A Viking Morality Tale

Here's the answer to the question women have been asking all their lives!

He pulled his woollen jacket on

That stretched down to the knee,

Then donned a coat of heavy mail

And scowled toward the sea,

A fleet of ships was waiting there

For winter snows to thaw,

Before he sailed for England,

For Danegeld, and for war.

 

The sons of Ragnar Lodbrok

Took up their beaten swords,

They sharpened up their spearheads

(The manuscript records);

The sound of bloody tumult

Was music to their ears,

The wives held close the tiny bairns,

Allayed their yearly fears.

 

For every year the Vikings

Set out to plunder shores

That feared the Norsemen coming,

None tarried out of doors,

For when the grim marauders

Were seen to set their sails,

The Scotsmen and the Saxons all

Were heard to cry and wail.

 

'Protect us from the Northmen, Lord,'

The Christian altars rang,

'Protect us from the wrath of them,'

The Christian choirs sang,

Then every man and maid returned

So humble to each home,

To close and nail the shutters up

In valley, hill and combe.

 

But Ubbi, Ivar and Halfdan

Were heathens to the core,

They turned toward Northumbria

Intent on making war,

They burned and pillaged everything,

Slew every man and child,

But maids were taken captive for

The Army to defile.

 

They took the silver arm-rings of

The warriors they had slain,

And added jewels from each church

They burned along the way,

But when the winter storms came in

And ships were beached, to caulk,

They marched to shelter, right behind

The Roman Walls of York.

 

Now Halfdan had a Saxon maid

He'd taken at the coast,

She'd fought and screamed, and bitten him,

Defied the Viking boast,

But Athelflaed, the daughter of

A minor Saxon king,

Was quite prepared to die before

She'd give herself to him.

 

She'd cook, and she would clean as well,

She'd wash his filthy clothes,

Bloodstained from every battle with

The blood of Saxon foes,

But still she would refuse his bed

Until he turned to boast:

'I'll slay both of your brothers,

And your father at the coast.'

 

Again she would refuse him, saying;

'Go and do your worst!

I wouldn't sell my honour to

A beast that has been cursed,'

So Halfdan raged and swore at her,

And threw his armour on,

He sharpened up his spear, and said:

'Be sure! I'll soon be gone!'

 

But Athelflaed was cunning

In the wiles of women then,

For Saxon women had their ways

Of keeping men at home,

When Halfdan went to find his boots

Beside his treasure box,

He turned to her and raged:

'You'd better find my bloody socks!'

 

A thousand years have come and gone,

They're just a memory,

Their lives just trickled out the door,

They're lost in history,

But back in York, at Coppergate,

Some archaeologist,

Began the Jorvik Viking dig…

(This story has a twist!)

 

For there beneath the turnip ends,

The rotten veg and all,

That lay beside the Viking hut

That Halfdan called his hall,

They found an old and tattered sock,

The only one they found,

So Halfdan never got to walk

That cold, snow-covered ground.

 

And now, a thousand years away

His grandson, twenty times,

He gets to ride a Harley, with a patch

That says - 'I'm slime!'

While Athelflaed's descendant,

He invented some machine,

That agitates your washing out,

That's right - a washing machine!

 

And every time we load the wash

You know, in every town,

That Athelflaed, whose genes were strong,

She passed her cunning down,

For when the spinning cycle comes

To rest - that is, it stops,

You're only going to find just one…

From every pair of socks!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Trée]

David, you play with word and verse and form as an architect plays with brilliance, crafting an edifice that turns heads and wallets alike. Poetry, in your hands, feels like Sunday morning, a natural ease flowing effortlessly with mirth and smile, nowhere to go for you've already taken us there. Your poems teach us function, purpose, life and above all else, to smile, to greet the day with a studious mind and a child's sense of adventure and play. Brilliant work my friend.

[Kris Tate]

I really love this. Its so funny. Now I know where all my socks have gone.

[Barney]

From a True Viking .. AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!

[C.T. Bailey]

David,
This is exactly what I would have expected from your pen. Well wrought perfection! Your usual impeccable rhyme is only surpassed by the sheer "character" of the write. One observation I have seen in virtually all your writing - it is always well researched. Many simply let the words flow. You sir, are truly the master of the craft. When your homework is complete, the ink begins to flow. Whenever I read you, somehow, as your words are tracing through my mind, I am visualizing you writing the piece. I see you working just as a potter, shaping and molding, fully in command of your art. Every line is concieved and massaged. This wonderful telling of contemporary frustration blended with ancient lore...simply marvelous.
Your friend,
Todd

[James Takeo Panton]

I have nothing to say , except: Excellent!

[Wildfleour]

Well, the lost sock saga is not just limited to women. Some men actually do their own laundry! :)

Bravo. Another great one~

[Norma J. Jessee]

Now we know, the mystery of the lost sock has finally been solved. I have always been fond of stories or poems with a twist and you have done a fantastic job with this one. I agree 100% with Tree, You are a MASTER at writing. Poetry seems to flow from your pen. You are like a potter who spins words instead of clay, and every piece becomes a masterpiece.
Fantastic work.

[Valentine]

David, you craked me up on this one..I love so much the way the English and Aussie use the English language it is so much more colorful and has a melodiotic twist to it that I really love.York huh...a name so familiar to me..Duke of York,,hum..you are a natural story teller and the mates there must really enjoy your banter at the pubs..God bless..Valentine

[Emily Elizabeth]

A very interesting poem!
Very funny- and I'm sure other women would agree especially. I loved the rhyme scheme, it was dead on time. However, I think that you've used one too many commas on the line

'And scowled, toward the sea,'

It just interrupted the fantastic flow. I love the contrast between the two eras. Humorous, entertaining and interesting. A very clever poem, and a very professionally written one, too! Thanks for sharing this! I really enjoyed reading it

[Ray Hamilton]

This made me laugh aloud
I always wondered where those socks went
If you don't mind could you get those Saxon women to send them back?
Walking around with one white and one black sock on every day is not so bad
But I'm getting tired of telling people, I have a pair just like them at home LOL
I enjoyed is clever poem especially the twist at the end LOL
Ray