Benjamin Alverson

A Heroic Folk Song – Alverson (2/12)

There’s a man with a shield standing on a hill.
A sword in his hand waiting for Thor’s command.
The family behind, mother keeps them all in line.
Runes held in their hand waiting for Thor’s command.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack runs up the hill.

Not a flinch in his face as he stands his ground.
Bjorn shouts a battle cry with his sons close behind.
A young Freya’s blue eyes widen in surprise.
As she feels the heat of battle and defeat.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack runs up the hill.

Young Grim’s eyes of fire body tingles with desire.
Wants to prove all his worth, sweat soaking through his shirt.
Mother Frig hears a cry from the wolfs by and by.
Bjorn throws caution to the wind and starts to head down the plain.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack runs up the hill.

Young Grim follows suit chasing Bjorn in hot pursuit.
Their battle cry undefined, but Freya stares with wide eyes.
She prays for strength for her brother on the chase.
Mother looks towards the sky as the newborn baby cries.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack runs up the hill.

With a fury Bjorn slashes to his left and to his right.
While young Grim moves closer to his father to defend.
The wolf cries become a man’s last dying breath.
One enemy sneaks by and challenges the wife.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack runs up the hill.

Young Freya at age six bores a stare quite transfixed.
Thor hears her prayer and stops the man dead there.
As hair and fur fly from the invading tribe;
Young Grim looks towards his sis and smiles with pride.

It’s no fairy tale they look towards the dale
A wolf pack dies upon the hill.

The Swan of Vik Pt. 1 – Alfson 8/09

It was summer solstice of 648, the women of Vik slept sound;
Their warriors gone to explore the West, and settle on new ground.
A silent group of sneaky folk crept up to the Hof.
A little girl, who couldn’t sleep, heard a twig snap off.
She roused her sis of 15 years, a sweetheart of the fam.
About a warrior to become, she uttered a whisper “Damn!”
The family sword lay nearby, awaiting to protect.
Only twice before had it taken flight, to slice apart a neck.

Quietly she woke the rest, roused them all from dreams.
Saw her with sword they knew the drill, about to kill the fiends.
The great hall they would protect placed themselves around.
The strongest ‘gainst the doors, the rest went underground.
They still had sleep within their eyes, yet fully all aware
Some grasped for shields, others swords, some held their Runes with care.
Near the door our warrior stood, listening with intent.
The night it was bereft of sound, even dogs silent.

The sweet girl warrior roused the Valkyrie call.
Never before did she ever fall
She took with her several men, the best of a tribal clan
The swans of Folkvang protect her as they can.

Waiting for the call to arms, the women held their breath
In moments the door burst open, the invaders met with death.
Funneling through the door, into a gauntlet of fair folk
A host of black beard men could not avoid their fate.
Our fair warrior girl was first to the fray.
Bold and brave she ran them down, ten men she did slay.
It was the last that held her up, a stalwart man of height.
He tripped her up, then struck her down, no pity from his might.

If not for her, they’d all have died a foolish death for sure.
Because of this Vik warrior, our women seem less demure
I write this tale for future Folk, to take example from.
If a girl can be a warrior, then from her we all become.

The sweet girl warrior roused the Valkyrie call.
Never before did she have a trip and fall
She took with her several men, the best of a clan
She rides with the swans of Folkvang, protecting folk she can.

(originally published in “True North” Vol 9-09)

Open Heart – Alverson (1/12)

‘Tis a woman that I
desire,
A femme with
Valkyrie fire.
Have I found one
now,
Or is my future dire?

Love I have to give,
To another, I hope
she lives.
I write poems and
spill my heart
All these damned
missives

Are my efforts worth,
All my given mirth?
Have I overborne,
Or given too much
verse?

It’s been way too long
a time,
But never will I pout.
My heart cries out
aloud
Now I’m prone to shout!

I write this poem for
you,
Whomever is partial
to;
My heart is bare, my
fingers raw,
Please do not
eschew.

• Date of Birth: 09/25/1975 (47 years old)
• Gender: Male
• Marital Status: Single
• Sexual Orientation: Straight
• Race: White
• Ethnicity: Not Hispanic or Latino
• Eye Color: Green
• Hair Color: Brown
• Height: 5 ft. 9 in.
• Body Type: Athletic
• Hometown: Rochester, Minnesota (USA)
• Spoken Languages: English
• Religion: Ásatrú
• Astrological Sign: Libra