Empire Asparagus Festival 2013 Poetry Contest winners
Photos courtesy of Ashlea Walter.
Glory Hog
1st place
By Mary O’Neill
“Glory hog,” said strawberry.
Not meaning to, but sounding caddy.
“It’s like we don’t exist!”
The fiddlehead was miffed.
“I know, right? What about me?”
Cried leek, hysterically.
“You think you have it hard?
Try being me,” whined rhubarb.
“They don’t care about any of us!”
They sobbed, a rising chorus.
“They only care about asparagus!”
“Now, now, now, let’s not fuss
There are benefits to being us.”
Said Morel, from his hiding place.
“Who wants to end up on a dinner plate?
“Asparagus’s numbers will demise
But, most of us will stay alive.”
He impressed upon the early edibles.
And, Morel’s logic proved indelible—
“They don’t care about any of us!”
They sang, a rising chorus.
“And, we’re so glad we’re not asparagus!”
Ode to Asparagus
2nd place
By R. D. Andrews
Now sits a toad
by asparagus spear
and licks his lips,
he has no fear.
The spear which stands
beside him tall
is new this day,
as are they all.
The fine young crop,
which around him rises,
affords him shade
in many sizes.
An approaching sound
he soon will hear
as the picker cuts
each tender spear.
His forest goes
to plate and table,
to pleasure those
who know this fable.
His forest gone,
our sunburned toad
seeks shade and cool
far from the road.
He waits for dawn
when up will bust,
a forest of
ASPARAGUS!
Perennial Roots
3rd place
By Sylvia Duncan
The old Maple City farmhouse sagged and stank,
Redolent of coal oil and neglect.
Barely inhabitable, uninsurable,
A pink washcloth froze solid on the edge of the tub that winter.
Young and determined, we slaved: crowbar and shovel first,
Followed by hammer, broom, and paintbrush.
Our little boy helped lug chunks of oak for the woodstove.
Capabilities and energy stretched far beyond reason.
Soft spring glided in and was repelled by our frayed tempers.
Drops of warm rain splashed and filled a stockpot on the bedroom floor,
While our meager bank account emptied day by day.
The syrup we wrested from the trees turned out smoky and unpalatable.
Sadly, aimlessly, hearts worn on our dusty shirtsleeves,
Tom and I wandered into the farmyard
yearning for a glimpse of something – anything – just one reason to stay.
Everywhere, things aslant, as weary as we.
Suddenly, a tender miracle appeared before our eyes.
Behind the crooked henhouse in an overlooked, century-old garden,
Three straight rows of perfect spears greeted us.
Valiant soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, firm in the midst of chaos.
We breathed deeply—fresh country air—and shared our first spring smiles.
Hope rises with the asparagus under Leelanau bluebird skies—
Perennial roots endure and thrive in fragile, sandy soil.
