.
'bout time
thuh flowerz are bloom'n
and thuh naiads
tired uv toadz
arrrr
come'n out tuh
play
oooh
thuh barrrd'z
nervous
though
excited
The ogre was irritated with the woman with the locket
She had accidentally run off with his boot in her pocket
He stumbled upon it a few months later in the woods.
It had been created into a darling house, where it stood.
He did not have the heart to take it back, for he was soft.
There were several children inside, one of them was named Coft.
Coft waved at the ogre and yelled out “Thank you for the boot!”
Ogre was glad for the thank you, so he gave a grateful toot.
within a pock, a lonely copse
a one-time proudly standing duke
lay collapsed a pearly corpse
strewn, now stretched across a dyke
no mortar, stone or brick to budge
a single chain links an area
no sleeves rolled blueprint for this bridge
it’s not as grand as Knaresborough
growing moss along its course
this felted dew-born viaduct
where mice, voles and squirrels cross
the span, the trickle of a brook
wind savage sword angrily killed the ogre
leaving a gnarled, lost and forgotten auger
His voice like thunder, booming out his threats,
the stamping ogre towered, broad and square;
the trembling, sobbing woman prayed and begged -
I saw no pity in the monster's glare...
and hid. A knight, afraid of fighting fiends!
Ashamed, I rushed at him, without a care.
The giant, nostrils flared, took off at speed,
returning to his castle in the air.
written 25th March for Constance's O words contest
An Ogre is mean, an Ogre is ugly
An Ogre is smelly, grumpy and gruffly.
They are so big they can block out the sun
If you ever do hear one it's better to run.
Some want to eat you or keep you as slaves
Others will make you clean their old caves.
Apart from Serog who has never been mean
He is good, kind and friendly and only fifteen.
Wise for his age and peaceful is he
Has many friends including a bee.
But didn't like the meanness he saw
So set about to make kindness a law.
Meetings were held and letters were wrote
Hoping to persuade each Ogre to vote.
Niceness was shown and what kindness can do
Towards people, an a Ogre, an a reader (that's you)
Each Ogre was shown how to smile, but that took a while
Because it's never been their natural style.
They learnt how to be helpful, gentle and careful
And started to feel better and therefore successful.
An Ogre is friendly an Ogre is fine
An Ogre can smile and even queue in a line.
An Ogre won't eat you they now eat their greens
But an Ogre can be windy after eating baked beans.
Contest Name Writing Challenge 'O' Words
Sponsor Constance La France
24.03.23
I’m not much of an ogre he thought
As a chipmunk nibbled his twisted toe nail.
Nope, I like my fur fluffed and clean
And my nails…well, not painted
But neatly buffed and filed.
Damn! I hate meat. It like
Forever sticks in my teeth.
I think I’m a reincarnated vegan.
Toughen up kid!!
Grab that ogre vibe
Dinner will be anything
We can catch alive.
(worst hunting mantra ever)
An old owl shook its head
Asked its forever question:
”Who?.. are you?”
He drives me nuts
Every day
Same old question. Until…
That one day he said
“Who do you want to be?”
I confusedly answered:
“I am not sure.”
“Then go and find out”
He hooted
As silent wings
Took flight.
©3/24/2024
Writing Challenge – “O” Words Poetry Contest
Constance La France – Sponsor
They said I'm a chip off the old block, but I'd never budge an inch
For it is of nature to bear the semblance of the one from whom you proceed
For it is blood to blood, nothing escaping
For that's nature's will
All we can do is to chop off the externals that does not augur well with the times we are
And that's if that semblance is an Ogre to modernity
~ semblance
Ogre
Often he’s a cranky,
Olive-skinned, swamp dwelling,
Obtusely-witted fiend...
Only bathes in mud—eats
Onions, garlic, ...(sniff)... GAS?!!
Ogre’s in the outhouse!!
Oh! My giddy aunt...RUN!
©deborah burch
4.06.2021
Pleiades
Kim Merryman’s Pleiades O Poetry Contest
Tuesday was the day the ogre found my kitchen.
The dog sat in the hallway for an hour watching her
Empty my refrigerator, and two cupboards.
I had never heard my dog whine like this, I thought it odd
But I was tired, after a fitful sleep,
So I called in sick, and slid back under my pillow.
By noon the ogre had emptied two more cupboards.
