Best Valhalla Poems
He walks alone, a shadow cast
By memories too fierce to last,
A warrior once, now lost, betrayed—
By time, by fate, by war's parade.
His brothers, bold, now rest below,
Their blood, their courage, still they glow,
In Valhalla’s hall, where feast and song
Echo the names of those who’re gone.
He’s left behind, the living scar,
The weight of grief a constant war.
Guilt gnaws within, a ceaseless ache,
For those he loved, for those who break
In battle’s grip, their lives forfeit,
But he—he lives, alone, unfit
To join them where the mighty dine,
To sit at Odin's table, fine.
No glorious death, no final cry,
He wonders if he even tried—
To die a soldier, fierce and true,
Instead of breathing, pulling through,
The weight of days, a burden great,
A soul betrayed by twisted fate.
The Valkyrie don’t call for him;
He’s left to fade in silence grim.
He hides his pain beneath the mask,
A hollow face, an empty task.
No family close, no friends to trust,
He’s walled himself in quiet rust,
Each day a blur of hollow fight,
Against a world that knows no night.
Around him laughter, life, and light,
While he longs for one last glorious fight.
The battlefield, his home, his kin,
Where death was certain, pure of sin—
He yearns for it, though it’s too late,
To walk that path, to seal his fate.
But still he waits, and still he pleads,
For death to come and end his needs.
To die a warrior, proud and tall,
To join his brothers at Odin’s hall.
So he moves through life, a quiet ghost,
Drowning in what he loves the most—
The battle cries, the blood, the pain,
The longing for a final gain.
And when his time has passed, he’ll pray,
That Valkyrie will lead the way,
To Valhalla’s feast, where none will fear,
Where brothers wait, and joy is near.
Until then, he carries on, concealed—
A warrior’s heart, forever healed
By hope that one day, in the end,
The battle will come, and he’ll ascend,
To dine with them, beneath the sky,
Where guilt and shame no longer lie.
For in Valhalla, free from pain,
He’ll find his peace, and there remain.
In Asgard, kingdom of the mighty God Odin
A place awaits all battle fallen warrior heroes
It's in Valhalla where there is endless feasting
And an ending of all griefs and sorrows
The Valkyries, Odin's warrior daughters
Carry the fallen heroes from the battlefield
To Valhalla to join other fallen warriors
Where they are restored to life fully healed
Each day the warriors fight on Asgard's plain
Their battle skills to sharpen and maintain
Every evening wounds and injuries they sustain
Are healed and each warrior made whole again
They dine on liquor and fresh cooked meat
That is always in great abundance for all
Providing a delicious gourmet treat
At Odin's banquet in Valhalla's dining hall
July 18, 2014
Addition:
Here is the poem which aroused my childhood interest in the Vikings, and to
which I referred in my reply to Shadow. I would like to share it with others.
It is "The Sea King's Burial" by Charles Mackay. It recalls the days when a
Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel with full sail
set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea. It is a long poem so I
am only quoting the first and last verses:
My strength is failing fast
(Said the sea-king to his men).
I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again,
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins
Raise, oh, raise me from my bed,
Put the crown upon my head,
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
Steadily;
If I cannot end my life
In the crimsoned battle-strife
Let me die as I have lived,
On the sea.
.......................................
Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sprang upon his feet,
With the flames on every side.
"I am coming! " said the king,
Where the swords and bucklers ring,
Where the warrior lives again,
Where the souls of mighty men
And the weary find repose,
And the red wine ever flows,
I am coming, great -All-Father,
Unto thee!
Unto Odin, unto Thor,
And the strong, true hearts of yore:
I am coming to Valhalla
O'er the sea."
http://www.rampantscotland.com/poetry/blpoems_seaking.htm
In the bay of icy mists, the viking ghost ships arrive, sails set full ahead,
Crashing anchors rattle loose, plunging beneath the cold murky surf,
As the hailing horns of the dead, announce to their lord, Odin, that
Valor's courageous have arrived, and wish to enter, the great halls of
Valhalla.
