the ebb-tide, to and thro.
While Byrhtnoth cheers the men of Essex.
Bids his thanes move to their place.
The warrior lord then roars defiance;
‘Come, with these Northmen let’s embrace.’
—————
The raiders now form by the River.
Carefully, neither crowd nor crush.
This so Woden’s skilful Warcraft
Wefts within their first spear rush.
While men of Essex, jeering, cheering,
Lock their shield-wall, stamp and go.
And those supporting launch spear-volleys;
Manic death theirs soon to know.
Now stands forth, bold, a Viking warrior.
Shield held fast and spear point raised;
To **** the Essex champion early,
Win much gold and be thus praised.
His ****** makes but a partial wound,
By Byrhtnoth’s shield is cast asunder.
Opened thus, he cries to God,
His god of war, his god of thunder.
But Byrhtnoth, always battle-savage,
Laughs and roars his battle cry.
Has pierced the Viking’s neck and breast plate.
Holds him down to watch him die.
—————
And ravens wheel about the sky,
They croak delight at what they see.
And Essex farms, the fens, the fastness
Wonder what their fate will be.
—————
Then, a spear strikes Byrhtnoth, hardly.
Wulfstans’ child - he pulls it out.
And makes a lunge at the attacker.
Our leader’s down, goes up the shout.
Then snarls another from the melee,
Viking warrior seeking plunder.
Broad sword drawn from ready sheath
Byrhtnoth slashes, treads him under.
Bloodied, frothing, lips a snarl.
Blood-lust crazed, the Earl he stands.
Roars ‘Ethelred, my king, my king.’
Holds up his sword with both his hands.
And as the Essex men he urges
Surge with shield ‘gainst Viking shield,
The Past, the Present and what shall be;
Those Norns, decide who wins this field.
And bitter in the battle rush,
The men of Essex, fighting there:
Intensive blood-rage, focused ******
Glory, fame, for those who dare.
But Godric sees the blood run freely.
Sees his Earl begin to sway.
He and his brothers love not this battle.
Horses stealing, sneak away.
Offa’s sons, all sworn-men made.
And Godric rides the chieftain’s grey.
Those brothers swear away their honour;
Oath-breaking, for their lives they trade.
This, while pagan spear tears Byrhtnoth’s arm;
His sword, it falls from powerless hand.
The Earl, he shakes his grizzled head.
With loss of blood he cannot stand.
So, at the last the war-lord topples.
Crashing down he shakes the Earth.
His war band grimly gather round him.
Each man sworn, all men of worth:
Aesferf, Eadward, Erdric, Wulfmer,
Sworn as kinsmen, guard their chief.
Lock shields against the savage onslaught,
Bitter fighting, bitter grief.
Giving life, but giving dearly;
Keeping slathering wolves at bay.
Bound by oath, they stay with Byrhtnoth.
Even though they’ve lost the way.
For seeing Byrhtnoth’s grey nag leaving,
Thinking he, not Godric, rides there.
Leave the battle; Essex farmers;
War-worn, weary, in despair.
Berserk now, Eadward leaves his chieftain.
Refusing just to stand at bay.
His leap, it shatters Viking shield wall;
Vengeance, slaughter, take the day.
Savage, shrewd, tall Wulfmer follows;
Axe blade, shield-rims pulling down.
Throat-wise thrusting, spear-blade striking,
Blood-drenched Vikings, choking, drown.
—————
Olaf meanwhile quaffs his mead;
Standing tall midst all the dead.
He laughs then lifts his horn aloft,
‘A toast, and gold for Byrhtnoth’s head.’
At this his frenzied warriors roar.
Slaughter laughs out loud and long.
Proud men clashing shield to shield.
A mighty tale, a mighty song.
And round Byrthnoth’s trampled corpse;
Desperate fighting; good men fall.
Sworn by oath, fight to their end;
Less Godric - foul, dead be they all.
—————
But Essex farms escape the fire
They who died on Panta’s shore,
Those that Byrthnoth’s death inspired,
Gave their all, could give no more.
And Maldon never knew the sword;
And women welcome home or weep.
Those dead and quiet a mist conceals;
And Byrhtnoth in his grave can sleep.
