—Poetry by Harold and Marie Asner, Overland Park, KS
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
DIVINE HUMOR
—Marie Asner
Late again when the battery in my clock
ran down and I forgot to iron my blouse
so have to wear a t-shirt with “Happy New Year”
under my suit jacket, then the hem on my skirt
starts to unravel. Now, have to pull choir members
from Sunday School to rehearse a new anthem
because the pastor got the Bible verses mixed up.
Tenors are flat, plus, most of the basses,
and the lead soprano is crying because
of last night’s fight with her husband.
We march in and I’m late with the Prelude.
The hymnal falls off the rack onto the keys,
so, the look I get from the pastor would melt steel.
Halfway through “Amazing Grace,” someone
trips on the organ cord so we all go dead
and limp through the rest of the service
with an out-of-tune piano. After “Amen,”
we head for home and aspirin, while in heaven
angels line up for therapy
and God has an ice pack on his head.
—Marie Asner
Late again when the battery in my clock
ran down and I forgot to iron my blouse
so have to wear a t-shirt with “Happy New Year”
under my suit jacket, then the hem on my skirt
starts to unravel. Now, have to pull choir members
from Sunday School to rehearse a new anthem
because the pastor got the Bible verses mixed up.
Tenors are flat, plus, most of the basses,
and the lead soprano is crying because
of last night’s fight with her husband.
We march in and I’m late with the Prelude.
The hymnal falls off the rack onto the keys,
so, the look I get from the pastor would melt steel.
Halfway through “Amazing Grace,” someone
trips on the organ cord so we all go dead
and limp through the rest of the service
with an out-of-tune piano. After “Amen,”
we head for home and aspirin, while in heaven
angels line up for therapy
and God has an ice pack on his head.
THE GOOD OLD DAYS
—Marie Asner
The pungent aroma of disinfectant rises from the
“Ladies” and “Gents” rooms, and waltzes down the hallway.
Popping corn screams to be noticed.
Scores of scuffed saddle shoes and Buster Browns
march down a promenade through curtained arches into
cinema magic of folding chairs trimmed in chewing gum.
Seats fill with young bodies as the drawing begins
for a free movie pass. Joe, minus a button
and one shoelace untied, claims his prize amid cheers.
The Masked Avenger, Part 8 begins as the Avenger
narrowly escapes and uses a rope to capture bad guys.
Tom and Jerry careen off furniture to the delight
of the audience who would land in Reform School
if they tried it. Gene Autry gallops onto the screen
to begin an adventure with rustlers and modest ladies.
While at home, Father says, “Money well spent,”
as the bedroom door softly closes.
—Marie Asner
The pungent aroma of disinfectant rises from the
“Ladies” and “Gents” rooms, and waltzes down the hallway.
Popping corn screams to be noticed.
Scores of scuffed saddle shoes and Buster Browns
march down a promenade through curtained arches into
cinema magic of folding chairs trimmed in chewing gum.
Seats fill with young bodies as the drawing begins
for a free movie pass. Joe, minus a button
and one shoelace untied, claims his prize amid cheers.
The Masked Avenger, Part 8 begins as the Avenger
narrowly escapes and uses a rope to capture bad guys.
Tom and Jerry careen off furniture to the delight
of the audience who would land in Reform School
if they tried it. Gene Autry gallops onto the screen
to begin an adventure with rustlers and modest ladies.
While at home, Father says, “Money well spent,”
as the bedroom door softly closes.
LOVE IN THE WIND
—Marie Asner
The wind turbine on my roof leads a normal life
as wind turbines go. His head revolves with any direction
the wind tosses at him and they have an agreement
as to how much he can take before the wind shifts gears
and moves to another, taller house, giving my guy time to rest.
Years go by and the turbine sees what is going on
in the neighborhood with people out for walks
with friends and pets. My turbine was content
to have squirrels and birds to be close to,
and then it happened…. repair work on the house
across the street when the old turbine there
had cranked his last sound and was replaced
by a new model, stylish in design, and not box-like
but with curves. My wind turbine was smitten
and wanted to become friendly, but the stylish one
remained aloof, so my guy was getting desperate
and when squirrel or bird communication did not work,
decided to go over there himself. A bold move
for one 25 years in one place…carefully…the bolts
and nails began to loosen and the plan for
going with the wind was evolving…only one thing
wrong, the once silent wind turbine became a noisy
guy with screeching in the middle of the night from
the north wind and loudly sighing in the day from
the south wind. Would they ever get their signals right?
Apparently not, because we could not sleep
so a repair man had to be called and our guy
was firmly placed on his roof top and only then,
did the lady turbine across the street deign
to notice our guy. The conversation began
with a robin for day and the little oak tree owl
at night, an occasional bat taking over when
there was no moon. The romance between
curvy-stylish and box-like practical was noticeable
only to the sharp eye who could detect a certain
leaning toward each other’s rooftop. There was
an occasional flower on the rooftop of one
house dropped there by the robin who would
stealthily pluck it from a neighbor’s flower bed.
The other turbines in the neighborhood
became jealous. They hadn’t made the first move.
—Marie Asner
The wind turbine on my roof leads a normal life
as wind turbines go. His head revolves with any direction
the wind tosses at him and they have an agreement
as to how much he can take before the wind shifts gears
and moves to another, taller house, giving my guy time to rest.
