The Rusted King and the Drum
(Picks up where Between Dreams and Boats left off)
Rusted nails twisted into a diadem.
Three blood stones set in place of precious jewels.
On a scrap heap he sprawled with a ripped hem.
The King of Nimbledon, liege-lord of fools,
price of thieves and bully boys–pay him heed
all you creatures of the night, pickpockets,
lock breakers, streetwalkers. Orphans bend knee
to this tyrant, who reigns with a socket
wrench for a scepter that calls all to order.
His court of thugs, cheats and scruffy children
wait to see who’ll be nailed to the girder.
A stooped man enters, shepherds two children.
“What’s this interruption?” bellows their king.
“I bring you a gift of magic, my king.”
~ ~ ~
The man pushed a boy of nine into the light.
There was magic in his green eyes, no fear.
A child of three clung to his brother tight.
No magic in him or none stirred from fear.
“Come here boy, you’re worth more unharmed and death
does nothing but create stinking corpses.”
“His name’s Sarn, don’t know t’other one’s.” Deep breath,
wet coughs, the child-taker’s a walking corpse.
Sarn held tight to his brother, his feet rooted
in earth, green sparks danced in the scrap, clapped, banged
and clanged in a percussive “no” that booted
the king from his throne; open, his mouth hanged.
A smile crossed those cracked lips at the present.
Kingly indeed, a gift worth every cent.
~ ~ ~
Sarn woke to banging and the dream faded.
The room’s few furnishings crashed to the floor.
Ran sat by his side, not barricaded.
“No more bad dreams Papa.” Ran’s soft plea tore.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Sarn rubbed his eyes.
“Make everything jump?” Ran slid off the bed,
rushed out of the room, returned with a prize.
He dragged a drum, “You have to come,” he said.
“And go where?” Sarn took the drum, slid its strap
over his shoulder and followed his son.
Mystified by a four year old child, trapped
by fragmenting sanity, he was done.
But he followed his son through the fortress,
double leafed doors and under a buttress.
~ ~ ~
Into a vaulted nave lined with pews, where
people attended mass, Ran placed a clay
babe in a manger while two statues stared.
They had halos and spikes meant to be rays.
“Now you play for him, on the drum,” Ran waved
to the clay baby in the manger stall.
Silence hung midnight thick from cross to grave.
“This is a quiet place,” but one that called
up memories of a raid, a rival
gang, a rusty king handing him a cross
that flared a fiery white, “you’re survival,”
said King, “go to a church give ’em that cross.”
He had taken his brother to that church,
left an unexpected home in a lurch.
~ ~ ~
“Play for him,” Ran tapped the drum, “It’ll make you
better. I know.” Ran nodded, eyes imploring.
Disturb such rev’rent silence? Sarn wasn’t sure.
But his son didn’t ask for much and having
little to give the child, gave each present
more weight, and he’d played for the rusted King,
not for bread or bed, to repay a gent
for kindness. So he tapped that drum, like King
taught him, let his magic rise and fiddle
with the organ striking chords with mem’ry.
Somewhere in the light and music’s middle
he fell into a healing reverie.
He did feel better, and when he stopped, peace
fell and sleep beckoned, offering release.
~ ~ ~
The story continues in The Nutcracker.
~ ~ ~
Follow Sarn’s Christmas Journey
For assignment #3 of Poetry 101 and also as part of my ongoing Advent series featuring the cast of the Curse Breaker Saga. This offering is #7 in the series. You can find the rest in order on my Holiday page. You can also find non-holiday themed vignettes on my Tales of Shayari page.
Thank you for reading.
Speaking about vivid images… wow. I saw it more than read it.
I’m going to make time in the future and come back here to start at the beginning. In the meantime I again feel this can stand as is 🙂
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Thank you 🙂 It’s drawn from the books I write which I am working on publishing 🙂
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You should be published. Good luck 🙂
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Thank you that’s my dream and I’m working on it 🙂
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Its so awesomeeee!!!!! ^_^
I love the way you string the words
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Thank you 🙂 It was a labor of love, exhausting but worth it.
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What an absolutely enthralling poem, Melinda! (Sorry I’ve been a little silent — been to India and back, and then dealt with my waking world, plus worries about world matters — but that’s no excuse, right? 🙂 )
I LOVED your vivid imagery, the use of consonances and assonances, the rhyme and story-telling, the gift of the Magi, the Drummer Boy, and all these references that you wove into a tapestry of your own.
You are a poetic fountain!
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Thank you for your kind words. I hope you had a wonderful trip to India; it looks like a magical place.
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I bring you the gift of magic… Like always, simply amazing Melinda.
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Thank you 🙂 I’m so glad you were able to read it.
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I would not stop trying.
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Thank you, I’m glad your perseverance paid off 🙂
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An exquisite reworking of the drummer boy! Melinda, you really have a way of inviting the reader into this amazing world and engaging both mind and heart while doing so!
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Thank you, I wasn’t certain if I’d pulled it off but it sounds like I did 🙂
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Yep! You’re welcome!
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🙂
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I absolutely enjoyed this post! And I smiled at the beautiful and creative mind that you have, and your way with words to my heart.
A gorgeous offering for the season!
I’d love to see a video of this piece.. who knows.. maybe one day. 🙂
❤
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Thank you 🙂 I wish I could share the video that plays in my head about his story.
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oooh.. I bet it is gorgeous!
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I think it is 🙂
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Now you tell me you’re not a poetic expert. Hmm! 🙂
This is great, story-wise, construction-wise, as always. 🙂
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Thank you it took awhile to write. I fought exhaustion the whole time
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wonderful writing… check out my site http://www.domin.com.bd
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Thank you I will
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Covering lots of bases with this post, Melinda…this is great prose in poetic form…
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Thank you 🙂 Dejana kind of challenged me to fit in the little drummer boy somewhere but since it’s copyrighted, I had to write around it 🙂
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🙂 yes, I imagine she is good at challenging lol…you did a wonderful job here, my friend…you are welcome!
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Oh thank you, I am so tired I wasn’t certain if it made any sense outside of my head. My brain tends to treat the world like a potato and mash it all together when I’m tired. Glad to hear it’s cohesive because I can’t add another sonnet to the sequence tonight though I think it needs one…
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🙂 it looks perfect to me…
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Thank you, your vote of confidence means much to me. I can rest easy now and put my inner perfectionist away ’till tomorrow…
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🙂 you are welcome, my friend…rest well!!
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🙂 will do as soon as I get the energy to move.
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🙂 a conundrum!
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yes and so I edit…I think I missed some punctuation here.
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🙂 I am sure you will find them all
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I’m trying to, thanks for the vote of confidence 🙂
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You are welcome…I am off to dreamland 🙂
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me as well. Work beckons on the morn whether or not I want to answer its siren call…oh wait maybe that’s my alarm…
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