AppleI've always liked this poem, in part because I love fairy tale poetry. Here's another poem I love.
by Eve Merriam
Apple,
sweet apple,
what do you hide?
Wormy and
squirmy,
rotten inside.
Apple,
sweet apple,
so shiny and red,
taste it,
don't waste it,
come and be fed.
Delicious,
malicious;
one bite and
you're dead.
Locks
by Neil Gaiman
We owe it to each other to tell stories,
as people simply, not as father and daughter.
I tell it to you for the hundredth time:
"There was a little girl, called Goldilocks,
for her hair was long and golden,
and she was walking in the Wood and she saw — "
"— cows." You say it with certainty,
remembering the strayed heifers we saw in the woods
behind the house, last month.
"Well, yes, perhaps she saw cows,
but also she saw a house."
Read the poem in its entirety.You can read more poems like this at The Journal of Mythic Arts: Fairy Tale Poems.
This week I'm heading down the fairy tale path. Right now I'm writing poems about magical objects, having been inspired by the apple poem. Perhaps I'll write about a pumpkin coach. Who knows?! I hope you'll join me in writing some fairy tale poetry this week. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll share the results in time for Poetry Friday.
Ten Hairs and Chicken Legs
ReplyDeleteAfter the meadow the birches stand tall
Enter the woods and there’s no light at all.
Run through the bramble, push at the brush,
Feel your heart pounding confused at your rush.
Then in a swamp, a bit of dry land
A house with no doors, it’s standing on sand,
On a large chicken leg with one naked claw--
The skin is toad bumpy and the flesh is red raw.
Do you know who could live in this terrible place?
In the mud and the sand there are flies in a chase for
A man wanders blind from a glance at her face:
Yes, the witch Baba Yaga is truly a fright.
She escapes through her chimney but only at night,
Screaming and cackling, loud at the moon,
She’ll spit out her teeth and sing you a tune.
If you listen, beware your ear will turn in
And push out a wart with ten hairs on your chin.
Tess--great rhythm, great images!
DeleteI can see Baba Yaga while reading this and love the mage you've created of her and her "home."
DeleteI really got caught up in this. I love the claw/raw lines. Nice, Tess!
DeleteEeeeuew! FAbulous. I especially love
Deletetoad bumpy and the flesh is red raw.
and also the image of her escaping out her chimney at night. And this made me want to go listen to Mussorgsky's Hut on Chicken Legs from Pictures at an Exhibition, even though I don't like classical music.
Scullery-Maid’s Worksong
ReplyDeleteBy Steven Withrow
Chore Chore
Broom to the floor
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
Groan Groan
Rub the knuckle to bone
And a shine on each silvery knob—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
Stoke Stoke
Stir the cook-fire to smoke
And a cold-kitchen scullion’s a slob—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
Thin Thin
Scrape the scraps to the bin
And a lashing’s a part of the job—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
Scour Scour
Knave’s in the Tower
And a wrought iron skillet to rob—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
Sleep Sleep
No more cinders to sweep
And a goblin take you for a hob—hey ho—
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
And a slosh of bilge-water to swab
© 2012 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved
I love the rhythms and sounds, swab, swab: I am rocking on a boat after this one! love it!
DeleteReally gets inside her head, Steven. Love it!
DeleteThis is definitely not a job I'd want. I love the mixing of the fairy tale notions with the pirate-type refrain.
DeleteThanks, all. This little riff of Cinderella is not at all what I expected to write when I started, but once I started singing, the words kept coming.
DeleteLove it! Poems often go places that we don't expect, even when we're writing them, don't they?
DeleteI was totally picturing pirates singing this version of Cinderella. Quite a tongue-twister in spots! I love this:
DeleteGroan Groan
Rub the knuckle to bone
And a shine on each silvery knob
Because I'm really picturing those knobs as bones sticking out of skin...
Sleeping Beauty
ReplyDeleteSleeping Beauty
walks in her dreams,
whispering to princes.
Her voice is drowsy,
like a hum of bees.
It cannot be heard
above battlement heralds,
above ballroom violins,
above clanging broadswords.
But over-mountain,
the seventh son of a king
is tying up roses
in the royal gardens.
He lifts his head dreamily.
The next morning
he rides out,
with his pruning shears
in his saddle bag.
--Kate Coombs, 2012
all rights reserved
Lovely, Kate--love SB's voice... 'like a hum of bees' and the prince riding out 'with his pruning shears in his saddle bag' (funny!).
DeleteI've often wondered how the prince found his way to snow white. Now I know! I'm quite taken with the notion of her walking through dreams.