Here the cold winds of the north dwell, it's chilling
Breezes flow freely, through the phantom warriors spirits.
But these rough men fear not death, nor it's harsh breath, for they
Are vikings of the northern kingdoms, and they have come for
Their last rewards treasure, to enter beyond the gates of Valhalla,
And are armed ready to fight, beside their God Odin,
In victorious battle.
In these waters of the ethereal unknown passage,
The cracking and heaving, of these heavily
Laden vessels made of vapors thin mists,
Send an eerie chill down the backs, of mortal men.
As mountain icebergs float upon the wind
Chilled oceans surface, the Valkyries approach,
Smiling beneath their shimmering chain-mail of
Brilliance honor.
On the evergreen shores, a timbered lined hall stands,
It's gates of golden pitch blaze, with fires white
Hot flames of those concurred, their souls scream
For penance mercy.
Two long swords, Chris-crossed are the gates steel dead bolts lock,
Above it's embers glow, a fierce eagle with red crimson eyes,
Grapples, it's sharpen claws, cutting deeply into the oaken shields,
On the thatched roof of the golden hall.
A lone wolf beneath therein, passes sniffing at the
Garments of the fallen men, if fears scent, the wolf so smells,
Cast out is this soul, and dammed it is forevermore.
Within the many souls do enter, a hardy welcoming at the feasting
Table mead and honey wine, is set before these hero's of honor.
But outside the ships remain tethered, awaiting for their masters safe
Return, unaware of Thor's approach, his mighty hammer set at the
Ready.
Striking with thunders raw force, the hammer of power,
Brakes against the sheer ice, as quick as the lightning's flash,
Freezing tidal waves clash upwards, swallowing whole all evidence,
That these ghost ships ever existed.
Oh Valhalla, I pledge thee my life, my fighting spirit, my blood and
Body given in the name of Odin, for thy honor sake, shall I live and die,
Behold the vow's pledge of these Nordic men, known as the Vikings.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The great expanse of the Mississippi
just outside a sleepy little ledge-locked
town in western Wisconsin called Maiden Rock,
is where we like to picnic in October.
Above the north/south railroad tracks at a spot
overlooking the river is our favorite picnic table.
A century old working well with an ancient iron, creeky
sledge-handle provides fresh water.
Freight trains constantly rumble past in both both
directions, frantically racing against the coming winter.
The river, 3-miles wide at this stretch, surges a steady
dominoes of whitecaps down the river.
White Pelicans, with their striking long yellow bills,
huddle in vast rafts of white, just off the current, resting
and feeding on small fish, their migration only
beginning.
Barges, heavy-laden, plow south, pushed by stout
baroque tugs. Behind us, straight-up, limestone
bare bluffs tower, Bald Eagles circling lazily
alongside.
Mom likes the local handmade cheddar-brats, grilled;
on sprouted 9-grain buns with ice-cold spring
water!
the brats are spittin' sizzlin' cheddar!
time to go!
10/25/14
Accompanied by my legion,
The most feared in the region.
Because we are stronger as one,
Taking enemies by the tons.
A brotherhood of family and trust,
Lucky to have the gods look down on us.
Finding pride in battles won,
Because we together are strong.
Said the viking when his enemies fled,
The beast inside is asleep not dead.
I'm a proud descendant of such men,
In me, their heart beats strong again.
A warrior up until demise,
Strong as the great barn owl is wise.
And when I'm laid down in my grave,
I'll join the mighty and the brave.
As I meet in Valhalla the mighty and the clever,
Where they say the brave may live forever.
12/3/17
"There is nothing in the desert ... and no man needs nothing." - TE Lawrence
~
providence …
vast-upon-vast ...
Deucalion, gifter of cities, met
do you not now see your charge?
