Long Viking Poems
Long Viking Poems. Below are the most popular long Viking by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Viking poems by poem length and keyword.
death shall have no dominion
Dominion of Canada
Canada goose
goose egg
egg salad
salad days
days of our lives
lives in the balance
balance the budget
budget rent a car
karmaloop
loopmasters
Masters of the Universe
universal love
love and hate
hate your guts
guts but no brains
brains blown out
out of our minds
mindset
set your watch
watch TV
vegan pizza
pizza crust
crust of bread
bread and water
water bottle
bottle of beer
beer Vikings
Viking invasion
invasion of privacy
sea to shining sea
Seattle, Washington
washing clothes
clothes make the man
maneater
eater of flesh
fleshtone
tone it down
down the drain
drain clog
clogged sink
sink or swim
swimsuits
suits me fine
fine dining
dining out
outcast
cast a shadow
shadow
cast
I can still hear the rumbling and drilling sound of the machine rubbing against the trees, and the dust absorbing the penitent wisdom of the futile murder scene. The loop bends solemnly underneath the fence and the rope swinging pitifully from the mercury head. I can still hear desperate voices calling out for help as I watched the traffic parachuting a hundred miles per hour along the forbidden edge, and the music playing softly in the deep resonating a message that is very unique. I kept following the sound hoping that it would take me where nature is bound but the cloud hanging above the mystical ocean without questions has suddenly become my innate passion and discovered the hidden wealth bottled up within me.
I stood on top of the pinnacle, and watched them scrambling around tirelessly in the open dessert, and the sweltering heat hitting against their bareback and perspiration dripping from their make shift frocks. As far as the light in my eyes could reach I behold glimpses of shadows strolling in long line across the desert resting occasionally on borrowed time. As the night presses upon their head, torches of hope pushes them along relentlessly into the open bed but destiny opens is arm.
It’s not the sound that perplexed me, it is the messages that it saturated in the air round about me, and the distance sounds disseminating in the open space is preparing me for another race, and in the middle of it all
my spirit still stands tall. The wind drifts slowly along with the blind folded figure head singing a deceptive song, the drilling is in the rhythm the knocking is in the singing, and the hymn is wearing a shoe that has screws.
The chronicle has disappeared, and the hopping, and the skipping the mocking and the jeering reappeared, a decade of unused stones piled up in a sitting gown wearing a brand new crown. They come from Denmark and they come from France and in the middle of Viking spree the Norwegians, sweated in the third degree. I could have penetrated the sound from the musical clowns but the timeless music from the street ascended into the hills, and captures the moment with a sudden chill and the merciless wind arose from the ground and cover the street with human bones.
The way to a girls heart
seems to be sour candy?
She loves the way it puckers her lips.
She get's talkative, "as if", a Sleeping Beauty.
Awakened by gumdrop of her seize kiss.
She is a slave to the sassy
kicked up notch of flavor rainbow hyper-twitch.
You are a slave to having treats on hand
and obey her every bossy command.
Her eyes light up, ignited in an electric glee,
Unleashing her inner child with a key.
With every tangy explosion,
comes a remembered idea or notion.
It's as if the world around her fades,
and all that's left is the zesty escapade.
The way to her heart may be simple and sweet,
though the power to move her
cannot be beat.
For true happiness lies in the simplest of things,
Like rewards and laughter and all the joy
that they bring.
So don't underestimate the power of a treat,
it can awaken a heart and make it seat next to you,
in solidarity.
Although, when she crashes, she may get grumpy, then go to sleep.
But just look at that lil candy dream !
For in her mind, she'll roam free,
a girl again in a world of candy and sugary glee, safety and family things of memory.
In that moment, you'll see her soul,
Unencumbered by worry,
a rare sight to behold, let alone coury.
So when you give her a piece of candy,
you're not just giving her something bland, savvy?
You're giving her a moment to escape,
and yourself too,
vicariously.
To find joy and happiness,
and reshape that spirit,
as she salivates upon it,
intraveneously?
Like a Viking Maiden, or Dragon
protecting a treasure in a cave.
A cat guarding it's dish with claws entrenched,
growling, stay away.
"You shall not pass" and "Eye Of Sauron" mixed in a frightening way.
"Taste the rainbow of my fruity fu****wrath",
she might say.
Though skittles may be small and sourly-sweet,
an insignificality.
A token holds the power to make a heart
skip a portaled beat.
For in that moment, she feels alive and free,
all thanks to that simple little treat,
given lovingly, in a cheer to her memories.
Reminders, hopeful omens
and thoughtfulness's zing.
Doorways to the finer things.
From far North Vikings came in ships,
to plunder the church's gold
and monks in fear were ill-equipped
only peace since days of old
These Vikings came to English soil
brought death and shattered bone
with horns to blow that cause turmoil
as misery was at home
To the forest dark twelve monks had ran
to flee the Viking pain
A lonely Knight would make a stand
no question of monk's shame
Firm and fierce as death comes toward
he stood on sacred ground
with prayer's wish and sharpened sword
he drew his blade around
An axe in Viking hands convey
a fear within the church
The evil came without delay
to vanquish peasants from the earth
With blood, they rid the church of gold
left dead across the ground
and body of a Knight so bold
before they cut him down
With a sword upon his chest, he died
to save the monks who'd run
The honor did his anguished cries
attends the setting sun
Within the burning English walls
did lay a virgin bride
In her last breath, she grasps the hand
of her Knight, who bravely died
contest Form B
12/18/16
I no longer trust the flowers of dessert mirages.
