A prince who’d been changed by a spell,
Was an ugly frog in a well.
To a pretty young miss
He said, “Give me a kiss.”
She replied, No thank you, you smell.”
When asked by Prince Charming to wed,
Cinderella shook her fair head.
Thought, not for a ransom,
He’s not very handsome
And she married Buttons instead.
When Snow-white saw the dwarves in the hall,
She observed they were not very tall.
They were children she thought
And decided she ought
To apply to foster them all.
The dragon had breath fiery red
And the people wanted him dead.
So Saint George was dispatched
But, unevenly matched,
The dragon slayed Saint George instead
Georgy Porgy, pudding and pie,
Kissed all the girls and made them cry.
Nursery Land was aghast
At what had just passed
For Georgy was a girl, that’s why.
On the pretext of finding water,
Jack chased Jill and then, when he caught her,
They got carried away
And the following May,
Jill gave birth to a little daughter
Snow White's dwarves were very short and sweet
Little knowing that they would end up as a very tasty treat
For the troll who lived lurking under the bridge
And kept the remains of the brothers Gruff inside his fridge
It was over that bridge the little men skipped to their mine
And every other time that had always been fine
As the seven danced over that day with their jolly Hi-ho
His net was thrown over and pulled them all down below
And that was how they wound up as a delicious dessert
Which kept the gluttonous troll so happy and pert.
Poor Snow White is now left so miserable and alone
And still wonders today why they have not answered her phone
Enchanted Norse the dark place of dwarves trickery leaving graveyard dark from gargano graves formed in to spear heads making witch ornaments with light bulbs filled with forbidden black sand smuggled from Maui candle wax to see if asiL will appear wearing feathers of ash smudging walls wailing clawing talisman voodoo charms the hidden agenda a family of fathers who fake their deaths to become the devil hiding in basements toying with goodness heaven closed the doors leaving Lisa lingering holding Mary Gargano hand weeping the agony watching evil plotted her song of sadness illuminates her feet covered in graveyard dirt a pet cemetery for humans unleashed the trickery lies in faking of death to impersonate the deceased identity fraud the covering of arson murder of 9 persons the twisted surges of negative energies graveyard dirt used in ritual sacrifices shuttering coven of asiL Marie Gargano wrath unfolds the pagen pilgrimage Norse meeting trolls dwarves meeting at memorial gardens entrance
Pages flying
Thunder clapping
Sun shining
Hearts breaking
Snowflakes dancing
Willows weeping
Wind whistling
It's all personification- but what if we switched them around:
Pages whistling
Thunder flying
Sun clapping
Hearts shining
Snowflakes breaking
Willows dancing
Wind weeping
Sounds like fantasyland- maybe that's where elves make toys, fairies fly, dwarves mine, trolls sing and dance, and gnomes do... whatever gnomes do.
Beyond the ruins my heart once sighed
And there I sang a lullaby
Where rivers dream in euphony
And dwarves march in sullen sleep
The magic wakes the mountains run
And every memory becomes like one
Who sits upon Elfand’s throne
And ever by her name is Known
Whitestone Hoodoos
Near where I live,
just up the hill above the airport,
is a place of mystery and wonder,
a place wizards might once have dwelled,
or young warriors wandered in search of vision.
It’s a thicket of chalky hoodoos, sitting now
like a forest of plump petrified dwarfs made of meringue
sculpted by uncountable drops of rain
and whatever it is you might call a single unit of wind.
It’s enchanting for sure,
but largely ignored by the sensible folk.
It’s a place of unclimbable slippery slabs and
crumbly sliding slopes, of snakes with rattles
and succulents with thorns.
I’m sure to some eyes it’s just a barren hill,
and to others an inspiring view that’s always just out the window,
to some a marvelous result of random tectonic drifts
and to a few at least, a glimpse into the past
when wizards and warriors met
under the shadow of watchful dwarves
and ate the bitter root.
(from my third book, SUN MADE FLESH AND FIBER, 2019)
Part One
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/mid-summer_night_dream_1482320
Concluded
Elves, dwarves, mini giants, and hobbits all performed.
But last was Fili as he strutted to the middle of the glen.
Secretly clutching his alexandrite lode, he flew
Straight up ten feet with a view for all to see.
Fireflies flew erratically around him, a ghostly shine.
As Fili moved his clutched hand, he turned.
Somersaulted, spun and returned to his standing stance.
Below the people of the glen clapped in awe.
But now Fili was worried, how was he to descend
And thus receive his well merited prize?
It was the River-maid who rescued him, as she flew
And whispered in his ear. Change the lode to the left hand
She whispered, giving him a luscious kiss.
Soon Fili landed and the Fairy Queen beckoned him.
You can take your first midnight skinny dipping and eat all
The strawberries you like so much, she graciously said.
She took his lode, put it on a crown and on his head it sat.
And now Fili, the hero, was annoyed no more.
O, elvenstone! O, elvenstone!
O, would that you could be my own.
To quest exhausted, all these years,
And not obtain those pointy ears
To sharpen sense, to hear my phone.
O battle axe! O battle axe!
For thy pursuit, my patience lacks.
Through garbage bins in fishing wharves,
Midst arguments with boorish dwarves;
My neighbor’s tree needs forty whacks.