'tis upon the peaks
titanium white -
aching, ancient arias borne by a thrush
find their proper reports
amid canyon vaults
built by the hand, Prometheus
to press and place
columns, grand and gilded of the sun
this, this is where gods weep fury
bound by the faults of
human calamity …
an eye, sapphire streaked
and damp with dour
bounces reach-to-reach on the morn
scraping stars away with
bitter disregard …
despair not, in its dazzled gaze
for the fiery fells are given
god-to-godless, thus
his pleasure is to dance for their sobrieties
and give supplement to
their vain and vapid adoration
sad Prometheus, father
clothed in only pity
clasped to you by blood and
progeny's err …
for the little beasts
who beg of his portions
and their seed -
'tis a weep, barren ...
the ruin of man.
To reign in your fire
to bask in your light
must be a pleasure
denied me tonight
the light in your eyes
still shows me the way
it doesn't grow dimmer
just farther away
when you raised me up
when you took my hand
the world fell away
and my heart took a stand
you fashioned a castle
in sand on the shore
we lived in it there
till I turned 34
then you had to go on
a journey to France
you needed a chicken
who knew how to dance
God bless you and keep you
as you travel far
I'll reign in your fire
as you burn like a star.
on a fiord in Sweden or
under the moon
the vikings are calling
I'm coming home soon
When the existential magic disappears
And life holds nothing more than
my terrestrial tears and frivolous fears
When feeding my mind is no longer empirical
Or essential, as human hunger suffices,
when I no longer thirst, and eminence gives no rise,
and sullen shibumi canopies worn and torn
shade not the arid and hot desert, once the lofty
snow summits forthwith cloaked in thawing toxins
Or the ruby rose that does not scent me, reminiscently
as its thorns prick crimson numbness
Tasteless is the blood from this warrior’s sword
And Lords with rattles of snakes poison less
Horns no longer adorn me, my ashes freed
I’ve heard of a hall of the slain,
where dead heroes reign
When our world gives way to the next
Where golden shields a palatial fortress
Take one more fallen warrioress,
to other realms, plush, pristine, called
Valhalla, an afterglow
From
atop
a mountain
one views Bifrost
hoping, no, fighting for entry to the
heavenly home of exalted Aesir
to find honor,
glory for
noble
death
"There is nothing in the desert ... and no man needs nothing." - TE Lawrence
~
providence …
vast-upon-vast ...
Deucalion, gifter of cities, met
do you not now see your charge?
'tis upon the peaks
titanium white -
aching, ancient arias borne by a thrush
find their proper reports
amid canyon vaults
built by the hand, Prometheus
to press and place
columns, grand and gilded of the sun
this, this is where gods weep fury
bound by the faults of
human calamity …
an eye, sapphire streaked
and damp with dour
bounces reach-to-reach on the morn
scraping stars away with
bitter disregard …
despair not, in its dazzled gaze
for the fiery fells are given
god-to-godless, thus
his pleasure is to dance for their sobrieties
and give supplement to
their vain and vapid adoration
sad Prometheus, father
clothed in only pity
clasped to you by blood and
progeny's err …
for the little beasts
who beg of his portions
and their seed -
'tis a weep, barren ...
the ruin of man.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden
Come Whole unto Valhalla
I come now
To the end of time
birth to heaven
come unto me whole
Valhalla
heaven for the god's
3/5/3 Words Count
5/3/5 Syllable Count
Lune poetry
7/29/19
Valhalla
rest day
Sunday is the day of rest for most people
except for cooks, servers, and housewives
They have Mondays
that day hasn't got many customers
they can warm up, Sunday's leftovers
it is said ennui is the day when the brain rest
that is why the slamming of car doors
is frowned upon.
I know of a man when building a home, used
gravestones as building material
He stayed in the house one night
could not stand
the whispering voice let me out of here
it was all a mistake
Moved into the barn shared with two cows
a mule, a dog, and several cats
From history, we know of Viking chieftains
recently converted to Christianity by Irish monks
that when sitting doing nothing, the thought
of sex struck him
took out his knife and nailed his left hand to
the table forswore Christendom
converted back -to Odin and Thor's ancient faith
where Valhalla was a place of song and dance
and free Mjod for all