A Viking Riddle
Published in
1 min readMay 30, 2019
Now besiege our viking impulse
sliding iceward between lines
glove-ed fists and sticks bent crooked
sacred fires and sacred cups are thine
silvered with the names of heroes
drinking from Valhalla’s basin
bowls of frothing, belching brew
black eyed giants gird their armor
aged Valkyr and verdant Aesyr
trumpeting their triumph through
plagues like catfish fall from heaven
locusts plattered, banners raised
baker’s ovens waste no leaven
dragon ships leave halls ablaze
when the criminals are beggars
seated on the thrones of fools
here behold the silent trigger
silencing their childlike mewls.
