In the past 12 years I have been lucky enough to visit Scandinavia 3 times. Simply put, I adore Scandinavia, and the poems here bear witness to that love. Most are about Vikings of Old, but some are not.
Fast and sleek was she,
the ship I once did sail
through storm-tossed waves
amidst the savage gale;
she bore me safe
to lands unknown,
fought many a battle
and carried me home.
I rest now upon her planks,
my final journey has begun
as my flesh lies lifeless
beneath the blazing sun;
I take with me my wooden cart
and my well-carved sleigh,
and all else that I shall need
as I make my silent way
to where great Odin sits,
bold heroes by his side,
men who fought a worthy foe
and men who bravely died.
Oh pray for me as I pass by,
bless my faithful ship,
and pray I find Valhalla
there, within my grip.
2. The Viking's Wife
Her Viking Lord stood ready,
so fearsome and so bold,
to steer his sturdy longship
in search of gleaming gold;
so many places had he been,
so many battles had he fought,
that the glory of adventure
consumed his every thought.
Another kingdom set to fall
into his blood-stained hands,
another village to be razed
for not meeting his demands;
but he was the man she loved,
her childrens’ doting sire,
it was not her place to judge
what set his soul on fire.
Yet, as she dreamed at night,
she envisioned hungry flames
that feasted on the flesh
of children who had names,
she saw the women screaming,
falling as they tried to flee,
she saw the houses put to torch
by her brave Viking from the sea,
and knew within her heart
such slaughter was not right,
that men should not be killed
for the mad glory of the fight.
So there came a grievous day
as she walked along the shore,
when she prayed her noble lord
would return to her no more.
3. The Celt
Our ship set forth in mighty winds
to carry us afar from home,
like eagles swift did we take wing
to a place we had not known:
a green-cloaked land of rain,
its rocky shores a danger,
but we landed without harm,
welcomed by a kindly stranger
who did not know our journey
was made for loot and slaves,
that we were men of battle
who rode upon the waves.
Our captain quickly seized him,
brought him on in chains,
doomed no more to see his land
or kiss his loving wife again;
he pleaded for our mercy,
offered all that he possessed,
but what he earned were lashes
down upon his head and chest.
At first I gloried in his capture,
for I did hope he would be mine,
would serve me and my children,
make my food and pour my wine;
I argued with my noble lord,
asked reward for loyal duty
and said that I of all the men
had not my share of booty.
And so this stranger fell to me,
his life entrusted to my hand
as we sailed for many days
until we reached our icy land;
those days I watched him closely,
saw the tears that he did shed,
heard him cry upon his god
to come and strike him dead.
He spoke about his children,
the plot of land that was his farm,
how never had he taken weapons
to bring another soul to harm;
he even offered me forgiveness
as he told me of his native Lord,
who hallowed peace and kindness
and preached rejection of the sword,
and as I listened to his words
I at last began to see
not a prize for battles won,
but just a man, like me.
The day we sailed our weary ship
upon the fjord that was our home,
I thanked the gods for my return
and pledged no more to roam;
I took the hand of this strange man,
heard once again his mournful plea,
took the chains from off his hands
and finally set him free.
I never learned what came of him,
but one thing can I tell:
that giving him his freedom
did set me free as well.
4. The Troll's Dream
A stave church stood
near an ancient mound
where a Viking Lord
once strode the ground;
the trees bore witness
to his mighty sword,
the foes he vanquished
in a ship well oared.
But at the church door
slept a troubled soul,
his wizened face
proclaimed a Troll;
disdained and feared,
he passed his days
with dreams of valour
and fame that blazed
high into the heavens,
where the gods would see
beyond his gnarled visage
the hero he would be.
He would win each battle
with honour held high,
and guide his longship
through mists far and wide
to peoples unknown
and lands made of gold,
where he would find glory
and vast riches untold;
his name would be vaunted
and told of in song,
not one would forget him
as Time passed along.
So there, in his dream,
he played out his role,
but when he awoke
he was still just a Troll.