Fine coat of mail, thy filigree
Would sure enhance the likes of me.
So tightly woven, silver, pale
Protect unwanted barbs’ assail
When getting honey from my bees.
Thou mighty blade, enchanted runes
Do grace thy hilt but not those hewn.
Sure, separating sinew, bone,
Ne’er losing edge in dirt or stone,
When Saturday, the hedge I prune.
I think that we can both agree:
When I immerse in D&D,
I get so caught up in the game,
Imagination is to blame;
Sometimes I blur reality.
----------
RPG - role playing game - I used to play Dungeons and Dragons some 40 years ago when you used dice and mapped everything out on graph paper. I imagine things have changed a bit since then...
Popping out of pictures, pulling swords from stone,
Hunting with your coon dogs, shipwrecked all alone,
Rafting down the river, whitewashing a fence,
Balloons on Krakatoa, leagues under suspense,
Milo and his watchdog, Charlie’s ticket’s gold,
Meg and Charles go tessering, Lost Boys, never old,
Wizards, dwarves, and hobbits, James’ giant fruit,
Wilbur, Fern, and Charlotte, Belle’s enchanted brute,
Heartbreak with a yearling, a big old yellow dog,
Friends Mole and Rat and Toad, islands, treasure, grog,
Gardens full of secrets, the clever family Swiss:
Glorious great stories, just too good to miss.
Books promote imagination, candy for the mind,
Afternoons spent on the page leave the world behind.
Reading with my grandkids, adventure tales galore,
And when they finish all of these, I know of plenty more.
THERE GOES THE LOOKING GLASS
There goes the looking glass
It's shattered and yet serene
The queen's out of business
The dwarves look really mean
There's snowy and a mountain
Yet the ride was really long
The apple and the eye drops
Were in tears that said belong
The house was simply empty
With no wolf no cubs and bare
With grandma in the oven and
The twin kids are always there
The live and love was never distant
Yet in the garden one was all alone
With crystal balls and constant calls
Always near and closer to a phone
A goose was gone by morning
And the eggs were in the fry
Yet gold and glean glistened
With an always simply in a try
Then the story turns to ashes
Yet a magic steals the shown
In a queen who saw a vision
Of just two or three to know
So, the capture for the moment
Is in a picture that's not a tale
In a fable that was not so funny
In an ending of a happy or a well
Yet it's jack be quick who listens
With all the candles and no flame
Simply for the reason in a many
Yet just two or three to name
then i wrote it to myself
Quo teint
where they keep the intelligence
who was the sexiest of the seven dwarves
Was Bash
Fully interrupted that line
look at that shoop in those sheep
A rolling gather mosses no stone
i mist the sky
fog got
definitively asking what does the mean
why do people think
Pikachu would taste like chicken
Evil Queen
Her face, a jealous green
The mirror on the wall
Black heart could not forestall
Snow White
Her beauty did ignite
Ruby lips and raven hair
Seven dwarves were quite aware
free your mind from old chains,
fetch me all nine muses,
focus on mages, dwarves,
fairies, elves and pixies,
find me magic potions,
fabled tales surprises,
fiction must reign supreme.
Tremblors
By Sy Roth
They could feel it
Creeping beneath their feet,
Messaging their sole
Sending tremblors
Up into their thigh
Had to put a stop to its progress
Fearful that ecstasy might make a break
Through their pates.
It did have a song in it
Song of enslavement--
Dwarves marching somewhere
From deep in the mines
With a yo heave ho
It’s off to work we go
A siren’s melody.
A pandemic spread horizontally
A tremblor horizontal
Infects those close by
As they watch the others twitch,
St. Vitus dance to a greater god.
They shuffle lopsidedly
And you shuffle lopsidedly
And the buildings offer no anchor
As they lopsidedly cavort in congress
With you
And they
And them
To the imagined entities.
Who knows what to call them,
The voiceless horde who will bend
Ultimately break and become one with the earth?
Silent tremblors beneath the swelling mounds
A corpse gas feeding the air with their fading.
But there’s no one left to smell them
Except the birds that borne aloft
Move the air languidly around them
The species below a fetid remembrance
That would not pay heed to the tremblors.
What do you get when the winds move the trees?
When your guard is down and the sun is setting?
When you are loving the world, especially the breeze.
Do you think of the woodsman
Who spared your life?
Do you think of your stepmother
Who made hell of your life?
Or do you relax in the comfort of the seven dwarves home?
Do you put your feet up and make soup from a bone?
Do you open up the cottage window, feeling love in the air?
Are you happy and carefree, Snow White with this beauty in the air?
Do you think of the woodsman
Who spared your life?
Do you think of your stepmother
Who made hell of your life?
Is your guard down, for a good reason, because of your soft heart?
Do you feel cherished and loved, thanks to the dwarfs, mining being their art?
Is your guard down, are you relaxing in your favorite chair?
When the witch comes prancing with her poison apple fair?
Do you think of the woodsman who spared your life?
Or do you think of your stepmother who made hell of your life?
Take caution Snow. Every person who appears regular is not always good.
Lock yourself away safe, baby, in the safety of the wind and the wood.
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