Category: Poetry

Rhymed and unrhymed, form or free, this is where the poetry lives.

Snow White Revisited – Part I

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Once they’d been happy, just her, the kind, sweet king she’d married and his little girl that she’d vowed to raise as her own. Of course he was gone a lot. Dragons, wars, and such took up a lot of his time, and sometimes he was away for weeks.


He’d programmed her laptop’s desktop to show a picture of her with an audio clip that said ‘Who’s the fairest of them all? You are my Queen.’
It was part of a silly little poem he’d written for her years ago, and it was comforting to hear his voice when he was away, so she tended to listen to it a lot.

Then one day he didn’t come home, damn dragon, there hadn’t even been a body to bury. And Snow White, the sweet little girl, now in high school, rebelled royally.

‘You’re not my real mother’ Snow hissed at her regularly. ‘I’m a princess, I can do whatever I want’ and she’d flounce off. The queen sighed and sent the huntsman to trail her, just to be sure Snow didn’t get into any serious mischief.
One day Snow got into the Queen’s laptop and erased the audio clip, substituted her own picture for the one of the young queen, and recorded a new clip. ‘Who’s the fairest in the land? Why Snow White of course!’

The queen went ballistic. The only way to ever hear his voice again, gone. Her heart broke, it was the last straw.

Snow White get in here this instant” she roared. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Of course, the threat was just a figure of speech. She’d actually planned something a bit less final, although still quite drastic

‘Where are those brochures for Princess Reform School? ’she muttered.

But Snow hadn’t heard a word. Snow White had wandered off again and this time she had managed to elude the huntsman. By the time he reported back to the queen all they knew was that a small, shifty looking character had been talking to her in the school parking lot and she’d gone off with him into the woods.

 to be continued…

 

#164

Spring Hopes

lindastudleyLeave a comment

Hope springs eternal
Spring hopes are eternal too
That’s why we garden.

Though deer nibble shoots,
bugs skeletonize leaves and
aphids slurp plant juice,

late frosts breath icy death,
too much rain, or too little,
drown and parch in turn.

Quack grass strangles roots,
the wind sucks the soil dry,
and slugs vandalize.

Northern gardening
has it’s challenges, it’s true
but hope springs, Spring hopes.

 

#163

How to Transplant a Flower – or – How a Child is Like a Flower

lindastudleyLeave a comment

Know where you’re going.
Make sure there is a soft and comforting bed
with all the flower needs to thrive at hand.

Work quickly.
The limbo between old home and new home
is a dangerous place and flowers wilt easily.

Sever as few roots as possible.
Flowers need roots to grow, severing too many
will stunt them and make them terribly sad.

Avoid high winds and blazing sun.
Tender little roots will shrivel under the onslaught
of nature’s volatile moods. Choose a cool, soft day.

Transplant into a nourishing environment.
Soft soil to dig their wee toes in, rain puddles,
sunshine; these are the things a flower needs.

It’s maintenance from there on.
A flower depends upon you for protection from weeds,
and pests, and unkind hands that pluck pretty flowers.

Be prepared to train the flower in how it should grow
with a loving hand, prune away the bad stuff,
provide frameworks for them to climb upon.

That’s how you transplant a flower.

 

#161

Sometimes I Think

lindastudley10 Comments

Sometimes I think I think too much
I lean upon my comfy crutch
and, in introspective vanity
diagnose my own insanity.

I’d like to toss the crutch away
I’d like to stand up straight and say
‘I understand my true calling.”
but I’m so afraid of falling

that all I strengthen is my clutch
upon the ever present crutch.
The crutch I built year after year
from self inflicted guilt and fear.

Sometimes, in retrospect I see
that crutch has been no friend to me.
It’s not a very comfy crutch.
and sometimes I think I think too much.

 

#160

My Brain – Part IV

lindastudley3 Comments

Mother Ship this is the Poet at the Bottom of the Well,
I have landed in the middle of my brain.

Sit rep, Poet.

Atmosphere is thick, turning on the fog lamps. Whoa,
pretty cluttered in here, lots of things to trip over.

What kind of things Poet at the Bottom of the Well?

Mostly garbage but, oh, hang on, here we go
some very nice engrams here, definitely worth saving.

Should I send in a clean up team?

Negative, Mother Ship. Just send in some of those big orange
trash bags and a sandwich and I’ll clean it up myself. A clean up team would probably wreck as much as it saves.

Take the weekend, Poet, and get it done.

Affirmative Mother, better send down a couple of sandwiches, Poet out.

#159

The Door

lindastudley4 Comments

Asleep I am aware
Awake I can ignore
And in the drowsy place between
the two there is a door.

I know it leads to answers but
I cannot seem to find
the strength or the ambition
to unlock my mind.

Or maybe I’m afraid
of what’s behind the door.
Asleep I am aware
Awake I can ignore.

 

 

#158

The Fray

lindastudley5 Comments

Once more, once more into the fray
but what the poet didn’t say
was once that fray is overcome
you’ll probably face another one.

It seems for some the fray’s eternal
whether inner or external.
for fray is just another term
for strife and every breath confirms

that fray is just around the bend
waiting for you once again,
once more, once more until you say
‘no more, no more into the fray.’

 

#157

What to Do

lindastudleyLeave a comment

One day when the weather is perfect
and my chores are all caught up and done
when my aches and pains have all vanished
and there’s nothing to do but have fun
I’ll enjoy it for maybe ten minutes,
before tiring of this reward,
then turn to you and say “C’mon,
let’s start something new, I’m bored!”

 

#156