Rumple Stein tapped his cane
on the dusty floorboards,
gathering the children in the
mansion's dark parlor.
"Long ago, this very house
belonged to a hunchback
goblin named Quasimodo, "he
whispered, pointing up.
"He had ears like a bat, feet
like a duck, and a crooked
back shaped like a giant
potato."
The grandfather clock
chimed midnight, its heavy
ticks matching the rhythm of
the children's racing hearts.
Quasimodo didn't want to hurt
anyone, Rumple Stein grinned,
he just hated people making loud
noises.
Suddenly, a loud, scraping
THUD- THUD- THUD echoed right
above their heads from the
dark attic stairs.
When the kids don't clean their
rooms, he stalks through the
halls and hides their favorite
toys!
The children gasped, looking
nervously at the dark corners
of the room as the curtains
rustled.
"He is watching right now,
waiting to see who leaves
their shoes on the floor
tonight."
Rumple Stein chuckled softly,
closed his book, and said,
"Now go clean up before
Quasimodo finds you."
October motif errand runs toward the end
A winter morn on Orchard street, New York, wandering here and there
Seemingly a gift shop is surrealism, the shop owner sprung from Walt disney
a strange double, so to speak. Adored me with a humble simper
as a blue blazer was my attire with graceful ease and altruism
The blazer and the chest a motif of deep green forest, evergreen blossomed
from a cadence , by the lake. floating afar.
(to be completed)
Orchard Street is a historic eight-block street in New York City's Lower East Side known for
its mix of immigrant history and modern boutiques. It was once a commercial hub for
immigrant communities and is now famous for its trendy shops, diverse restaurants, and
landmarks like the Lower East Side Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street. Visitors can
find a variety of businesses, from classic eyeglass shops like Moscot to modern home decor
stores and art galleries.
The Hunchback so anxiously waiting to not be seen by the crowded crowd in limousines. He softly covers his eyes and tries to cover his back with a cape of disguise. A young kid yells, “ hey I see The Hunchback” recognizing his shape that does not lack. So many people run in great multitudes but poor oh Hunchback cries in solitude. God Bless!
There’s a miniature volcano
on his back
with mortifying eruption.
‘Beauty is
in mind’, his mom intones.
But nobody
recognizes. His classmates
‘honor’ him
with some funny sobriquets.
It resembles a cactus. He can’t
eschew its
thorns. He withdraws. Solitude
is a shelter.
It’s like a gas-producing
cassava; his
mind bloats with thoughts
of inferiority.
Whistles and whoops from
the playground
pain him no more. Recurrence
blunts sorrow’s talon.
He falls down through
a siesta.
Posthumous pity is a wreath.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
Amongst idle clouds tis by
stealthy through labyrinth sky.
Voyaging ships crowd caught sight
hunchback whales' rare eyes delight.
Steel blue wind-driven waves rise;
playground for three gray whales’ cries.
They breach, slap the cold waters
delight, rough surface shatters.
3/7/2019
Hunch Back of Notre dame!
Just because I decided to let go
My back has released me from a hunch that was so overwhelming
I choose to change
I choose to move forward
I choose to her my name being called across the sands of time
I choose her wisdom is her name
I choose her to help me
I choose to stay focus
I choose to let go of distracting people and situations
I choose to hear the strings of destiny
Every chord
Every line written to read
Unbearable at times they were but now
I choose to live
I can actually walk in a straight line
Without tipping over I can hold on to life and not crutches
They did not have to help me because I choose to help myself
They did not have to call me I love myself
They did not have to build me I build myself I encourage myself
In He who created me
I am that I am chose me I did not choose myself
I choose to live and not die
I choose to be set apart
I have never fit, I have always stood out
I am grateful that my posture has finally changed
I see now so clear
HalaluYah I can stand without falling!
To a tattered-clothed monster, the city of lights looked so dim,
only stone-faced gargoyles never grimmaced at the sight of him,
everyday, with hideous cries of horror, voices rose and rang out,
it may have been his tears running down from the rainspout.
A human creature who can easily fit in with festivals of fools,
his grotesque, deformed face deemed unfit by society's rules,
while this toll reverberates within his ears, until torn apart,
a song, so beautiful, still plays from the depths of his heart.
People turn their gaze skyward to breathtaking cathedral towers,
where a lone, strong back peals the bells to pass by the hours,
a golden melody floats from the heavens to the town below,
his outward gentle nature only the gypsies and peasants know.
At night, he peacefully slumbers with a picturesque view of Paris,
for, in his dreams alone, no one could ever mock or embarrass,
wishes to dance, to taste the cuisine, in this sanctuary are hidden,
still he carries on a hope, a longing, for a freedom forbidden.
The hunchbacked man once asked God:
Why didn't you turn your face to me Lord?
But God answered the man:
When I looked down at your clan,
I saw your back turn to me like a gourd.
I walk faster as the bell rings...
resembling a treading hunchback
with the heavy blue backpack;
I enter quickly: twenty-four steps still to climb!
The classmates are quite guile,
he teacher looks mad;
I trot in, throwing a smooch...
she changes her attitude and decides to smile!
Bullies laugh...my seat
is smeared with black ink!
I stand up and loudly scream;
she looks in dismay and rebukes the rascals!
The class ends, I am the first
to head for the door;
she hollers," Stop, pretty boy!"
Ah, on a bunch of banana peels...I slip!
I see him from time to time.
There – at the corner of my mind’s eye.
When he walks – he labors –
Releasing a heated sigh.
By day on dusty street corners –
Shopping cart and faded bus pass.
Bowed – legs splayed – reaching
down for a butt – One eye watching.
Singular and oblivious.
A mad Soul gone – COOL.
The Devil came one sane night
and ended all sanity.
Placed him – on parole from Hell.
Took his love – and replaced it –
with the things of Earth’s creation.
He moves on and off dim streets.
Immune – no terror – bullets – screams.
No longer concerned with ugly or
beauty – The World is his burden.
It is his Illusion.
But, the tower of his mind rings –
High and low pitches though the city.
***** loin hanging – to bulbous knees.
Side-Slapping – on urine stained thighs.
At night he prowls in my mind.
Silent – Fleeting – past my mind’s windowpane.
Through a lighted street corner –
The corner of my eye.
My back hunched up.
Curled up toes.
Wrinkled brow.
Slobbery nose,
Greet with a growl.
Look with a scowl.
Children run away.
Adults say.
There goes the ghoul.
I wait till dark.
To make my mark
Through empty streets.
I creep, bare feet.
Shadows, places to hide.
To retreat.
To spy, to pry.
With half concealed eye.
Behind curtains.
Cracks in wall.
I see it all.
I am the devil
In your mind.
Spying . leaving muck, behind.
They chase me.
With guns and pike.
To clean their town.
They fight.
Until it's light.
Then I retreat,
To sleep and eat,
Ready for the next feat
.....................................
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