5. Valkyries
Light broke upon a battlefield
where many a man was slain,
the carnage told a story
of heroic death and pain:
how this man stood alone
to face the stronger foe,
while that one gave his life
to save a friend from woe.
An eerie silence met the dawn,
no sound of dog or bird
making feast upon the bodies
that lay there on the earth;
but then the sound of thunder
broke upon the quiet land,
the heavens opened wide
and there the Gate did stand –
bright before my startled eyes,
Valhalla shone like purest gold,
and Valkyries came riding forth,
just as the ancient stories told.
They rode upon a raging wind
that sprang up at their command,
each with fury in her face
and a sword held in her hand;
soon they trod the bloodied ground,
looking far and wide to see
which men at arms were worthy,
and I prayed they would chose me.
Their judgement rang across the field,
and each new hero rose from death,
now to journey to Valhalla,
free from pain of mortal breath;
I watched as each maid flew away,
her fated task achieved,
saw myself still lying there,
closed my eyes and grieved.
I shall never see Valhalla,
nor sit at mighty Odin’s side,
I am just a humble Viking squire
whose ending brought no pride.
6. His Father's Son
He was growing tall and strong,
his childhood left behind,
and soon he had to take his place
among the fearsome Viking kind
who roamed the seas unchallenged,
with slaves and gold in mind.
His father beamed to see his son
become the man he wanted
to carry on a noble name,
by bloody deeds undaunted,
to ride the waves with head held high,
and by no defeat be haunted.
But in his heart the young man knew
that war was never his desire,
no wish to sack and loot far towns,
and set frail homes on fire,
for he would choose a quiet life,
and just a humble hearth acquire.
He feared the day he’d go to war
and kill another father’s son,
destroy the dreams of strangers
for nothing they had done
to injure those he loved so much –
but he knew he could not run.
On board the ship he finally stood,
strong weapons at his side,
thought back upon his father’s deeds
that brought his family lofty pride,
while somewhere deep within him
a lost soul wept, then slowly died.
7. Odin's Heralds
Cold black as the moonless night
and cloaked in the garb of sorrow,
they sat each eve at Odin’s side,
resigned to venture forth tomorrow
to gather word of battles won
and call the Maidens bold and brave
to carry off each gallant soul,
now spared the torment of the grave.
They flew across the heavens wide
with eyes that pierced the clouds,
and gazed upon those clad in gold
while others treasured ragged shrouds;
they saw the wicked laugh at life
and watched the noble fall too soon,
heard the cries of orphaned young,
pure victims of a sinful doom.
They told all this to Odin
as he sat upon his mighty throne,
lord and master of the gods,
who called the earth his own,
and wondered how the men below
could worship gods as blind as these,
who never cared for right or wrong
but only followed whims that please,
with callous eyes did lift their cups
and drink a toast to blood-filled war,
who welcomed only those who fell
in glory’s name, and nothing more.
For even ravens saw the waste
of lives laid down in combat dire,
when honour was the only goal
to which a mortal might aspire;
and so they pledged, one summer eve,
to leave their post at Odin’s side
to soar upon the howling winds
and salvage lowborn ravens’ pride,
not serve again the greed of gods
that caused the world to burn,
so when the first of autumn came,
they took wing and never did return.
8. By Lake Vattern
The lake lay gleaming in the sun
as he approached with not a word,
a silent man just clothed in rags
but carrying a mighty sword;
he took a breath and then sat down
beside the waters crystal clear,
so tired of war and killing men,
so tired of death and fear.
By Lake Vattern he thought back
upon the life that he was given,
the many trials he did endure
and how his life was driven
by the need to find salvation
in a world so full of doom,
where endless battles raged
that left his soul in gloom.
The silent man beside the lake
saw his image in the water,
recognized sad eyes so jaded,
so hypnotized by slaughter;
he then arose to face the light
and prayed to angry gods above,
heaved his sword into the deep,
and began a quest for love.
9. Vinland
We sailed upon an ocean
untouched by ships like ours,
for many months we wandered
guided only by the stars;
lost in waves that roared
like dragons at our feet,
we soon began to mourn
the frailty of our fleet.