For years, Vikings have read mystical Runes.
They once soared forth in golden carriages.
Now every dawn returns their dreamy tunes.
A faery, I remain in vibrant flight.
A mystic born with Stardust and Cosmos.
My flight dreams transcend the mind's starry night
To realms where big truths and visions arise.
Handfasted once beneath the ancient Oak
Amid unwinding breaths of whispered wind,
Now freed to ride the cosmic tides evoked,
Ascending where the Celestials began.
No human heart knows where I am flying
With defiant fantasies unflinching.
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
While looking for Elvis
Met Nessie in Loch Ness
Hoarding a leprechauns pot of gold
While getting ready to depart
I tripped over the Lost Ark
In the baggage of a hitchhiking Pharaoh
Thought I had got lost in flight
Stumble into Camelot at night
King Arthur shooting Robin Hood's arrows
Little green men from Mars
Battling a dragon with bumper cars
Jumping on my unicorn I rode
Diving into the Ocean
The mermaids gave me notions
My search for Elvis was getting cold
Swam down to Atlantis in the Atlantic
Dine at Poseidon's banquet
He had a big Roman nose
Cruising the Devil's Triangle
Being careful for any angle
I try to assassinate Castro
No money for the Florida toll booth
I wander into the Flountain of Youth
I look much younger so I'm told
On my way to Colorado
I kiss the Indian Princess of El Dorado
They can keep their entire treasure load
I saw Jimmy Hoffa eating a hot dog
While sitting with Big Foot on a redwood log
They were both getting pretty old
Went over to Memphis
Back through Las Vegas
My search for Elvis was about to fold
Than an angel named Gabriel
Told me about the new guy down at the stable
So I flew off to Shangri-la with pilot Joe
Our wings iced without warning
Damn this damn Global warming
Flying over Santa and a Chinese Viking Eskimo
We crashed landed in Xanadu
Met a few people we both knew
But Elvis left so I was told
With my new friend Yeti
We shared a big bowl of spaghetti
Amelia Earhart cooked and sold
Round the Garden of Eden
I traded an apple for freedom
From the lost tribes of Isreal though
On Mount Olympus I heard singing
The voice of Elvis reigning
I found the King of Rock and Roll
We ate a fried banana peanut butter sandwich
Elvis offer me the last bite of his sandwich
I politely refused I couldn't be so bold
Before I could ask Elvis as such
He rose and said "Thank you very much"
The answers I needed were put on hold
"Beam me up Scottie" he quipped
Than in a flash he was on the Mother Ship
And I turn and saw my friend little Moe
Area 51 is where that saucer came from
In Noah's Ark we drank wine and hard rum
Finding Elvis I am no hero
Looking for Elvis is half the fun
Its the trip that ends where it begun
Down in Dallas on a grassy knoll
You hate my country but I can’t hate you
they’ll call me racist cus that’s what they do
you fly your flag what a horrible sight
and when you protest probably fight
I post a status caged in overnight
us Brits are welcoming far too polite
as you’re an illegal you have your rights
5 star hotels and a taxi if you’d like
but who are you kidding
you think England’s done
are you Napoleon conquering all
antisemitic starting world wars
cause they wrote us off once
Britannia roared
send an Armada you’ll sink to the floor
fly your Luftwaffe until you’re no more
cause they say we’ve fallen
they’ve said it before!
We haven’t started
are you feeling sure?
DNA of a Viking, a Roman, a Celt,
Britannia’s stirring…… The Finest yet dealt!
The 5 Eyes Clic
Written By: D. Collins 4/13/17
Every time I hear it; it gives me pause.
How these five nations could even have the balls?
Australia and New Zealand belonged to Aborigines.
Canada and the U.S. brought Indians to their knees.
Let’s not forget the British, who paid lute to survive.
Blending with Viking society just to stay alive.
I bet you won’t find this in a history book.
You’ll find they have pale skin, just take a 2nd look.
Their governments are run without people of color.
Dropping bombs on those who check the box of “Other”.
The Trilateral Commission has not grown to five.
Just to throw us off, they call themselves 5 Eyes.
Edvard Munch
An Ekphrasis Stylized Poem of Jealousy
Oh, ancient Oden!
I summon your primitive hand.
Take this oiled brush I hold,
and order my strokes with your command.
With deep red, spilling like blood across the land,
she appears as the object of my affection,
nude and reaching toward a tree
as if to lure my enemy, with want and lust-filled attention.
Is there reason, lord, why my foe is portrayed in Crayola-like imperfection?
Is he to be, Newfoundland, and she as Norway with Viking confiscation?
And are the greens not depicting my envy,
a reprieve from the harsh white lands of Greenland?
And now you insist… I portray myself, or maybe Leif,
or perhaps a Christian King!
Why do you torment me so?
Why can’t I just let this brush go, before a Berserker I become,
to seal my fate through fires run,
across my own pire I’ve tried to overcome,
and on success blazoned before the cross, to be succumbed?
Once filled with hedonistic jealousy, in my exhaustion,
I am finally outrun,
back into the green Norse woods I retreat, weak and numb…
to mend my wounds, and lust for your power hence come,
to paint another day.
by Martin Braun
July 11, 2023