Once upon a time
deep in the woods, beyond the pines
where light was green, filtered through lush canopy
there, where the soaked earth remained for days
there, where the birds took solace from beasts
roamed a little old She in a clearing.
Her grizzly mane, the yellowed teeth,
those manic eyes beneath the fringe,
or such smile as there ever was,
the curdling cacophony
circles upon circles at the edge of trees
her eyes ever scanning, ever seeking
the one and only path to free.
There was a day of old in memory
when the woods had be thinner still
and dear old Papa had seemed caring
leading his kids to safety, hungry and in need.
Not such a good Papa, thought she
staring back at the old house, crumbling,
soaked like cookie in tea.
She’d been a young one once,
with a name, and a sibling
till the evil old witch thought she’d feed.
Round and round the trees she went, manic and mad,
freedom from the trees,
no more bread crumbs remained,
Just weak old Gretle, frail.
Lonesome and loathing were the days.
it’s no joke,
whether it teeters
Such it is.
mingling in between
own and other’s.
Such it is.
with lonesome origins,
yet lonesome feared,
in companies wallowed,
Such it is.
I walked a mile in her shoes
to see how it truly felt
the pain of ignorance
constantly thrown her way
and taunts and anger
barging their way,
and truly, I felt the anguish
the cry for help
and sometimes, the defending silence
as if in mourning she’d stepped
a drawn out goodbye
I could feel the lost hope
the lost will
to fight so much for her own life
her own way,
and there upon the edge of her world
I stood aghast
unable to stop her
from stepping into air
muttering under trembling breath,
‘Forgive me, love,
I couldn’t live their way.
I couldn’t dream of letting you go
so I let life go instead.
…and I gasped…
drenched upon the bed
in the dark room.
how do you look?
Be you made of plastic
or would that be wood?
Do thy possess no flaws
in your manicured grasp,
or that slight suave
of swaying hips?
Will you laugh openly to a bad joke
or cover and deliver a short giggle, upon poised perch?
And when you speak
do words float out, candied
or are your game to show a side of humanity? Or perhaps, Miss Feisty?
Should I concede, now and again
that beauty is as far as eyes can see?
Guided by sweetened words and batting eyes?
Cause that woman down the corner,
with neigh perfect smile
nor stance and swaying hips
to look upon you and compare
as though orange to strawberry?
Can that woman not claim an ounce of beauty,
for wearing her heart of gold
on her sleeve?
(Inspired by conversation between two people.)
I pray for miracle
such you won’t believe
those few magic moments
and we see your gaze
that such be the sight
when a stone turns
before primal eyes
locked in tandem
with a madam whose glimpse
are sworn to curse
freeze the very blood to stone
that today hisses itself
and you behold
the beauty unseen
beneath a layer of snake skin
the raw vulnerability
protected by venoms indeed
for can you imagine
what the world would heap
upon one such as she.
(Wow! Don’t ask me what happened here! I began with the first line and had no direction I wanted to take the piece. I have no idea how it came to be about Medusa, but there it is. An oddity if ever I saw one. Hope you enjoyed it regardless.)
I am staring at the clock
the clock is staring back at me
lets see who wins
Ok. A word of warning to those who venture forth through my newest, pipping hot poetry. Read in reverse or you’ll simply get lost! Don’t ask me why I wrote it in reverse. I certainly didn’t set out with that in mind. An art does what an art does, I simply jot it down. What you guys think of it? Working, or EPIC fail? 🙂
she who now lives dreaming.
at those living simply
she who used to laugh
she is taking
I can’t believe this be the road
you must be joking
has fallen for a 9-5suit immaculately
she who laughed at silliness of others
anything more than the air
over a man who never was
has simply fallen
flimsy soul with no more room for life
to never be caught with another
she who swore on her mother
and cry for mercy
she who made them weep
and instead grew up climbing trees
and doe-eyed teens
she who used to laugh at school yard crushes
re-weaving stories of fairy tales and make beliefs
she’d find her prince one day
She used to say