For Some Reason, Vikings Again


So, it has been far too long since I have posted anything to this blog. I start to despair of keeping any interest up, but if there are any devoted followers still out there that I am not directly related to, I hope this will reward your patience. This new piece is odd, it has a shape and a voice but it feels not quite there, like it wants to say something more, however, as this is the first piece of creativity I have had in quite some time I feel it worth nailing to the cathedral door of this blog for a little exposure to the public as it were. Maybe some one out there will have it speak to them in a voice more familiar or clear than it did to me. As always, enjoy my dear readers. Cheers.

Winter’s wolves howl at the threshold
Bar stoutly the door for now
Stir the fire bright, brim once more the drinking horns
One for you, one for I
A humble feast indeed, just we two
As the shadows crowd the long hall
Grey phantoms with familiar faces
Revel in the room just beyond the border of the light.

Our day is done, our long last night has come my friend
I am glad it is you at the end
When old age found us both while we were so busy looking for glorious death,
Crept upon us on stealthy feet, laid dusty fingers on our limbs
Till now we creak and groan as tall masts before the gale
Staring into the bright fire of youth and might remembered,
Two old, spent men spinning tales into the bitter night
While winter’s wolves howl.

The night grows long, time and memory both grow short
Faces rise up out of deep water only to be drowned again
Friend and foe both jostle shoulder to shoulder
Whispered rustling filling the emptiness
Where once boasts and joyous noise dwelt,
Once bright banners held aloft in firm grip
Hang now tattered and faded from the rafters
Sighing battle cries with cobweb choked voices
While the wolves at the door grow louder.

My sight and the fire both grow dim
Even your familiar features blur and fade at the last old friend as the firelight fades from my old shield above the mantle
As the cold grows in the marrow of my bones,
Fire no longer, slowly chilling to frosty iron.
I take one last drink of mead from the horn
The sweet over the bitter,
Pass me my sword as you go
Another final hand clasp from an old, faithful friend
I shall stay here, you go on before me, just as all the rest.
As you go, be so kind as to un-bar the door
I think I am ready for the wolves at last.
Who knows, perhaps I may even make them pay dear for the meal.

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6 Responses to “For Some Reason, Vikings Again”

  1. relitivo pythonisis Says:

    Apparently scars of the epic “…and beekeepers” persist.

  2. O. T. B. Gene Says:

    can’t directly see you; still enjoy listening tho’

  3. vincente boite de cure dents Says:

    so that naught but the helmeted head remained, its terrible voice a challenge to those wishing to cross the bridge

  4. leifd meassoff Says:

    went viking the other day
    got hopelessly lost
    did, however, discover a few things about myself
    while passing time waiting for the real guys to show up

  5. Yust Kidink Says:

    re: the title of this work
    the precise recurring curse of open mic night at Livson’s Smoked Salmon Deli

  6. duffer dimanche Says:

    suffering the frosty iron
    my time now spent
    wandering the shaded woods
    for the wayward white sphere

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