Four Wonderful Poems by Kathryn Ann Hill

 

The Dwarves Step Out

 

As toves and ebbets gyred with glee,

as green-clad dryads danced,

as naiads from their waterways

benignly waved, it chanced

 

that seven duodenimed dwarves

came marching on the scene,

intent on learning Eanlingo

and dancing on the green.

 

At first the dwarves effulged to raise

the volume of the tune

the forest folk were dancing to

beneath the summer moon.

 

But soon they left their flugelhorns

and joined the rhythmic romp

to show how sprightly miner’s boots

could hop and kick and stomp;

 

until they found they were forswunke

from jigging to the pulse,

and sat down to a festal board

of cakes and ale and dulse.

 

’Twas there they learned to jabbertock,

to wordplay and to jest,

competing with the toves to see

whose tongue-twisters were best.

 

They stayed and played for seven days

but then they took their leave,

lest durian dwarves back home should start

to mope and pine and grieve.

 

 

How Healthou Met Firman

 

When beauteous Healthou, Beowulf’s daughter,

went seeking finochio by night, her protector

was Firefang, faithful and fearless hound

of her father, the King crowned by the Geats.

As the two approached a patch for picking,

a sound of rushing, a screech unearthly

froze the fair one with fright, while Firefang

bounded forward fiercely to join

in battle the source of the sounds: Lednerg

the ghastly son of Grendel whom Beowulf

had doughtily slain in days gone by.

 

Stretching his jaw to sever the jugular

of his monstrous foe, Firefang attacked.

Alas, O Firefang, O faithful friend!

Your death-dealing is your undoing also:

for the black poisonous blood of Lednerg

is laid on your tongue and will lose you your life.

But your noble sacrifice will not go unsung, O Fang!

 

Meanwhile, what of Healthou? The maiden had swooned

and lay on the ground, alone and unprotected

in the dark of night. But not for long:

For Firman, hearing hints of the fight

from his forester’s hut, had hastened to the scene.

With gentle words and gentle hands

he roused Healthou and helped her to her feet.

As the Princess leaned on his left arm,

the forester formed a fist with his right

as he scented and glimpsed a sinister foe

coming closer. A crushing fist note

Firman delivered then, and the forest floor

received that night a second monster-corpse.

 

Then Firman brought the Princess to his forest hut

and bade her rest while he brewed her a cup

of soothing herbs to strengthen her for home-going.

He made her a fardel of forest plants

with curing power and carried it home for her.

 

While from their celestial realm amoretti beheld

and danced with glee, for their darts of love

had found the hearts of Healthou and Firman

and fixed there firmly. The future of earth

was brighter now, for born of their love

would be sons and daughters daring and kind,

constant and wise and well equipped

to rule justly and reign in peace.

 

 

Revenge of the Goodwife

 

He fell sick then he died—

false fennel did him in:

Marshside he gathered herbs.

When overhead a din

of swooping, shrieking crows

distracted him, Tom reached

and plucked a poisoned plant

the incubus had fouled

with his demonic chant.

 

His wife’s ferocity

fastened on Duende.

With all his fiendish charms

he could not break away:

She whispered secret words

to summon vengeful elves

who froze him with a spell,

chained him to a quoin stone

and dropped him in a well.

 

 

Minstrel Green

 

Green was her hair and green were her sandals

and green the machine with a screen that she played from

and green the guitar that she strummed while she sang

in the subterranean North Concourse

of Chicago Union Station.

 

Clear was her voice above sounding alarms,

looping recordings, distorting announcements;

warm was her smile to the listeners who paused

in the subterranean North Concourse

of Chicago Union Station.

 

Sweet was her song to the weary travellers

with bittersweet memories of every vacation;

soothed were their sorrowful homesick blues

in the subterranean North Concourse

of Chicago Union Station.

 

 

Kathryn Ann Hill has published over eighty poems in print and online journals since 2003. At http://pendemic.ie/?s=Kathryn+Ann+Hill you will find her pandemic poems.

She has published six books of poetry between 2007 and 2017. Her Author Spotlight at https://www.lulu.com/spotlight/kah1952 contains a list of these books.
She is presently preparing a seventh book of poems.