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 8:57 PM UTC
i am viking past
unknown voyager of seas
and to death battle
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 6:54 PM UTC
A wolf has come to eat the sun
the Gods supplied us only one
with jaws that tear and teeth that bite
he stops to drink our fading light
eclipse the world, pour out the soul
you nibble, can't you eat it whole?
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 4:17 PM UTC
VIKING
- Lovely Joy / 22nd September 2020
Unang sulyap mapapasabi kayo ng
"Tara!! Sakay tayo diyan"
At lahat ay naghabulan
Papunta sa pilahan.
Sa simula ay naeenjoy niyo pa
Pero habang tumataas, buong katawan aayaw na
Sasabihin kay kuya operator na
"Kuya, tamypers muna...",
"Kuya tama naaaaaa..."
At yung taympers na yun, mauuwi sa tiis nalang muna.
Ang dating saya nyo pagkaupo ay napalitan ng takot at kaba
Ang dating ngiti na kay tamis ay napalitan ng ngiting kay pait.
At ang mga tawa nyo sa mukha ay napalitan ng simangot,
At ang malakas na hiyaw na boses nung una
Napalitan ng pabebeng sambit na "ayoko na."
Sumimple sa isang tabi na tulala at sukang suka na
At sinabing di na uulitin pa
Viking tama na o Viking sige pa?
At sigurado akong sasabihin niyo na
VIKING PAALAM NA!!
Oct 27, 2020
Oct 27, 2020 at 6:42 AM UTC
From ice to fire
To land from sea
The deepest desire
Stands carefree
Before the endless
Rides of night and day
Two siblings happy to say
They see him, sorrowful raven, mess
Not a haven in his mind
To appease the lost divine
Yet a stirred soul lies behind
This truth bound by a whine
In chase still alive
A little they smile
No haste given
No sadness forgiven
Left now with the empty sky
Of fully woven worlds
"With our dull ****** swords
We fight to try and lose high
But what of a stray ****
In a forest of boreal trees
Funeral only awaits my plead
To forever cease"
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
In the pit of snakes lay Ragnar
Son of Odhinn
The King of Kings
Father of Legends
Blue eyes look to the sky
Snakes bite into his flesh
Saxons Cheer
“Death to the Heathen!”
Hatred in their eyes
As the King smiles and dies
The war has just begun
Feb 9, 2020
Feb 9, 2020 at 9:53 AM UTC
I fell asleep on ocean shore,
Sharp rocks as my bed,
I don't feel them anymore,
I don't feel cold I must be dead.
The sky split clouds of eden's door,
The stars shine as my eyes,
I lay low strecthed on the floor,
With the silence deep inside.
As the heavens keep on burning,
The machines of men are turning.
Valhalla, how I waited to arrive!
Your ravens and your anger,
Were always in my mind!
Valhalla, realm beyond the world of known,
I am among the dead, I am among my own!
I fell asleep on dragon's tail,
With arrows in my side,
The last of them already sailed,
Leave my lying with a smile.
The rain washes the salty air,
And through tears wind blows,
My fingers ran through golden hair,
Valkyrie please fly me home.
As the world just keeps on turning,
And the human hate is burning.
Valhalla, how I waited for your light!
Your splendor and salvation,
Father Odin in his right!
Valhalla, land of gods, for evermore,
I found my peace in your everlasting war!
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
Viking cats live
in such magnificent ways,
and he was no different-
Valhalla awaits him.
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
Thud Thud, The Boots of Warriors thunder onto the Boat.
Crash, Waves bang against the mighty longship.
Boom Boom, under the Jarls orders the drums of war sound.
Bang Bang, The mighty ships land on scottish shores.
***** ***** Viking Mail and shields clash with the Claymores of Highlanders
Bam, Bam, The chieftain and the Jarl do battle.
Bounce, the Jarl deflects the massive sword with his steel shield.