DeleteGreat ending, Kate! Love this!
DeleteThanks, you guys!
DeleteI love her hum of bees voice, and the way the prince hears it and responds!
DeleteI love both these poems, Tricia! That Gaiman one especially touched a cord as our house was broken into briefly this summer. Ugh. I have an entire unsold picture book collection of fractured fairy tale poems, and my well of fairy tale poems has run dry. But thank you for sharing these with me!
ReplyDeleteWell, I wasn't planning to write one, but when I sat down to do my daily poem a few minutes ago, here's what came out. Probably inspired by Ron Koertge's latest, and I'll just throw it in the pile of my (also unpublished) teen poems based on fairy tales.
ReplyDeleteLittle Red Riding Hood
Whose woods these are
I think I know.
The Big Bad Wolf.
That’s whose.
I’ve been cruising through
daily for months,
but he just won’t bite.
I don’t want to be obvious,
but…
what’s a girl got to do
to catch a wolf’s golden eye?
I snip my cloak
shorter every day.
My pale thighs look
good against the
blood red wool.
My heels keep
sinking into the ridiculous forest
floor, but stilettos
are sexy.
Barefoot isn’t.
Come out,
come out,
Wolf.
People are starting to
say I'm desperate.
--Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved
Haha, Laura--this is great!
DeleteAnd you didn't think you had another fairy tale poem in you! I love the last stanza. And her desperate measures!
DeleteWow, quite a wolfish version of Riding Hood, Laura! Nice!
DeleteHi Laura,
DeleteI love your desparate little Lady in Red. Here's a triolet I wrote hugely inspired by a poem by my late friend, Agha Shahid Ali: An Interview with Red Riding Hood...." Here's the link (I hope you enjoy it!):
http://writtenforchildren.blogspot.com/2011/01/triolet-for-wolf.html
Oh, that's lovely, tess. Something about the danger and warmth and peace, all rolled up together...Beautiful!
DeleteThanks, Julie, Tricia, and Steven!
This week I used Merriam's poem as my mentor text.
ReplyDeleteMirror
Mirror,
dear mirror,
what do you see?
Choose now the
fairest,
Let it be me.
Mirror,
wise mirror,
voice so compelling,
look into the ages,
my beauty
fortelling.
Mirror
old mirror,
your future I see.
If I’m not the
fairest,
shattered you’ll be.
Ooh, Tricia--so ominous! I love the way it gets more violent as it goes on. Nice!
DeleteAlso, love the ending: "shattered you'll be" and it works in so many ways-- the beholder is shattered and in turn threatens to shatter the glass of the mirrored self. Wonderful.
Deletetess
Baba Yaga (my favorite witch), scullery maid Cinderella (I think!), desperate Red Riding Hood, and shattered mirror threats--good stuff!
ReplyDeleteYes -- "shattered you'll be" is right!
DeleteTHE NURSERY RHYME QUIZ
ReplyDeleteSTUDENT: Little Bo Peep lived in a shoe.
TEACHER: Try again.
STUDENT: Little Miss Muffet sat on a brick wall.
TEACHER: No.
STUDENT: Little Jack Horner swallowed a fly.
TEACHER: Wrong.
STUDENT: Little Boy Blue ran away with the spoon.
TEACHER: Incorrect.
STUDENT: Humpty Dumpty ate curds and whey.
TEACHER: Oh really?
STUDENT: Old Mother Hubbard fell off a brick wall.
TEACHER: You don't say?
STUDENT: Mary had a massive cat that jumped over the moon.
TEACHER: Sure about that?
STUDENT: Georgie Porgie Pudding Pie has a mouse that ran up the clock and at 1:45 the mouse got hungry so him and Georgie went to Denny's for the Grand Slam Breakfast, watched the sun come up and lived happily ever after the end.
(Pause)
TEACHER: Now you're just making stuff up.
(c) Charles Waters 2012 all rights reserved.
Ha! Love this one. The pause makes it:>)
DeleteThank you Laura. SALAS POWER!
DeleteThese are fun -- full of great images, rhythm. I enjoyed them and am inspired. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSleeping Beauty
ReplyDeleteAsleep, I dream of windows
and water, reflections of a world
awake. A world I can't view without
a layer between us, separating what
almost is from what is. Where dreams are
a life, stories are real. What else feeds me,
attends me, keeps me company? Welcome,
arrows of today, knives of tomorrow. Whomsoever
aims the tip of real life into my heart, wins me.
It's actually "whoever" in the second to last line. (Maybe that's a Thriller/Vincent Price-inspired mistake?)