Just wooden boats adrift,
their planks becoming weak,
disaster looming nearer
within the clouds so bleak;
we prayed to mighty Thor
to keep his bolts at bay,
to spare us in his mercy
for those who lose their way.
When hope was almost gone
and Death had stepped aboard,
our captain bowed his head
and prayed to his new Lord
to grant us one more chance,
to find our ships a haven,
for we were men of courage,
with spirits never craven.
Which god it was who answered
we may never understand,
but soon a shaft of light revealed
a gracious new found land.
10. The Cave, 1
High above the raging fjord,
a mountain touched the sky
and revealed a gaping maw
that caught his eager eye;
he thought at once of shelter,
a haven from the bitter storm
that cast his ship upon this shore
and left him stranded here forlorn.
His clothes were soaked with brine,
he shivered in the frenzied wind
and feared that Death would come
as daylight fast began to dim;
the climb would not be easy
for the cave lay far away,
but not to scale these heights
would cost his life this day.
Slowly climbing up the crag,
each footstep causing pain,
he scaled the height for hours
in search of hope regained;
and when his feet at last resisted,
when he could move no more,
he found that he was standing
at the gap he spied from shore.
Though dark and dank the cave,
no danger lurked for him within,
and so he lay his body down
to rest from Winter’s icy wind;
and free at last from chilling blows,
from howling winds that scream,
his weary body welcomed sleep
that brought to him a dream.
11. The Cave, 2
Lightning seared the earth
and fires raged unbound,
while Thunder’s roaring bellow
shook the trembling ground;
fjords were full of corpses,
their waters stained in red,
and every plain and mountain
was burdened by the dead.
A final battle was unfolding,
no mercy shown to any man
who dared to raise a sword
in one last brazen stand;
upon the field one warrior stood
in clothing soaked with brine,
blood gushing from a wound
inflicted cravenly from behind.
His breath was coming slow,
his strength was ebbing fast,
and in his mind he knew
this savage battle was his last;
but he would die with glory,
as a hero of great worth,
to be escorted by Valkyries
beyond the bounds of earth.
He made a desperate lunge
just as his heart went still,
his sword would claim one more
before he ceased to kill;
he saw the gates of heaven open,
and Maidens on brave steeds
came rushing towards his corpse,
now freed from mortal needs.
Great honour for his House,
no shame in death so brave,
and he would live forever,
his flesh no victim to a grave;
a brilliant light awaited him
as he crossed from life to death,
and in the cave he welcomed
he drew his final breath.
12. The Cave, 3
Alone he lay as eons passed
in his mountain cave’s embrace,
his soul admitted to Valhalla
with no stigma of disgrace,
for he had played his role
with valour and with pride,
had never acted in dishonour,
and had nothing dark to hide.
The others found him there,
just bones beneath the dust
that had been his sole companion
since he ceased his wanderlust;
the site was studied in detail,
his bones removed and sent away
so that he could live once more,
a skeleton on museum display.
How people came to see him,
this resurrected Viking lord,
now encased by walls of glass
so far from his beloved fjord;
but they never knew his soul
nor the thoughts within his mind,
he was just a hapless stranger
become a lucky fieldwork find.
Yet high above his glassy tomb,
in the winds that still did roar,
he rode the skies on flying mares
and thought of death no more.
13. The Troll
My longship sailed into the fjord,
the wind was blowing cold,
all ahead looked dark and drear
but I was still so bold
that nothing could prevent
my ship from forging on,
not the frost upon my face
nor the sun long gone.
We landed with a brutal crash,
my ship would sail no more,
my comrades soon deserted me,
and I was shaken to the core
as a wizened figure of a man
came towards me with speed;
his hair was shaggy all about,
his eyes were sly indeed,
and the nose he carried on his face
was longer than my trusty spear.
I watched in wonder as he came,
never giving in to fear
that he might catch my spirit
and sentence me to death,
I just stood there like a statue
and measured every breath;
he hailed me with a voice so thin
I could hardly hear him speak,
and I could see the pain he bore,
that he was old and weak.
