Pages

Sunday, January 30, 2022

Palaces and Ice Dragons

 
 —Poetry by Marie Asner and Harold Asner, Overland Park, KS
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA



BY INVITATION ONLY
—Marie Asner

As we near our destination, ice is on the path.
“Go ahead…go ahead,” says the North Wind.
We are watchful.

The old wood cabin was still in the clearing,
walls and roof sturdy. Snow comes in small cracks
as it tries to spy on anything moving inside.
A spindly bush by the door is alerted
to the coming intrusion, and signals to all concerned.
Hidden in a bank of snow under low pine branches
is a wolf, looking at the proceedings with green eyes.

The show is going to be in the clearing tonight,
under full moon with stars in the SRO section.
Aurora borealis shines and colors the snow
in rose and blue, this year’s fashion statement of the North.

Tops of pine trees begin to reflect moon rays down to the cabin,
crystals leave a Jack Frost imitation of a flower
on an old piece of tin, and further on, is yet the ice,
resting quietly on stone, but leaving distinctive marks.

After the show, when the moon has past overhead,
we ready ourselves.  As a token of appreciation,
we leave a red poinsettia blossom,
carefully packed for the journey,
and follow the pathway home under watchful eyes. 
 
 
 
 


OLYMPIA
—Marie Asner

Difference between average and perfection
is the last fractional second of the last spiral.
Longing to stand on the winner’s platform
with gold around her neck.
Taunting…the ice waits, smooth and glistening.
Announcer finishes, music starts—deep breath,
it is time to take that chance with the ice dragons of fear
and dodge their mind slashes
with quadruple jumps all in 4/4 time.
 

(prev. pub. in Rockford Review, 2020)
 
 
 
 

 
HONEYBUNCH

4:30 p.m. on February 13 and time to shop for that
special card for my Honeybunch, and get it in the mail
so he will have it on Valentine’s Day, ok, I met
him when Obama was in office, but no other guy
kept dating me and here I am
at the corner drugstore card section.
Now to find something, well, he isn’t an aunt or an uncle,
so skip that and he isn’t five years old
so pass those, and there isn’t much left
except to a minister. I buy a blank card and write
in my verse, but the pen goes dry on the third line
and the one the clerk hands me, drips on my name
like a Rorschach Test. I manage to get the dried card
into an envelope and write his address, only to see
the mailman drive down the street. I’m running
alongside his truck and manage to hand it to him,
then, collide with an elderly lady
pushing a cart filled with cans. What she has
in the trash is better than I spent two bucks for.
I look so sad, she hands me a crushed box of
chocolates—I accept—then she says
her son works on Wall Street
and this is only temporary.


(prev. pub. in Rockford Review, 2016)
 
 
 

 
 
KING SOLOMON
—Harold Asner

In Israel King Solomon
Lived a life of royalty
Rulers came from foreign lands
Offered gifts with outstretched hands
Pledging peace and loyalty
He established routes of trade
Grand alliances were made
His palace with its pillared rooms
Was rich in style and tone
With tapestries from far-off looms
An inner court of fine-cut stone

Solomon’s understanding heart
A gift from God on high
The king agreed to never start
From God’s commandments to depart
Nor His statutes to defy
Over time he saw God’s wrath
By straying from the righteous path
When did he realize
He was a sinner in God’s eyes
Voices in the desert air
Softly warned, Beware! Beware!
Although he’d seen the Temple built
His once-wise heart was full of guilt
He had taken many wives
They turned his heart from God away
Worshipped idols all their lives
Now he kept idols made of clay
Further into chaos sliding
Now his kingdom was dividing
The Lord called Solomon’s many foes
To rule Israel’s northern regions
The adversaries whom God chose
Came with their assembled legions
In Judah only his kingdom stayed
Solomon’s debt to God was paid

In a dream one summer’s eve
I saw myself as Solomon
Bathsheba seeking my birthright
The prophet Nathan joined her fight
David’s throne now had I won
Next came a dream within my dream
I asked the gift of understanding
Nothing more was I demanding
The Lord told me He’d grant my plea
“Obey my laws,” He’d said his twice
Also wealth He’d give to me
Dominion over land and sea
My people all would honor me
To disobey I’d pay a price
Of a sudden I awoke
Both my dreams a wisp of smoke
Gone were thoughts of Paradise

______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

PLAYING THE PALACE
—Harold Asner

Hear, ye!  Hear, ye!  Job Openings at the Royal Castle!

Each royal court had its magician
And jester who acted the clown
As a couple, we chose to audition
To play these two roles for the crown.

My wife’s talent is true magic.
She plucks wonders out of the air.
Not amusing the king can be tragic.
So a jester had better beware.

Hurrah!  My wife was selected.
Give the young lady a hand.
My gags, alas, were rejected.
From the castle I have been banned.

I say without anger or malice,
“She’s in.  I’m out.”  There’s the rub.
While she will be playing the palace,
I have a night gig at the pub.

_____________________

Today we have a husband/wife team of poets, sending us fine work from Kansas! Harold Asner writes that he has sent “…a poem that I wrote after reading some of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poetry. I was particularly impressed with his imagery. I read him first when I was in high school and liked his writing very much. My poem is about King Solomon, and in it I followed the rhyming pattern and (hopefully) the mood of Coleridge’s 
Kubla Khan."

After working for the Federal Government for 32 years, Harold spent the next 18 years at his local community college, tutoring math. He retired from that job in 2018 and began writing poetry the following year.

Marie Asner is an entertainment reviewer and retired church musician.  She has been writing poetry since high school days and is a former member of Kansas Arts On Tour, which included readings of her poems on Amelia Earhart. Both of the Asners are members of The Merry Bombadils Chapter of the Missouri State Poetry Society; their short forms were included in the Kitchen on Jan. 13 of this year [medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/search?q=marie+asner&max-results=20&by-date=true]. Welcome to the Kitchen, Marie and Harold, and don’t be strangers!

_____________________

—Medusa
 
 
 

 





 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!