Psalms of the Vikings
Erik the Red who led us to the icy shores
Of Greenland never knew the horror of
Those Skraeling warriors with sharpened stakes
Whose arms were hard as hardest stones and fought
In cunning rage against our sundry farms.
Our children died with us as year by year
These vicious skin-boat men crept up to slay
Us in our sleep. Ave, Maria! Save
Us each from Skraeling kill. Our hearts
Bled out on sharp obsidian blades that flashed
With blood of Viking boys and girls. Their screams
And laughter never more shall fill these farms.
Oh, Jesus, pour down Heavenís ships on us.
On Angelsí swords, impale their Skraeling hearts.
8. The Western Isles
Oh, Helgaland, you little Isle of shores
Where sweetest fish are snared in nets by men
With newly minted crosses on their necks,
Converted to the single God they know
As Jesus, Holy Ghost, and God Himself
Jehovah Lord. We cast our nets into
The turquoise seas, our newest Galilee,
And search in vain for our Lordís feet
For Jesus walking on these storm swept seas
With hands outstretched in stony statueís flare
As white as clouds to churn these Oceanís waves
Into a melody of Catholic hymns.
Fish is Jesus, bread is flesh, Godís wine
Is blood upon my swordís redeeming edge.
9. Leif the Lucky
This Christianity was thrust into
The soul of Viking minds the day that Leif
The Lucky struck the stone and buried half
His sword into its marble heart. Until
That day when man or God can pull his sword
From out that stone, all Viking men shall pray
In Nordic gaze to Jesus Christ, our Lord,
Whose death upon the cross, struck home the blood
Of Grace in which our souls collude with sins
And come up pure as jumping fish in nets
Cast out upon some virgin oceanís waves
And, resurrect through Grace that Heavenly space,
Above the watery Oceanís surging lair
Where lives forever swarm in blue embrace.
She was the first born child. We called her by
The name of Snorri. She was a tiny child,
First lady born in Vinland by the green
And gracious fish-filled shores. We built a house
Of native stones and dirt and planted grass
Atop its roofs. Through tiny doors she saw
The waves and sang of Icelandís saga tomes,
Of Erik Great the founder of that Isle
We know as sweet and pleasant Iceland. There,
We traveled back and forth with Snorri by
Our side in longboat wood, to trade in furs
And fish and shells for baubles, lace, and rings
That Vinland never had. The Skraelings lost
Each foul attack for we flashed metal swords.
9. Last Viking Man
On Vinlandís shore I wait the western night.
I feel my aging bones upon her cold
Dark sands this one last time as stars and Moon
Traverse the Heavenís crested orb. I wait
For surest death, alone, the Skraelingsí last
Forgotten Viking lad, once strong as iron
Within my swordís amazing steel, still blonde
Of hair and blue of eyes, my hawk-like gaze
Looks out across the future of this land
Of great immensity. This land is mine,
But now, the Skraelings curse its greenish edge.
With pagan rituals, they lust to slay
All Whites who sail upon these lands. Someday,
Weíll own it by Godís cunning blood-drenched blade.