DeleteHansel & Gretel
ReplyDeleteWhat could be more magical—
more mystical, more mythical—
than wandering through woods
with the one you love best?
especially if you’ve something
in your pocket—say a piece of
crusty bread—you could break
into bits and drop along the path
so you wouldn’t lose your way?
then even if you got lost—which you
wouldn’t, because you left a trail
of breadcrumbs—you wouldn’t be afraid,
because you’re with the one and only
person you love the very best, who—
in this case, just happens to be
your sister.
and even if it’s cold and dark and
lonely in that never-ending woods,
you could simply keep on wandering,
watching for signs, listening for sounds,
to guide you on your way.
except… what if a flock of hungry
birds spot your humbly, crumbly
footpath, and the single, soulful person
you love the very best
starts getting on your case about
how stupid it was to mark your path with
something edible, the forest being full
of bird-beaked types who like
to scavenge breadcrumbs for their lunch.
and what if just as you were ready
to drop, you glimpsed a tiny hovel
in the deepest, darkest woods
with a warm, inviting light
in its ripply golden windows?
and what if the inhabitant of
that cheerful little abode were
a nasty old witch who just
happened to be hungry when
the two of you showed up?
what would you do then, genius?
(that’s what your sister wants to know....)
(c) jgk, 2012
http://www.facebook.com/juliekrantzbooks
Hansel & Gretel
ReplyDeleteWhat could be more magical—
more mystical, more mythical—
than wandering through woods
with the one you love best?
especially if you’ve something
in your pocket—say a piece of
crusty bread—you could break
into bits and drop along the path
so you wouldn’t lose your way?
then even if you got lost—which you
wouldn’t, because you left a trail
of breadcrumbs—you wouldn’t be afraid,
because you’re with the one and only
person you love the very best, who—
in this case, just happens to be
your sister.
and even if it’s cold and dark and
lonely in that never-ending woods,
you could simply keep on wandering,
watching for signs, listening for sounds,
to guide you on your way.
except… what if a flock of hungry
blackbirds spot your humbly, crumbly
footpath, and the single, soulful person
you love the very best
starts getting on your case about
how stupid it was to mark your path with
something edible, the forest being full
of bird-beaked types who like
to scavenge breadcrumbs for their lunch.
and what if just as you were ready
to drop, you glimpsed a tiny hovel
in the deepest, darkest woods
with a warm, inviting light
in its ripply golden windows?
and what if the inhabitant of
that cheerful little abode were
a nasty old witch who just
happened to be hungry when
the two of you showed up?
what would you do then, genius?
(that’s what your sister wants to know....)
(c) jgk, 2012
http://www.facebook.com/juliekrantzbooks
Hansel & Gretel
ReplyDeleteWhat could be more magical—
more mystical, more mythical—
than wandering through woods
with the one you love best?
especially if you’ve something
in your pocket—say a piece of
crusty bread—you could break
into bits and drop along the path
so you wouldn’t lose your way?
then even if you got lost—which you
wouldn’t, because you left a trail
of breadcrumbs—you wouldn’t be afraid,
because you’re with the one and only
person you love the very best, who—
in this case, just happens to be
your sister.
and even if it’s cold and dark and
lonely in that never-ending woods,
you could simply keep on wandering,
watching for signs, listening for sounds,
to guide you on your way.
except… what if a flock of hungry
birds spot your humbly, crumbly
footpath, and the single, soulful person
you love the very best
starts getting on your case about
how stupid it was to mark your path with
something edible, the forest being full
of bird-beaked types who like
to scavenge breadcrumbs for their lunch.
and what if just as you were ready
to drop, you glimpsed a tiny hovel
in the deepest, darkest woods
with a warm, inviting light
in its ripply golden windows?
and what if the inhabitant of
that cheerful little abode were
a nasty old witch who just
happened to be hungry when
the two of you showed up?
what would you do then, genius?
(that’s what your sister wants to know....)
(c) jgk, 2012
http://www.facebook.com/juliekrantzbooks
Breadcrumbs
ReplyDeleteFrightened
Trees reach and tear
Our breadcrumb trail
Is no longer there
Stepmother
Sent us into the wood
Then we spy our safe haven
An enormous baked good
Grabbed
Into cages we are thrown
The witch will feed us
'Til fat we've grown
Escape
Less powerful without a coven
One swift kick
Sends our captor into the oven
Free
We are to stretch and roam
But we know we can never
Return to our home...
Two great breadcrumb additions! (Now I feel like baking for some reason. But not gingerbread.)
ReplyDelete