Procession of the King
Spring had blessed the Earth with green and flowers all of myriad shade,
and Summer slowly warmed the soil; fields were filled with crops and hay.
Reluctantly the summer yielded to the coming signs of fall,
and stores were gathered in each home, wood chopped, shared and stacked for all.
Fall was long and tarried late, leaves held fast through cool November,
but no one doubted they would feel the Ice Kings wrath before December.
So the things their Fathers taught them were prepared and put in place,
with hopes the King might come and go and they be shielded from his face.
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth
3/09/14
Arrival of Ice King
That’s not a song the wind is singing; no, tis threat of whats to come,
The choir that heralds the Ice Kings path, harbingers to worlds undone.
Through the night they voice their pain as subjects of the frozen soul,
that cares not for the strong or weak, with ice formed scythe lays all low.
Across the waters dark and frothing, with child like glee he makes his way,
up to the shore and up the coastline, none prepared the cost to pay,
For should he see there measure done to slow or end his Winter ride,
He shrugs his cape and all do shudder, turrets fall thatched roofs fly.
His steed glows blue under moonlight, with eyes that shine a yellow green,
and frost from out his nostrils billow, and few may live if they have seen.
Up the hillsides down the valleys thundering hooves announce the King,
and with each stride all lay before him; great and small all living things.
He lashes out his thunderous crop, peels like cannons echo wild,
deep silver snows rush down the mountain carrying man, woman, child.
No power known can stay his hand, no wise man knows the path he’ll ride,
but all know when and where he’s been and know he will not be denied.
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth
2/07/14
False Hope
When from under the Ice Kings cloak the village folk beheld the Sun,
and slowly ventured from their hearths with timid steps and coats undone.
They met their mates where worn paths crossed and there did boldly boast
We held the King at bay my friends, to his passing hail and let us toast.
Yet nightfall held a secret close as darkness claims the King as friend,
there while the village breathed relief from frigid grasp and howling wind,
with mighty roar the gale did come, sweeping in circles the barren ground,
with glee and fury the Ice King twirled and lay his thick white cloak back down.
The Village folk were found sure lacking, stores all spent and wood all burned,
and with no path to woodland open, the Ice King smiled, from all cries turned.
Many the prayers fast ran from thanks to begging for the Winters cease
and many the prayers that went unanswered, with their thresholds piled chin deep.
Twas a time of sure repentance, twas late for such and it mattered not,
In the Ice Kings realm they lay shivered, less strong soon no longer fought,
Twas the year of 14 lads when half the seaboard lay cold as stone,
and none will ever raise glass again and toast aloud “The Ice Kings gone.”
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth
The Ice King’s Ire
Thrice the Ice King slammed his staff hard against the frigid floor,
once would serve to freeze the world but angered so he struck twice more.
Fowl in flight were rendered solid falling from the sky to land.
Beasts lay shivering, scarcely breathing from the stroke of his deft hand.
Men who thought they’d faced the worst, were facing worse than all before,
as avalanches fell from mountains with the Ice Kings horrid roar.
Oaks and pines fell sure as matchsticks in the path of rushing snow
and all the world cringed and shook from highest peak to valley low.
Naught could stave the Ice Kings wrath nor any soul discern the reason,
that the Ice King be so raged as to render deadly season.
All could be done was wait and pray and hold each other through the night,
for fuel was scarce, the oil all gone, no fire to warm, no stove to light.
The Ice King sat high on highest ridge and with steely gaze looked down
no mercy there for man nor beast could in his frozen heart be found.
All man may do is know his place and know that Monarchs roam the sky
and come and go just as they please. We may but pray that they pass by.
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth 02/07/2014
Too Early Spring
The vision of the Ice King’s clear at night while mortal’s fear unknown,
and yet they sang their odes to Spring before they knew her grasp was gone.
She’d tried to hold against the might, that at a whim lays all things low,
She’d brought forth flowers, leafing trees, signs that Winter should soon go.
Evening seemed to enter kindly, with just a breeze and friendly touch,
And townfolk strolled out through the fields for they’d missed the evening
oh so much,
Lanterns lit the valley floor like fireflies in the tall field grass,
and voices hailed to friends were echoed up the walls and down the path
But in the halls the Ice King angered, “Who here dares to name my time?
Not early Spring, nor man nor god, the will of Winter’s none but mine.”
Spring pled for lenience on the land and said, “thrice now you have wrought pain”,
To which the great King clenched his fist and said “they’ll know my will again.”
The darkness crept up o’r the eve, and covered all with fine cool mist,
not so to bring alarm up quick and spare the Ice King’s falling fist,
Next a chill, not cold, not bitter, just enough their coats to cinch,but warning to the wise
of age who’d seen such things and still lived thence.
They told the young ones to head homeward, but they laughed with deafened ear,
They told them of the times gone past, when Spring had come but disappeared.
They told them of the Ice King’s might, reminded them of recent straifs,
But the young were not dissuaded: “Then see yourself, back to your place”.
The first assault was blinding, stinging, hailstones rained like molten stone,
stripping leaves off sapling trees, an inch may well been miles from home.
The archers of the King drew back their shafts laced now with a razored ice,
and volleyed untold rounds at will, felling all caught by the night.
The next wave came as Northern gale descended driving shrouds of sleet,
The paths turned mud, the lamps blew out, with dark upon they could not see.
Oaks snapped and fell, cries went up, and none could find the others hand,
and those who’d made for home sat silent, knowing what befell the land.
Morning came and with it tears, roofs were torn, loved ones lost,
and warning words old ones had spoke, were scarcely comfort for the cost.
And quickly as the King had come and leveled all in his domain,
he disappeared and left the morning to be spent in grief and pain.
And from that time, they mark the days and listen when the old ones speak,
and tremble as they touch the Spring, but know her hands to be too weak.
The great Ice King will not be hurried nor told when he should come or go,
and Spring cannot withstand his force though man’s desire should wish it so.
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth 03/03/14
The Ice Kings Retreat
The orphaned child sat by the wall, the only wall left of her home,
and sat from morning’s still till eve and wished return of what was gone.
She waited there as if for word that all had been a cruel dream,
and could not form the words to say should she face the horrid King.
As she sat, she took a stick and making patterns in the snow
drew an angel; childlike, simple or how one looked she would suppose,
then with one stroke of the stick a glimpse of yellow caught her eye
and digging round it found a crocus; sign that Spring was still alive.
The Ice King felt a stinging pain, and let aloud a mighty gasp
and knew forthwith that Spring had risen and his time had come and passed.
For once one flower has been found there begins the rite of Spring,
and nine months more shall come and go before the return of the King.
Down the Village path she ran, the child with flower in her hand,
and seeing what she held aloft, word spread fast across the land.
To song and dance the ice did melt, late in the night the torches burned,
as Spring applied her gentle touch and kissed the soil with her return.
For one bloom can defeat the King, one child bear the fragile sword,
that brings to yield the howls of Winter, the Ice King and his mighty horde.
All know that he will return and do his worst three seasons hence,
but for now a child and flower have cast the evil Ice King thence.
Jack (Scruffy) Ainsworth 03/09/14