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.
A Norse Day
Odin, god of battle, always looking for a war
Took his brother Loki off to battle with his son called Thor
The only way to find true peace
Is killing everything you please
His brother Loki liked only fun and pranks
For that he got no thanks
Thor gained fame with thunder hammer in his hand
He was a hero like his dad and loved throughout the land
There were no dragons at that time but never mind
Thor could fly, (according to the scriptures)
But only in the comic strips and fiction
In “real” mythology he used a goat to get around
To slew giants and the bad guys down
The goat or goats would drive across the sky
With thunder driven chariots and Thor inside
Odin threw his son from Asgard to the Earth
If that were not the case. If Thor was not a jerk
We wouldn't have Thors-day or Thursday you might say
The mystery of his mystic hammer power still remains
But we have the 5th. day of the week now named
7/29/14 All Things Norse contest
Loki:
Sigyn and Angrboda know their wyrd well
Even the far seeing eye of odin
Does even the all seeing eye have its faults?
The curse of knowledge or forgetfulness perhaps
Angrboda is born of the blood of the volva
She knows well the fates and
wyrd of men and immortals alike
The mother of wolves, my lovely consort
Sigyn my love,ever loyal and in morning
Has resigned herself to the fate of her wyrd
She too burns for revenge against the aesir
For you have transformed one son into a wolf
Only to have him kill his brother Nari
Then to transform poor vali back
Then to despair over his brother's entrails
And to commit an agonizing death
For what crime did my sons do,
Lord Odin as you proclaim yourself judge
Jury and executioner
And for what wrongs did my children
Jorgamundr, Hel, and Fenrir do
They were but kids when you had them
Imprisoned for Half Fashioned prophecies that
were made by three old wise women,
Have they not had their intuitions
misinterpreted before…..
So my children pay for my mistakes
You aesir who claim to be fair
Is this the famed fairness of the aesir
The destruction of my family
Driving us apart
I think that hardly righteous or fair
Isolated peat bog is a lonely place never more so than on a storm-driven night. It's a time when the banshee howls streaking across the land claiming midnight for her own. With hair streaming down her back and garnet eyes alight with malice the manifestation hovers watching and waiting for who knows what. Her age is timeless to all intent and purpose she is a prisoner of time itself.
795 AD
As the Viking longboat pushed its way up the narrow river the Norse warriors were on high alert. Carefully watching the landscape as it passed them by. All was green and fertile the fecundity obvious.
Thora was by this time a battle-hardened shield maiden who had earned her place among the warriors. Ragnar, her soulmate, had been killed during the last raid that took place at Lindisfarne it was a bloody slaughter long, long to be remembered.
As Ragnar lay dying Thora took his sword and made sure it was firmly in his hand Valhalla was assured. She looked forward to the day when they would be reunited. However, her first duty was to the unborn. She cherished the idea of Ragnar's child. It made her more fierce and determined than ever.
The story continues: Invasion Part-Two
Pixabay image Clker free image
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
Had my fill of Finnish fish pie food
it only put me in the mood
for a Swedish meatball
which really and truly
duly answered the call
followed by a Danish bacon pastry
all in all it was quite tasty
hoping I won't glow in the dark
in Iceland I had fermented shark
and creamy tangy skyr à la mode
it's yoghurt with ice cream in Norse code
but of Greenland's daily delicacy
homemade soup I must reveal
a staple of Inuit cuisine
the main ingredient is seal
and for a Norway repast
(as that bird has flown)
I'll leave it 'til the very last
but for cellulose as grub goes
what good
is Norwegian wood?
Winter Woman appeared in the hour of darkest need
She was on foot, alone, needing no man or steed.
Her wolf mates SheRah and HeMaRay were at her side.
Scanning the woods where Norse enemies might try to hide.
I was astounded upon seeing White Woman’s beauty.
I had pledged my loyalty, and to serve her as was my duty.
But she took my breath, and she held me in the palm of love.
Her essence so pure, I expected to see a lone white dove.
SheRah might have noticed me; she turned and gave a sniff.
I tried to walk forward with confidence. Did HeMaRay catch a whiff?
Winter Woman put up her hand to stop them before they got to my throat.
I was holding nothing in my hands, I would later sometimes gloat.
What say you? She asked, not in words, but rather in the lean of her head.
The wolves gave me a once over, I knew one off step, and I’d be dead.
To serve you, to join your honor, my queen. I pledge my all to you.
She accepted with graciousness, for it is what a true Winter Woman would do.
So I came to live in the kingdom of the land of the ice and snow.
Where people pledge their loyalty, and like-minded hearts do grow.
I received my own little white wolf pup as a gift from the Queen.