I know because she was a braggart.
When I trotted into my bathroom I noticed my makeup was gone.
I did not see who was wearing my eyeliner and lipstick
Until I reached the kitchen. Where the dog would not go.
No wonder. The ogre was enormous, flamboyant, and intimidating.
“Is that my lipstick?” I asked her.
She laughed, showing me uneven yellow teeth
Then she began to brag about what she had eaten first,
and how fast she had done it.
I tried to chase her away, but she refused to go.
She sent me to the store with a shopping list.
What could I do?
She was holding my dog hostage.
Don’t ascribe ulterior motives to the things she does and the ways she might go
She’s no more than a Peter Pan or a little Si-og
The charmed and cursed child of a leprechaun
She’s small, but her eyes are long; she’s mischievous, but not that wrong.
She comes into your lives just looking for a friend,
Nothing more, and just to laugh enough to drown the cries is her only intent.
Always smiling and seeming cheerful
But her blood is heavy and her heart is tearful.
Stop being afraid
Stop staying away
She won’t hurt you or anyone you love with her taunts
To see you smirk or smile is all that she wants.
There once was an ogre named Barry
who was gruesome grotesque and scary
He came from a land where blood flowed through the sand
so he traveled to a country of fairies
He ravaged and raged but could never be caged
and soon his will was secure
The people were fooled and they liked being ruled
so the lies and the cheats they endured
In his selfish ways with their money he played
and in their luxuries he went for a swim
Yet they still loved him so for they just didn't know
that their freedom had come to an end.
He likes an egg
without a shell, cracked
by the careless act
of a grocery store clerk.
There's always some jerk
who could make you sick
then read your obit
with a pained expression
as if that session
and consequence grim
had nothing to do
with him.
The Og. loves
spaghetti
is always ready
when you've got
a question
of indigestion.
He loves a meal
of apple peel
(forgive me Giuseppi
of the Pinnochio
story). I do not care
for apple peel,
and though the Og.
is small, he
gobbles it all.
humans spotted, Igor hides ‘neath his bridge
with watchful eyes, the bridge sees them pass
“It’s safe,” she murmurs to Igor
leaving the bridge’s safe retreat
Igor knows his foes will be heading back
“May I?” he asks the might oak
“Let my branches carry you to safety,”
the centuries-old oak responds,
“I am strong; I will not break. Let my manly arms surround you.”
torch lights borne by villagers approach again
but the oak protects Igor, swinging its arms in the wind
making it too dangerous for them to find Igor
hidden he remains in this shaky loft
caressing the oak’s arms in gratitude
until the bridge whispers, “It’s safe to return home.”
villagers' lights fade in the distance
as Igor regrets being born an ogre
with only a tree and a bridge to love
For the Fairy Tales Contest
*Personification in the tree and the bridge
This man, my man, ogre above all
But in me, he does, internally thrall
Tattooed in naked, cloaked in lust
Heaving I, as his eyes caress my trust
Diamond I become, pert to touch
His hands, clawing, seeking such
Delving, he's reached, the depth of me
Enticing, I rejoice, releasing so free
Biting, scratching, nails in deep
Blood in rise, apologies we seep
Firm, hungry, lusting to crave
Loving each other in bordering deprave
Who am I to argue, this character man
Ogre above all, my bodies well scanned
I'm read, he's said, we've spoken
Consenting we are, sharing ones token
In memory it is standing still
with decrepit stateliness,
a crumbling mansion on the hill,
in pathetic loneliness.
Mama says when she was young
it was owned by a rich man
and was the nicest house in town.
Just picture it if you can.
When the Great Depression hit,
the rich man lost his money.
He jumped from the highest window.
“Now, no more questions, Honey.”
There were rumors that his widow stayed
after her husband died,
but no one saw her often.
If one called on her, she’d hide.
In my childhood the house frightened me,
like an ogre on the hill,
coming to life at night-time,
with emptiness to dispel.
It was searching for careless children
who dared to get too near.
If caught, they were seen no more
in their homes or any where.
My daddy said it was the wind
that made the sound of sighing.
My young ears, when I listened hard,
could hear a woman crying.
By: Joyce Johnson 9/14/11 Won a 2nd
For Constance My Dear Heart’s contest “Creepy, Scary, Haunted House Poem, Pleas”
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