We stood together, face to face,
this bedraggled dwarf and I,
I felt a chill run through my heart
and knew that I would die
before the night was out,
with only him to wait with me
until the final moment came,
a stranger comrade could not be.
I told him of my voyages,
confessed my evil ways,
told of homesteads looted bare,
of pillage lasting days;
he placed his hand upon my brow,
then looked me in the eye
and spoke of boundless mercy
for even rascals such as I.
That night my heart grew tired
and he held me to his chest,
whispered of a shining place
where I at last would rest;
the final words that came from him
blessed my wayward soul,
and so I voyaged to Valhalla,
a wreck salvaged by a Troll.
14. The Viking's Widow
The tears she cried were bitter,
a storm of loneliness and regret,
lamenting the path not taken,
wishing she could only forget
a man who lost his life in battle
but lingered in her mind each day,
a lowering cloud, so firmly fixed,
a grim reflection of the Viking way.
He filled her longing heart with joy
and pushed the darkness back,
now gone forever from her life,
a dream that simply fades to black;
she wondered if the sun would come
to rescue her from thunder’s roar,
to give her hope that life went on,
that broken hearts could love once more.
Just then the icy wind grew gentler,
and the sky took on a lucent glow,
as if some greater power came
to tell her secrets she must know,
and then a rainbow fast appeared,
prismatic hues embraced the land,
dispersed the veil of grief around her
to reveal a man with outstretched hand;
perhaps it was a ghost she saw,
a vision born of loss and sorrow,
but in the love she felt surround her
she vowed to lie with him tomorrow.
15. Ghosts on Geiranger
A shadowed figure looks away
as I embark the fjord ship,
in the mist, so hard to see,
he seems to have no face;
I try to ignore his presence,
gazing in awe at the mountains,
capturing tall waterfalls
for one moment on film.
But my eyes ever drift back,
he still looks out over the water
as if searching for something
hidden deep in the clouds;
I imagine a Viking ghost,
his own longship lost
on these waters long ago,
sentenced to sail forever.
But suddenly the figure turns,
removes his weathered cape
and stands before me,
reaches out and laughs;
my flesh shivers in ungodly cold,
recognition and catharsis:
this is a face I know well,
this lonely ghost is me.
16. Ghosts at L’Anse aux Meadows
In the howling wind
I hear their voices ring,
encouraging each other
as harsh Winter rages;
a sullen landscape
surrounds them now,
and the sea roars on
as it has for ages.
Strangers in a new land,
struggling to survive,
building fragile homes
to replace the old;
this land has no mercy,
Death walks among them
stealing souls away
with hands so icy cold.
Lost their blessed motherland,
its crystal lakes and fjords,
never to be seen again
by their famished eyes;
and one by one, each day,
their numbers fade,
until they surrender
and all Hope dies.
But their ghosts remain
to summon me here,
to whisper ancient tales
of warriors so brave;
spirits still walk in grief
among these barren rocks,
their noble venture failed,
this lifeless land a grave.
17. The Viking's Farewell
March on without me,
I’m tired of the fight,
fed up with the carnage
that heralds each night;
my sword lies exhausted,
bathed in dark blood,
my soul lies encrusted
in sordid black mud.
Enough of the hatred
tormenting my dreams,
I wish to sleep soundly
by clear running streams,
to greet morning’s light
with peace in my heart,
to sit with my family
and make a new start;
so march on without me,
engage your fierce foe,
to this hateful encounter
I shall no longer go.
18. The Last Viking
Sitting by the narrow fjord
he closed his aged eyes
against the gloom of Winter,
and remembered fairer skies,
days of wild adventures
and nights of loving sighs.
How he roamed the oceans
in search of ancient gold,
and how the others wondered
at the stories that he told,
tales of Viking wanderlust
before his heart grew old.
How he revelled in the battles
that brought to him great fame,
each victory a mark of honour
to embellish his heroic name
and mark him as a winner
in life’s ever violent game.
But now his longship rested,
released from bloodied fray,
no more travels lay ahead
with the passing of each day,
for a new age had arisen
and pushed his kind away.