Come by some day to see him. I named him Little White King.
you crawled from the bottom
of tomorrow withered beneath
my feet the smell of forgotten
earth arose bountiful cruelty
emerged my mind craved awful
goodness standing before me
a hidden figure moving behind
the darkness legs unevenly bent
backwards standing there with
broken blood stained wings a tear
as hard as tar remained on your
cheek who are you why are you
here filled with dreary contempt
faintness shyness bestowed such
a tyrant entity taunting me with
childlike eyes beckoning my mothers
instinct to nurture this creature of
darkness my mind said don't do not
covenant nor comfort the muses of
norse ravenlike energy look away and
yet the dry warm breeze gathered
from your heavy breathing seated
in a mystic garden sprouting inside
my bedroom Odin standing over me
i whisper you must please go now
you're not supposed to be here
knowing full well tomorrow is near
Rumpelstiltskin was celebrating with glee around his fire
Tomorrow he would have to wet nurse hire
For he would have in his possession a royal child
His life would no longer be meek and mild
He would be a celebrity of course
Everyone would come to see his baby Norse
Yes that was the name he had already decided
He was crazy with glee, he would have confided
If he had a friend in the world, but he did not
For he was stingy, and selfish, and shared not his pot
He was not the kind of a father for a child to have to put up with
He was not evil but simple, with the mind of a bucket that was the myth
Rumpelstiltskin was dancing and jumping
Yelling with glee his heart braggadociously thumping
The queen will give her child to me as is my right
He yelled into the air of that warm summer’s night
He had no idea the queen’s messenger heard him shout
His full name and clearly, yes, he yelled it right out
The next day he went to collect his child, all excited and stuff
But the queen said his name, and he turned angry and rough
He yelled and he screamed, and he wailed and he keened
He stamped a big hole, no longer calm, collected or preened.
He disappeared into it, and was never seen again
So all of that bragging was the end of Rumpelstiltskin.
Sky blacks out, cosmic hits hard,
hope stomped flat in the dirt.
Fate snaps like cheap thread—
a flare rips the night, desperate why.
They show up anyway. Scattered, pissed, half-broke.
Never a neat lineup.
Thor crashes down, thunder and beard,
Mjolnir howling, offended.
Lightning stitches dark; he growls old Norse
about shielding these fragile dirt-world hearts.
Iron Man’s late—repulsors blue through smoke.
Tony mutters, half-joke, half-prayer:
“Built the suit so it wouldn’t bury me first.”
Cap steps quiet, shield up, eyes steady.
Still hauling 1940s weight like it’s nothing.
Doesn’t preach. Just won’t let hope die today.
Hulk arrives without warning—ground shakes, screams.
Banner’s lost under green rage, hating what he is
but coming back anyway. Inside the roar,
a guy who just wanted to help.
Widow slips in like smoke—no glow, no speech.
Knives, lies, red ledger that won’t wash clean.
Hawkeye looses an arrow splitting wind.
No powers, just good eyes and bad temper—
wrong place, right time. Again.
Wanda twists chaos like smoke she can’t quit.
Reality whimpers under her fingers—
fragile, grieving, one bad thought flips everything.
Vision floats calm, crystal mind, patched heart.
Speaks probabilities. Nobody listens.
They just need him there.
Then it cracks. Messy. Shields clang, words cut deep.
Egos, stubbornness, old blood. They yell, scatter.
Some don’t come back right. Family’s like that—
bent, bruised, still breathing.
Sky tears wider. Worse crawls through.
One hoarse voice cuts static:
“Avengers… assemble.”
Not a cheer. A plea.
Gods, spies, monsters, machines, soldiers—
flawed, half-broken—drag back.
Not noble. Alternative just sucks more.
Power’s not hammer or glow or gamma veins.
It’s showing up bleeding, hating each other,
when hope’s a bad joke.
Old comics curl at edges, decades of ink,
arguments, second chances—they stand.
Not perfect. Not forever.
Just long enough.
Cosmos notices. Remembers the mess.
The stubborn, stupid, beautiful mess.
High upon a platform, she dwells among two spheres
Her people mumble strange like chants, that rumble in salt air
The wizened Seidr woman, beyond her fertile years
will hold a staff, against her knees, in regard above her peers
She sits upon the platform, while the people sway and dance
Her eyes are glassy, semi-closed, her mind is in a trance
She is filler of the future's sound, while seeking out the vast
She brings to Fjords, the fish they seek, by believing in the past
Her voice is as a whisper, she heals and guides them home
Her song becomes distant wind, that fades until it's gone
Among the barren wasteland, it cackles in the cold
Her power is a mountain, found, of spirit frail, yet bold
As she sways her words like little birds, that are carried in the breeze
there are talking sounds, as if from crowns, released from winter trees
_______________________
For the contest sponsored by Shadow Hamilton "All Things Norse"
7/26/14