The Apathetic Berserker by Paul Tristram

I never noticed how heavy the battle-axe was until now.
I only picked it up to cut down an apple tree,
because I couldn’t be bothered
to walk all the way over to the barn for the ladder…
and I was feeling peckish.
I remember when simply scratching my hairy-arse
would make entire Nations cry, shake and squeal like rodents.
Now, it’s a chore just beer-belching and yaawwwwwning.
Thank Odin I’m a Viking
and don’t have to shave,
I just couldn’t be fucked anyway…
I haven’t bathed in forever
and smell ripe enough for burying, twice.
I fell asleep in my wild boar and weasel broth last evening,
and the half-naked Christian slaves depress me.
I’d kill for some energy,
or rather, I’d get someone else to do it for me…
fuck this, I’m off, slowly and in my own time,
down to the fjord’s edge,
to drift-off lazily to the Longship Builders a-sawing, gently.

paul smoking - Copy

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!


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