“A Visit to Northumbria, Ragnar’s last dance” by Njord Kane
‘Twas the night before execution, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a beard louse;
The mockings were flung by King Ælla with flare,
In hopes that Northumbria would never despair;
The children were pissed with revenge in their heads;
With visions of a Heathen Army ripping England to shreds;
And Aslaug’s son heard about his Pap’,
He took his knife and cut a nasty gap,
When out on the lawn, Bjorn made such a clatter,
And gripped his spear with all that would matter.
Away to Northumbria they flew like a flash,
Tearing open shutters and saying, ‘give us the cash.’
Soon the Valkyries would seek the fallen fellow,
Because at midday the battle horns would bellow,
When did the wandering snake-eye did appear,
And helped them put England in a state of fear,
With little Boneless Ivar, so lively and quick,
He knew in a moment he must come up with a trick.
More rapid were the blood eagles as the Army came,
Drinking, and shouting, and calling out everybody by name:
“Lo, Father! Lo, Mother! Lo Brother and Sister of mine!
Back to the beginning, where I do see my line.
They do bid us to take our place with them all.
Where the brave live forever in the Halls of Valhall!”
As soon as they got there, we knew heads were gonna fly,
But the smoke building around York could be seen in the sky;
So up from the south the Great Heathen Army flew
Men commanded by Ragnar’s boys, and Chieftain Ubba too—
And then, in a twinkling, it was the Viking Army I heard
They came about Ragnar, how fast travelled the word.
There was dread about news from the burning of a town.
Down the along the coast, where the heathens were abound.
They were all dressed in fur, from head to foot,
And their clothes were full with stashes of loot;
A bundle of spoils they had flung on their back,
They looked like meth-heads trying to find more smack.
Ragnar’s eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, he was merry!
He winked at lady, from whom he took her cherry!
The fearful guard had drawn out his bow,
His hand trembled, as he was nothing but show;
The stump of Rag’s herb pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the poppy plant smoke encircled his head like a wreath;
Ragnar got chunky and had a middle-aged mead belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was hauntingly slump but his pride would still show,
Even as they laughed when he they pushed him down below;
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He let Ælla know, he had everything to dread;
He spoke not a word, and sat down in the pit,
They filled it with snakes and began to talk shit,
And laying his middle finger aside of his nose,
He flipped them all off and said ‘this place blows’;
The snakes sprang at his thigh, and bit him in that place in the middle,
And away they all flew because it swelled and was no longer little.
But they heard him exclaim, before he died that night—
“How the young pigs would squeal if they knew what the old boar suffers (tonight)!”
This was twisted version of “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (written by Clement Clarke Moore,1823);
by Njord Kane, in spirit of the upcoming mid-season of “The Vikings.”
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Copyright © 2015-2017 Spangenhelm Publishing – All rights reserved. No part may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author, Njord Kane, or the publisher, Spangenhelm Publishing. <visit website>