No men like him still sailed the seas
in ships well trimmed and fast,
but only lived in memory’s glow,
brave ghosts from out the past,
and so his soul fell prey to truth:
of Viking Lords, he was the last.
19. The Dragon on Sognefjord
A ghostly vessel in the mist
adrift and only seen by me,
its wooden planks are rotting
from years upon the sea;
the figurehead upon the prow
has cracked and split apart,
the flameless dragon weeps,
laments his ravaged heart.
Once he gazed on warriors
who roared at every foe,
who never felt cold fear
wherever they would go;
he sent his flames on high
with each new battle won,
then bravely ventured home,
his noble duty proudly done.
But now his flames are cold
as he makes his weary way
across the icy Sognefjord
where Vikings once held sway;
the hunger in his fiery soul
grows stronger with each year,
he prowls along the waters
in search of ghosts so dear,
those who fed him long ago
with souls that did not flee,
and so I stand in open light
to let the dragon swallow me.
20. Dry Dock
Within thick walls,
in a dim lit room,
a long Viking ship
sits alone in gloom;
so far from fjords
and the open sea,
a damaged remnant
of what used to be.
Though once she sailed
beneath the sun,
the breezes blowing
as she made her run,
her final voyage
buried her deep,
a thousand years
of mud-filled sleep.
They brought her up
and placed her here
so foot-sore tourists
would come to stare,
take their pictures
and buy souvenirs,
then leave her alone
to cry silent tears.
But once in a while
someone would come
and imagine her beauty
as she sailed in the sun,
would talk to her gently
and show her respect,
acknowledge her valour,
and never see a wreck.
21. Among the Dead at Uppsala (In Memoriam: Anna Lindh)
A silent field in the sun,
its symmetry broken
by a circle of mounds,
ancient graves of Vikings
who once walked here,
now figures of myth;
I pass among them
in funerary mode,
speaking no words
in my lonely transit,
only remembering
the passage of time.
The nearby cathedral,
spires stretching skyward,
tolls its bell for me,
and I move toward it
as if drawn by some force
greater than myself;
inside more graves await,
those finding eternal rest
within sanctified stone walls;
asking their forgiveness
I walk upon their tombs,
intruding on their peace.
A corner lit by candles
relieves the darkness
but reminds me of it:
now they come to honour
one cut down too soon,
one of their own;
surrounded by death
I light a candle and leave,
turn to face the sun
and let it caress me
before I too lie quiet,
living only in memory.
22. Wasa
Child of human arrogance,
the King’s greatest ship
now slowly disintegrates
as it languishes in dry dock;
long ago she was the Queen
of ships at sail, invincible,
the largest of her kind,
emblem of a royal house.
Those who conceived her
strode her planks with joy,
polished mighty canons
and admired the carvings
that proclaimed her beauty
even in the ugly act of war.
Futility: she would never fight,
her guns never roar aloud
and chase the foe away;
burdened with ambition,
she was destined to die
from the moment of birth,
and those upon her decks
that fatal day likewise doomed,
condemned to icy waters
that rejected their proud offering.
Voyeurs now gaze upon her,
pose beside her, and smile,
she has become an artefact,
backdrop for a photograph.
23. Midnight in Bergen
Winter’s fury raged,
wind lashing the room
where he sat waiting
in solitary gloom;
no fire of comfort,
no candle glowing,
nothing but a chill
within him growing.
His heart leapt in fear,
his mind became dark,
he felt Him approach,
elemental and stark;
dressed all in black,
dusted with coal,
drifting all night
in search of a soul.
A hand struck the door,
a sharp hammer blow,
and he rose from his chair
with nowhere to go;
the door slowly opened
to reveal a horned face,
the One all men feared
brought Hell to this place,
savage in triumph,
stalking those lost –
swift reduced to dust
by a plain wooden cross.
24. Bergen
We walked in the rain,
no destination in mind,
no schedule to keep;
just two tourists adrift
among the crowds,
but never feeling lost.
