Saturday 21 September 2024

Two Poems by John Harold Olson

 




I’m Exhausted By Your Memory
The soup is uneven 
In that sometimes it’s tasty 
 And other times it taste like bait water.
 But last night,
 Somebody (me) caught lightening In a bottle with a secret ingredient.
 It fell into place,
 like the Mars explorer, 
like Hollywood Au Go Go, 
A ‘65 Mustang 
 Thanks to Vons house brand, 
an envelope of onion soup mix was a party favour from The Pope.
 Flashback to spoil the mood,
she would have told me 
she can’t have the MSG and would pass in the soup, and that would zing me. 
 But tonight, I’m worshipful In quiet solitude.
 The soup wears a crown.




Orion The Hunter


 Let’s think in Fahrenheit- 
early winter morning, say 4:30 when I’m walking my bike to the Bermuda light 
and it’s maybe 30 degrees, 
riding Into the teeth of the south wind,
 making itself colder over the Mojave like a shaken martini. 
Uphill grade to work, 
the frosty night won’t mean much against the body heat. 
Above is Orion the Hunter, with three flaming gems on his cinch belt 
looking out for no one.
Because he’s not there.






John Harold Olson - Is a retired Special Education teacher in Las Vegas. Transitioning to being a hospice volunteer.  





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