Years go by and the turbine sees what is going on
in the neighborhood with people out for walks
with friends and pets. My turbine was content
to have squirrels and birds to be close to,
and then it happened…. repair work on the house
across the street when the old turbine there
had cranked his last sound and was replaced
by a new model, stylish in design, and not box-like
but with curves. My wind turbine was smitten
and wanted to become friendly, but the stylish one
remained aloof, so my guy was getting desperate
and when squirrel or bird communication did not work,
decided to go over there himself. A bold move
for one 25 years in one place…carefully…the bolts
and nails began to loosen and the plan for
going with the wind was evolving…only one thing
wrong, the once silent wind turbine became a noisy
guy with screeching in the middle of the night from
the north wind and loudly sighing in the day from
the south wind. Would they ever get their signals right?
Apparently not, because we could not sleep
so a repair man had to be called and our guy
was firmly placed on his roof top and only then,
did the lady turbine across the street deign
to notice our guy. The conversation began
with a robin for day and the little oak tree owl
at night, an occasional bat taking over when
there was no moon. The romance between
curvy-stylish and box-like practical was noticeable
only to the sharp eye who could detect a certain
leaning toward each other’s rooftop. There was
an occasional flower on the rooftop of one
house dropped there by the robin who would
stealthily pluck it from a neighbor’s flower bed.
The other turbines in the neighborhood
became jealous. They hadn’t made the first move.
BIG MUDDY
—Harold Asner
In our country’s western part
Many centuries ago
America saw the start
Of a river’s steady flow
In the Rocky Mountain chain
It began with melting snow
Followed by the early rain
That fell on fields below
In Montana, a stream began to form
It slowly wandered east
As the days began to warm
The spring rains soon increased
The river we now call Missouri
Kept building on the plain
It sped on in a hurry
Spurred by Another’s drain
Its waters approached Wyoming
Our young river was not alone
It was raging, rushing, foaming
As it joined the Yellowstone
The river now flows through Dakota
North and South in order
Varying map-wise no iota
As it forms a two-state border
Iowa lies to the east
Nebraska to the west
Its banks home to man and beast
Where majestic eagles nest
Southerly sweeping past
Rich farmlands mostly flat
With waters swelling fast
While it meets the flood-prone Platte
Farmers rightly blame it
For many a springtime flood
Dams have failed to tame it
The flow turns their soil to mud
In winter, ice will build up
Through days both cold and raw
With chunks the river has filled up
Blocking off the Kaw
Eastward through the Show-me State
It navigates shoals and bends
With the Mississippi it has a date
That’s where Big Muddy ends
—Harold Asner
In our country’s western part
Many centuries ago
America saw the start
Of a river’s steady flow
In the Rocky Mountain chain
It began with melting snow
Followed by the early rain
That fell on fields below
In Montana, a stream began to form
It slowly wandered east
As the days began to warm
The spring rains soon increased
The river we now call Missouri
Kept building on the plain
It sped on in a hurry
Spurred by Another’s drain
Its waters approached Wyoming
Our young river was not alone
It was raging, rushing, foaming
As it joined the Yellowstone
The river now flows through Dakota
North and South in order
Varying map-wise no iota
As it forms a two-state border
Iowa lies to the east
Nebraska to the west
Its banks home to man and beast
Where majestic eagles nest
Southerly sweeping past
Rich farmlands mostly flat
With waters swelling fast
While it meets the flood-prone Platte
Farmers rightly blame it
For many a springtime flood
Dams have failed to tame it
The flow turns their soil to mud
In winter, ice will build up
Through days both cold and raw
With chunks the river has filled up
Blocking off the Kaw
Eastward through the Show-me State
It navigates shoals and bends
With the Mississippi it has a date
That’s where Big Muddy ends
WRITER’S BLOCK
—Harold Asner
I needed an idea for a poem
So I took a little walk
Saw an artist in his driveway
Very talented with chalk
I spotted children in a field
They were flying kites
Of every shape and color
Soaring to great heights
Young lovers strolling down the street
Walking hand in hand
Building castles in the air
The world at their command
There were birds in rapid flight
As the clouds were growing dark
I strained to hear faint music
From a concert in the park
When I got home, I asked myself
“What topic did I find?”
I thought for several moments
But nothing came to mind
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PRIDE
—Marie Asner
The roan horse
presented himself
against the snowbanks
in the meadow
by the highway
and knows he is
the star
of the winter circus.
_____________________
—Medusa, thanking the Asners for their fine poetry today, and grateful that Overland, KS survived the recent storm with a minimum of damage. No trips to Oz for these Kansans this time!
—Harold Asner
I needed an idea for a poem
So I took a little walk
Saw an artist in his driveway
Very talented with chalk
I spotted children in a field
They were flying kites
Of every shape and color
Soaring to great heights
Young lovers strolling down the street
Walking hand in hand
Building castles in the air
The world at their command
There were birds in rapid flight
As the clouds were growing dark
I strained to hear faint music
From a concert in the park
When I got home, I asked myself
“What topic did I find?”
I thought for several moments
But nothing came to mind
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PRIDE
—Marie Asner
The roan horse
presented himself
against the snowbanks
in the meadow
by the highway
and knows he is
the star
of the winter circus.
_____________________
—Medusa, thanking the Asners for their fine poetry today, and grateful that Overland, KS survived the recent storm with a minimum of damage. No trips to Oz for these Kansans this time!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
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