Past the fish market,
the Customs House
with its grand façade
guarding the harbour
of long ago times,
ghosts of the past.
By Saint Mary’s Church
we paused a while,
allowing September rain
to flow into us at will,
drinking in the offering
of grey autumnal skies,
until the Grieghallen,
its lights suspended stars
challenging the darkness,
called like an ancient Siren,
music of the cosmos,
a sacred gift granted us.
Maybe it was the sea,
the touchstone of my life,
or the mountains all around –
but there was magic in Bergen,
that day of mystic images
now etched upon our souls.
25. Troldhaugen (for Edvard Grieg)
I walk where you once walked,
among the trees and by the water,
see with your eyes a world
transformed by moving ice
into a landscape brutally wondrous;
I enter the house you loved,
sensing still your presence,
you and Nina, together,
by the piano that quietly sits
as if waiting for you to return
and caress it once more.
Images everywhere:
there was joy in this house,
but also great sadness,
creating the concerto
that even now evokes my tears;
but grander still, Norway is here
as Peer Gynt strides through,
continuing his redemption.
I dare intrude no longer –
I must leave these ghosts
and take only the music.
26. Castles and Canals
Floating through Time,
past weathered castles
where Frederick walked
or Christian loved;
the canal carries me away
from this frenzied world,
back in my imagination
to an age more romantic.
Within these marble walls
dance lords and ladies
bedecked with jewels
mined in far distant soil;
laughter fills the rooms,
the bounty of a nation
spread out upon a table
to nourish royal flesh,
Yet, outside, in the rain
men with missing limbs,
women with sunken cheeks,
voices of the dispossessed,
beating at the castle walls,
begging for turnips and bread,
oblivious to golden crowns
or curtains of exotic silk.
The romance is a fantasy,
the privileged accursed
in a way no royal canal
could ever disguise.
27. Mrs. Larson
From the kitchen she could see
Carl playing with the children,
forming sketches in his mind
for paintings still to come;
for every child a portrait
to adorn their modest home,
glimpses of the childhood
Carl had wanted for himself,
free from the lonely and sad.
She did her weaving and sewing,
made the curtains and covers,
forgot she was a painter too,
that she had sketched the world
in hues of darker colours,
capturing a gloom so absent
in the famous works of Carl.
Her paintings were put aside
like the remnants of a feast
after all the guests have gone,
leftovers for the servants;
images had ceased to exist
as she melded with the cottage,
the haven Carl had created
within the verdant Swedish woods.
28. Little Mermaid
Alone on your rock,
exposed to the land
you stare into space
dreaming of waters
crystal and calm.
You can never belong
where you are stranded,
among those so different
they gaze upon you
only in amusement,
seeking entertainment
for their jaded souls.
The sea still calls,
the embrace of waves
lingers in your mind,
beckons you back home
before you can forget
what you truly are.
29. Tivoli at Night
The Nordic moon had risen,
blending in with lights
that hung suspended,
star-like, all around us;
nearby a band played,
happy music for those
escaping, for one night,
the sameness of their lives.
The night air was fresh
as autumn approached,
you gently took my hand
and we walked together
past the crowded restaurants,
past the gaudy souvenir shop
and through the glowing gate
onto the dark street beyond.
We stood there, looking back,
admiring all those lights
and gazing at the moon,
familiar even when foreign,
and knew, as we always did,
that our love had no need
of bright lights and song
as we silently walked away.
30. Fjordland Farewell
My ship moved slowly through the fjord,
the mists of time concealing me,
and I could feel the ghosts on board
glancing back once more to see
the mountain crags and rocky shores
that gave them life so long ago,
majestic setting of so many wars
in which proud Viking blood did flow,
and by the rail I stood in silence,
drinking in the beauty of this land,
still intact above the endless violence,
still a jewel of God’s great plan.
Though I am but a lonely stranger
who breathes this icy Nordic air,
my soul lays down its hidden anger
and finds a gentle haven here
that calls to me as if I were yet
a child of gallant Viking lords –
this land my heart cannot forget:
I bid farewell to Norway’s fjords.
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