Whoosh, the Jarl has fallen to the ground, Will a sword clash with the Chieftains or does the Jarls Saga end in Valhalla.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
there is a place
where he failed in quest
a place where his eyes
were devoid of hunger
though many have seen his sufferings
the moon is the color of blood
there is a place
where the ****** go
to be judged
very few make the journey
to struggle and return
angels choke on his devastation
there is a place
where the injured
go to suffer
body licked by flames
the soul was polluted
the apocalypse is nigh
there is a place
where renewed strength
simply wilts on touch
he bleeds for everything changed
inspiration may die
in a world devoid of dreaming
there is a place
where only time will tell
if hell is reserved for the weak
she sways unspoken solitude
from the thorns, he blooms
autumn, and a voice found
there is a place
where the broken live another day
time and space coalesce from dust
and in form and body there is hope
a broken viking's tortured soul
wars are not won by strength and courage
there is a place
reserved for the redeemed
thine sword grows heavy
and thine eyes will not drift
for every battle there is loss
scarred hands tell the story
there is a place
where he belongs
and that place
is in her arms
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
I once met a viking girl,
who hailed from Norway.
I usually wouldn't have bothered,
but there was something special about her
I couldn't fully grasp.
It was like some weight had been lifted
to relieve my tired body
of it's former failings.
There was a magic she could wield,
some massive dreadnought of power
she kept sheathed in ornate leather.
Sometimes, when she was nervous,
her fingers would brush it's scabbard,
tracing the embossed symbols,
unaware of what she was doing.
And then this longing would overtake her,
leaving her eyes vacant,
momentarily...
As if her vessel had been abandoned
as she expanded
well beyond it's threshold.
During these brief moments
when she'd slip away,
I saw things I couldn't explain.
A furnace of starlight,
encased deep in the Norwegian ice,
alongside the warships of her ancestors.
Usually well-guarded,
out of habit
or necessity.
Before I was consumed entirely
she returned from her reverie,
tearing me away
from that solace.
I wonder now
if she was aware
of what happened.
Those secret woodlands
will haunt me
long after I've gone.
Long after life has left me,
and into the outstretched arms of eternity
and the worlds that follow.
And like some dream,
it still escapes me..
how so much beauty
can be reserved
and contained.
It sickens me to know
that what I'll remember most
was the physical form she'd taken,
and not the things
that truly mattered.
Not the magic she used
to tear me asunder,
wide open and spilling..
helpless in it's radiance.
Not the gentle breeze
that expanded from her wake
as she passed me.
Because it's easier
to be shallow.
It's easier
to forget.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
each schoolboy used to know the saw
laid deep in tracts of Danish lore
Forkbeards pious son and heir
Cnut the great, konungr,
his throne set to the boiling awe
somewhere along a Hampshire shore
but was it somewhat further north
he faced down scorned Ægir’s bore
his person kissed by Trisantona
upon her banks at Gainsborough
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
I have this theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum.
When I was a kid, my tongue was a permanent shade of bright pink. Shoving as many pieces of BubbleYum into my mouth as I could fit was the epitome of happiness, and when I could fit an entire package at once I knew there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.
And I’m sure that right now if you cut me open my stomach would be a fluorescent pink, because
when I see your face in my mind as I’m sitting in class or
when your name is on my tongue before I fall asleep,
that’s what it tastes like.
Bubblegum.
But please don’t cut me open. My dissection would be too ****** anyway, and far too colorful to detect butterflies…
Because my blood runs red, white, and blue.
When I was younger my mom would always tell me that as I grew older my tastes would change. Of course, she meant that eventually I would grow to like peas, but even though that still hasn’t happened, she was right.
Back then red, white and blue tasted like
hamburgers
and apple pie
and baseball.
But just recently I cut my finger –
and as I brought it to my lips I tasted
lingonberries
and fish and
skiing.
Have you ever wondered why blood tastes like metal? It is the
SWORDS and SHIELDS
that flow through my veins,
passed down from ancestors of millennia past. And every time I am injured it pours out in protest, those ancient warriors urging me to fight against this strange land and this strange culture.
I was born away from home, as were my parents and grandparents before me. And as I feel the shapes of foreign words in my mouth they taste like meeting an old friend. Because I’ve come to realize that my blood never ran red, white and blue.
It runs rødt, hvitt og blått.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Up on the hill.
Stood the Vikings son.
King of the land.
Now ruled everyone
Flames licked the boat
the cremation took place
The Vikings did gather
pain in their face
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
I fight for the gods
To make it to Valhalla
Thirsting for sweet war
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC