Long Norse Poems
Long Norse Poems. Below are the most popular long Norse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Norse poems by poem length and keyword.
With the end of days upon them
Nears the time of final battle
In the halls of high Valhalla
Asgard senses its death rattle
In the forest crows the rooster
In the sky the sun does darken
In the cave the hound is howling
To these signs the Aesir harken
Heimdall blows the Gjallarhorn
Dark the rainbow bridge is turning
Vivid lightning cleaves Yggdrasil
Then the central tree is burning
Aesir watch in fascination
See volcanoes spew like fountains
See the heavens splitting open
See the oceans climb the mountains
See the continents convulsing
See the forests burn to ashes
See the sons of Mim awaken
In the fatal lightning flashes
As the winds consume the wasteland
From the south Surtr advances
With his minions tearing corpses
Bright his sword and sharp his lances
Aesir then prepare their weapons
Eyes are clear and arms are steady
The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr
Upon the battle plain is ready
With his heavy hammer Mjolnir
Strides the mighty god of thunder
To do battle with the serpent
And to rend the world asunder
June 30, 2014
N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.
Glossary:
Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the Aesir
Aesir - The Norse gods
Asgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the Aesir
Valhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god Odin
Heimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn - Heimdall's horn
Midgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humans
Bifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard
Yggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine Worlds
Mim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.
Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.
Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.
Thor - The Norse god of thunder
Mjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon
A Knight from the vast Kingdom
of The King of Holy Throne.
Michael slept within a castle
on beds of peat moss, and of loam.
His face was sedimentary,
though laughter mapped its course.
And his gleaming hair cascaded,
much like a Viking of the Norse.
His raiment wasn’t fancy.
No silk nor satin hose.
But his mind was quick as silver
and his heart was pure as gold.
Cloaked without, by a robe of integrity.
Fortified within, by a will of steel.
He wielded the Sword of Justice,
while holding Truth up as his shield.
Saint Michael’s crusade was legendary,
as was the power of his sword.
Forged to slay the inner dragons,
in reverent service to our Lord.
Countless times the blade was tested,
for malice dwells not on defeat.
Never lacked he for contenders,
disciples of rumors and deceit.
Bad Rumor sowed the seed of doubt
within the mind of man.
Watered from the trough of spite,
he conceived his evil plan.
Each rancid seed that sprouted
grew to a bud of tarnished mail.
Thus, shrouded by corrosion,
he sought corruption to prevail.
When Rumor heard of Saint Michael,
his phosphorous eyes lit up with hate.
Armed with his pitchfork and scythe,
he charged through his hellish gates.
Targeted by dark ambition,
saddled by vicious greed,
he raced upon the clouds fate,
engulfed by jealousy.
.
Michael felt the evil presence
and strapped on his Mighty Sword.
Then he rode off to a clearing,
in the sweet realm of The Lord.
Rumor attacked with animosity,
his trident held, as if a spear.
But as the Sword of God unsheathed,
Rumor was lanced by sudden fear.
Michael raised the Sword of Eminence
as if to pierce the sky.
While sunlight sparked along its blade
a beam smote Rumor’s eye.
Blazing light seized Rumor’s mind.
It seared his ravaged soul.
And when the inner battle ended,
Rumor’s heart was charred to coal.
As Saint Michael wiped soot and ashes
from the length of his trusted sword,
his eyes fell upon the hilt
to runes inscribed there, by The Lord:
“May The Force be your faith
May your spirit know The Lamb
May Love guard your heart
May The Light guide your hand.”
I am Lilizzi, or the spirit of fire, I am the pure essence of the flame itself,
all fear and adore me. Does not every star in the heavens burn because of me?
Out of all four elements, I am by far the most mysterious.
Every culture has their deities to honour me by, to name a few,
Norse goddess Freya, Irish goddess Brigit, Celtic goddess Aodh, Hindu goddess
Agnayi, Greek goddess Hesta, Egyptian goddess Sekhmet.
But of course, you all know the Egyptian god Ra? And believe me, there are just as many gods as there are goddesses. But in this male-dominated world, I felt the urge to bring attention to some of the goddesses instead.
But I digress, you are not here to learn about the gods and goddesses of Lilizzi.
No. You want to learn my mysteries and secrets, don't you?
Well, I say, as a moth! Have you ever wondered why a moth is drawn to my flame? And not just moths, I have been known to hypnotize most humans too,
have you ever wondered why that is?
Okay, let me tell you a little secret then, you may find this hard to believe.
Mankind's first ever form was also fire itself, but it doesn't stop there, you see,
mankind's last evolutional form shall also be fire too. Full circle.
So heed my advice, next time you are near an open flame or fire, study closely
and meditate on its movements, shapes, forms, feed it your breath, dance with it, and know what the learned Druids of the past refer to as Headfire.
They weren't known as the "Fire Fathers" for nothing. And as the Brethren of the Celtic tribes, they held four fire festivals a year, and still honour them today, they are Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas and Samhain.
I don't ask for your worship, only your respect. Who else renews and promotes growth in the woods and forests? The Australian Aboriginals knew to burn back the land at the right time, and they weren't the only ones.
So don't fear me, respect is all I ask. My mysteries are waiting for you to unravel. Burning brighter than ever, Lilizzi.
13~June~2017
For Create a Character contest
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
The great kilt.
“Och aye the noo”
TraIs the cat deid? –
Has the cat died? your trousers are a bit short
– like a flag flying at half mast
Liken my great grandfather did why don’t you put on a kilt
Oh yes, right now
My 16th century
Originating in the traditional
Scots bearing dress of men and boys
In the Scottish Highlands
Is a skirt-type garment with pleats at the rear?
Since the 19th century,
The kilt has become
Associated with the wider
Scottish and Gaelic cultures
A symbol of national pride and tradition
Those cultural heroes of the highlander
Yes! Even some made its way into our military units
And eventually a suited attire symbol of formality
The great kilt.
The first mention of kilts is in 1538
They were worn as full-length garments
Those Gaelic-speaking Scots Highlander men
Were the first to wear them?
The knee-length kilt that we see today
Didn't come around until the early 18th century
Those belted plaid or great kilt
Such a full-length garment
The great kilt
Whose upper half could be worn as a cloak?
Draped over the shoulder, yes even worn by soldiers
Being brought up over the head as a hood
Revealing in a distance a cloak of disability
Comes from the Scots word kilt meaning
Old Norse people donned them kjalta
Meaning lap, fold of a gathered skirt
Also a combat dress
This great kilt
Nonetheless, individual exceptions continued, and it is believed
The kilt was last widely worn in action at the Evacuation of Dunkirk
In May 1940 on D-Day, June 1944, Lord Lovat,
Commander of 1 Special Service Brigade,
This Great Kilt
Was accompanied by his personal pipers who wore a kilt
Played the bagpipes – while German bullets whizzed around him
This tradition has been continued
Within the Pipe Bands of the Republic of Ireland's Defense Forces
The Great Kilt, One of The Themes of Scotland
3/20/21-©2021
For Contest Theme of Scotland
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Martin,
Not the German patrician, his vision was a stair
But our own peaceful prince
Well he invoked you
And not by calling Samuel back from the dead
He invoked you as seeker
He invoked as our searcher
For history, he said, is built on truth
No, not the lineal story
Of one race's glory on my marginality
Our history is always a collective place
A yard of memory
Where we meet at evening to tell
The honey and milk
Of our emasculated hell.
There is no dying here
How can we
What will the predator parasite live on then
So we are made
Zombies of an eternal pain
And you
Our seeker for the antidote
Between Fiske and Berlin
Here we come again
First son to be honored there
Among the ivy league
The doctor to proclaim
Himself one tenth of all of us
With the same double consciousness
Was it not for Fanon
I almost converged to the monstrosity
But then looking back
Over the Pan-African Secretariat
I knew we will never be divided again
So easily
Just rivers of different colors
Destined to end our struggle
Down awful topography of mountains
Down the callous memory of history
Between the churning white teeth of the sea
From my bridge
I watched that wave rise and fall
A thousand times
Pushing us against gravity.
Garvey would agree with me then
He would shake his head
When you were fled to Ghana
When the merging was no longer tenable
For a man lie to himself only for so long
While he searches for truth
I heard the abeng blow to call you home
William ... was not found in their register
William ... he was a Norse conqueror
Edward ... and all of them spineless kings
Burghardt ... and you ask me why
Why should not a thing like this make Africa invisible?
Du Bois ... so you mapped all the colonizers in your name
No, not you,
Our parents always conscious of their power
Yet I knew every cocoon
Is just another state of cobweb
And you would broke free
And many evenings I see you
Just flying on a page of empty sky.
Freyja’s Rival
( And may the Great Queen of the Norse Forgive me )
It’s a sun scintillation of a today
The sky a sharp atmospheric
Crystal blue chimes
Reaches to the untold dominion of stars
Crisp light softens the out shouting colours
Temperance to dancing whispers
“Quiet now” says the Sun
“Other lovers are out shinning today”
Your eyes a sparkling flash of azure
Smiling so long and so deep
Happy has anchored itself
On your complicit lashes
And you are far too beautiful
For my heart to withstand
Such captivating mysteries of an Elfin legend
They say that Freyja was Queen of the North
The Gods had blessed her
With flaming hair
She was the desperate love
Of many a brave warrior
The sun licks her fire inflamed
And prances with breezes
Lifting your curls and locks in scattered incendiaries
Flows red with the blood heated in my veins
Would that I could see you now
Standing there naked
And bathed in your glory
My nymphet Queen
Sure that those shades
Are the boundaries of your purple Burgundies wings
Striking their flutter
On the bright surroundings of living green
But I must content myself
In the curves of your pale blue chiffon
Knowing that the Norse Queen is a little jealous
Of the Queen of the South
For a mother and a woman have left me so impressed
That loves ever pull egress
To your direction
Repeats in my soul
Its forgone conclusion
And there beneath an old grand oak
We sat and littered the picnic table
With all manner of fairy cakes
And sipped on the wine
The sweet wine of our life
In your sparkling laughter of this days happiness
You were more magnificent
Than any Elfin Princess
And anymore love my heart could contain
Would pour from my chest
And race giggling to the dizziest heights
Of sharp atmospheric crystal clear blue
Reaching out to the dominion of stars
To call out your name
To be sure
They would hear me
My love
He
has certainly
perfected the art
of being a smart a** -
a trait that swims like a tadpole
in his father’s gene pool
and nurtured by that very nature..
his tongue swells with sarcasm
his mouth just can’t contain
overflowing the once polite orifice
with a dam burst of wry words
wise cracks snapped! like a quick-witted whip with a grin
..that at once
both burns and tickles me
but
those eyes never change
from my cradle-arms
to a young man
they are still the cyan
of Monet’s Water Lilies
alive with electrical excitement
where voltage thrills the spectacle of imagination;
..as free to be as the aurora borealis shape-shifting
like a neon Norse god..
his horizon the runesmith scribing
upon the midnight vellum
a daydream designed by colors of musical notes..
this sensory rainbow a ribbon tied
to beyond the lip-lock of earth and sky..
a consciousness kissed with creative continuum
full of buoyant light yearning
to take flight across the cerebral airglow
seeking heights of deep space wonder -
a heart charged with cosmic currents
his soul akin to solar winds roaming the galaxies..
aha!
and t h e r e
is where I see myself in him -
yonder side of meager w a n t ...
his mind has wings
and n e e d s to fly!
..and I am wondering
how wonderful it would be
to be his age once again -
to string
my youthful wishes
upon a staid set of stars;
not the tragic magic of stardust
where a comet’s fireworks reigned
till one early morn
when meteor showers rained
my ill-fated dreams falling down -
O Libra
if only you had another chance to weigh
the arc of an outcome
….but then...
what would be of the golden mirror
I see my reflection in?
Susan Ashley
April 21, 2021
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Open Poetry 3
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Exhilaration runs thorough every pore.
With time’s wisdom, my doubts have vacated,
My eyes have opened like never before.
New discoveries keep me elated.
The Kensington rune stone I learned today
May have been carried by the Norse blood line,
Along with the Templars who came to stay
As they discovered the New World divine.
Welcomed by Natives who became their friends
They buried their treasure with-in the land.
An intricate puzzle stone to stone lends
Of several run carvings chiseled by hand.
The hooked X gives proof the Templars were here.
On American soil they staked their claim,
To later return without doubts or fear;
Safe from their hunters, escaping their fame.
To join with Freemasons, the great and bold,
Those who governed the New World from the start.
Their story continues from days of old
To present powers in which they take part.
They now control congress and all the banks.
We the people are their pawns it would seem.
We live in ignorance as we give thanks
For freedoms we don’t have, yet we esteem.
Still I like to believe what I learned in school
That our nation is great as we shout loud,
Ignoring the fact that we might be fools.
I love my country of which I’m still proud.
Most Americans are honest and true;
Standards of freedom will always remain.
We help others when disasters ensue,
Donating dollars and time without gain.
The few in greed that may govern our land
Will not remove from our people who care;
Those loving and kind who offer their hand,
Those who I’m hoping the world is aware.
http://www.committeefilms.com/#/documentaries/holy-grail-in-america/
http://www.hookedx.com/film.asp
Note:
The Kensington runestone inscriptions were made by explorers from Gotland, an
island off Sweden that had a military monastic order that was possibly the Knights
Templar. The above links better explain this poem.
Harsh winds blow from a baron frozen land,
Of ice and snow.
Exhaling Nordic gods breath a chilling mist
An eerie foggy vapor creeping along the
Waters aquatic edge.
Rages angry seas lap against the wooden
Hauls as battle harden men brace for impact
Waves crack tarring asunder splinters oaken shell.
Yet these Icelandic warriors laugh at death,
Savoring it's flavor, and relishing their own bloods
Taste upon salted lips.
The devils seed lives within them, these
Barbaric conquerors known to history as the vikings
By Thor’s mighty hammer does strike thus,
Against the anvils rough hewed edge.
Sparks fly igniting thunder and lightening below
Splitting apart the very heaven's themselves,
Odin exposes a distant horizons far off shore.
Hear the oarsmen drumming, a pounding,
It's hastening beat the inner heart of this vessel
Foretelling hells army will soon arrive,
At early morning highest tide.
Whom shall stand after this storm hits land fall.
The sword unsheathed will take vengeance fill
With it's blade dipped an ink well of blood.
No treaty signed can stop history's mighty wrath
Feel hot Norse breath upon your neck oh roman.
Seek thy brothers kinsman’s council for
Safety’s sake alone.
Fears children hide beneath a gray cloak of innocence.
Illusions shelter of falsehoods arrogance delusion,
Believing the walls of roman shall never fall.
A dark shadow is cast over thy world of glittering
Gold a plunders treasure chest a shinning example
For glistening ripening to fill ill gotten
Gains empty hauls.
What price to pay for lies deceit, it's brilliance
Calls forth a trumpeting, a sounding for
Deaths comforting.
Valhalla gates open wide, to welcome
Vanquished heroes unto the neither world.
While Romanian drink deeply from deaconesses
Bloody cup.
The Vikings sing a victory song and voyage on
And Odin smile down upon his people
With pride's honor restored.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Fairhair’s youngest son the good, for peace trickery repaid, by hawk upon the knee Norse blood raised an English king, hid from the bloody axe until his reign A Christian in a pagan scene A God Thing in a Frost Thing old ways die hard drunken jarls twelve leaping things hot yule-beer, boiling horse flesh He signs the cup a cross to bear in heathen affair Raven-feast a king tries to bring his people the Hope of the New Living Thing Pushing back the fires of bloody axe, he fought Eric’s sons blue-toothed Danes Annihilator of all other Skalds recounts Haakon's Song his good night Outnumber six to one by Danes all weapons pointed, at the golden helmet though mocking refrains now hidden by poet's hat thrust on through you shall find Quernbiter, cutting runes and the Norse king, putting to flight the Danish plight whirling recoil of the fleeing Erikson a lonely arrow finds Haakon's heart upon the flat rock lay slain though the Dark-wolf again eats the land a Christian king has the hope of a God thing * * Notes -Hákonarmál is a skaldic poem,EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY by Thomas Carlyle,THE THING SMALL LOCAL COUNTRYSIDE THING --Thing (assembly)