Death Viking Poems | Examples
These Death Viking poems are examples of Viking poems about Death. These are the best examples of Viking Death poems written by international poets.
The Viking God Thor On His First Great Battle
No, you do not, no sir not in this fight
My honor demands I fight you to death
You are Lord of Darkness, I Lord of Light
You will surely lose, so save your last breath
Your stabs were all wrong, had not real effect
I spit on you and your black-monster ways
My oath, my duty I dare not neglect
My job is one to make you truly pay
You will taste the might of my mighty pen
And I swear you monster must die today
I cut you beast, right out of your dark skin
Your imps are chained in your ghastly lair
All of your hiding trolls will my sword taste
Go ahead cry and moan I do not care
World celebrates your death, what a big waste
I go now back to my great Vahalla throne
A party this day, we celebrate you
Now that your evil has been overthrown
Dark beasts of your land justice overdue.
Robert J. Lindley, Feb. 7th 1985. edit Sept. 25th 1999
He was grizzled, intimidating, the original Viking all in black.
We were fearful, tearful, he was frightened us. We felt lack.
Is he a Viking? A Trojan? A Greek? A devil not clearly seen?
We did not know, so we reported this stranger to our darling queen.
Our queen was not afraid of anything, we had seen this before.
She summoned him to court, but he disappeared, gone forevermore.
We pondered this stranger with blue eyes the rest of our life.
He was a battle of one, scaring us soundly. We all felt the strife.
He was Celtic, a pagan, a man with battle and death on his mind.
He was horrible, a meanie, nothing like our loving sweet kind.
Some said his name was unmentionable, so they would never tell.
One thing for sure, this curious stranger was straight out of hell.
The story of him grew until it could not be contained, alive in the air.
He killed with his bare hands. His ebony coats were made of a bear.
He was a hermit, a rounder, a sounder, a man to be avoided and feared.
We love the stories of him. They are camp fire songs too, many endeared.
Blacksmith's massive hands
delivering powerful hammer blows,
beating glowing red steel
into submission.
Sparks illuminating
magnificent artistry.
Fiercely wielded
in the name of Odin.
Tales heralded it's glory.
Unearthed, virtually unscathed.
Instrument of death,
1,200 years at peace.
Flying alone
over fury enthroned
Its colors reign free
and clear
The enemy stained
all freedom regained
Covered in blood
spent and dear
Stitched yellow and blue
its messages true
That Svealand does
not run
To hang steadfast
and slay the past
And carry our glory
sum
A crest ablaze
through fire and haze
Horses hooves high in
the air
Now honor bound
on sacred ground
Heralding death
—our cross to bear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)
The horned helmet of the dawn has met my sight
They’re shouting loudly, that I’m wrong – I’m right
The sky is putting on the armour of mournful clouds
I’m man with weapon I’m not farmer let someone shouts.
I’ve taken sword with hand of vengeance I’ve taken shield
I’ve never seen the kind angels and I have built
the ship to sail in land of Glory to seek and find
And maybe I will tell this story for famous Skald.
The morning’s giving me direction to be the One
I’m waiting so for satisfaction my will be done
I carry woes and pain and fury on peak of sword
I want to win I want it truly to be the lord.
I’ll share the blood without the weeping there is no choice
I hear myself that death is creeping I hear the noise
of battle and I kill with smile I’m tough as stone
I see the dead they stand like file I see the dawn.
I left my home, the world to roam
it’s been now twelve years gone.
From a boy to a man
was a dreadful short span,
as I journeyed to valleys beyond.
Now the king, he has spoken
and battle has broken,
I’m wise to the ways of the world.
Long on the sword,
as we seek our reward,
to see our flag unfurled…
Sailed by starry dark of night,
our longships cross the sea.
Where a hundred headless horsemen
guard the gates of Galilee.
Each dawn’s a daily dance of death,
through battle smoke like dragon’s breath.
With echo axe to armor chink,
each onslaught we rebuffed.
You can invite the devil for a drink
…if you think you’re man enough.
Heavy’s the head that wears the crown,
when the blood of brothers’ beckons.
Weak is the sword, as it lies on the ground.
If there’s a will, there’s a way,
there are weapons.
But once the battle has ended
and our journeys’ been made,
there’ll be air in my lungs,
and blood on my blade.
As was foretold, our flag was unrolled
in the past… now once again!
Vikings prevail, each time we sail,
in the age of wooden ships
… and iron men.
Copyright © 2018
Viking, Viking burning bright,
on a pyre in the night,
though the wind howls and bites,
this funeral is out-of-sight!
Through the cold and falling snow,
on the lake your fire glows,
the ships combusts, and now I know
this here is how I want to go.
*-Obviously patterned off William Blake's famous poem 'The Tyger.'
Viking Funeral
When that day comes that I will die
Dress me in the finest clothes
Patterned from ecru silken threads
In contrast with my hazel eyes
As the sun sets west and reflects
upon the sea so warm and blue
Place me in a sailing craft
Hand carved from exquisite teak
Surround me with my memories
My keepsakes and my written words
When the tide goes out to join the sea
please set my sails all pointed east
Aim and shoot a flaming shaft
To pierce the boat set it aflame
And consume me on my final quest
to delve into my watery nest
When the last flame is extinguished,
Retrieve my ashes from the craft
And place them in an marble jar
And toss them in the ocean deep
My life has always been mundane
I never lived to seize the day
My luck and judgements never meshed
My essence nor my core refreshed
To take a trip in such a way
To be remembered on that day
Will seal the memory of my death
When I have breathed my final breath
*Revised Poem from years ago 4/3/2017
Viking Funeral
When that day comes that I will die
Dress me in the finest clothing
Patterned from a textured sharksin
As the sun sets east and reflects
upon the sea so warm and blue
Place me in a red sailing craft
Hand carved from an exquisite teak
Surround me with my memories
My keepsakes and my written words
And when the tide goes out to sea
You may set my sails pointed west
Aim and shoot a flaming arrow
To pierce the boat set it aflame
And consume me on my final sail
When the last flame is extinguished,
Retrieve my ashes from the craft
And place them in an marble jar
And toss it in the ocean deep
My life has always been mundane
I never lived to seize the day
Good luck and judgements never meshed
My essence nor my core refreshed
To take a trip in such a way
To be remembered on that day
Will seal the memory of my death
When I have breathed my final breath
*Revised Poem from years ago
Viking me, I want to be
warrior culture, decadent vulture
plunder & pillage, every village
navigate the sea, longboat to be
clash of steel, organic feel
Viking Me, I want to be
impenetrable shield wall, kingdom fall
Valhalla bound nomads, Victorious death glad
Discovery of Vinland, Vigilance of Norse man
Expedition by Erichson, conquest by Self assertion
Viking me, I want to be
slayer of Saxons, settle in Briton
cognizant of victory, details are gory
bringing cathartic terror, no maidens fairer
discernment of Odin’s Eye, Viking battle cry
Viking me, I want to be
Winter harvest feast, sacrifice the beast
preserve Heathen blood, The Christian flood
warlike mind, one of a kind
unstoppable force, ultra violent source