poem IP: 108.36.201.172 Posted on January 3, 2024 at 10:29:41 PM by January13th1959born
Rumpelstiltskin (feeling grim) got rebranded as outré designer couture
The daughter of a miller
abducted, exiled, held
locked as prisoner didst bawl
achingly, effusively,
indubitably murmured plaintively
quite riotously didst call
out for help,
when stalked plus combined
with plow wing John Deere reaper
nary a blues clue how to drawl,
a gentle southern twang
the heap of straw,
she needed to transform
into gold before the fall
low wing break of dawn,
a demand made from king of Gaul,
who decreed death
to Mister McGrain
attested boasted claimed
his daughter adept
in the art of alchemy
(taught from a spin stir, the secret
to whip – coolie -gold
from thin air) rake a haul
which lit up
like King Midas eyes,
demanded said girl
of thee papa must install;
the golden flaxen edenic dame
abhorred, decried, groaned jowl
near dropping to the floor,
which sends this
teller of tall tales
returns me back into
infinitely jesting feedback loop
at opening sentence
of this poetic riff,
where poor lass
shuttered within dank,
dark cell staring
distraught at floor to ceiling mass
of dry stalks counting down
hours, minutes, seconds
when she will pass
into maws of death,
when within blink
oven aye, a munchkin – sass
soon before tears
of condemned girl
yet to dry –
appeared reedy like worthy words
spatulate like leaves of grass
who vouchsafed, he could
enrich trumpeting
donned king lear
and within a flash,
where once piled fetid,
dried, brittle appeared
blinding glare
ring mouth watering
most precious metal –
inducing fair maiden to grin ear
to ear, and eagerly
anticipated his majesty,
who (spoiler alert)
made her his dear
lee beloved queen,
whence royal family
opened shop for rich –
no doubt, that would,
which clothing boutique
for wealthy translucently,
quintessentially logically clear
of course incorporating
pomp and circumstance
plus knights templars blare
ring thee positive turn of fate,
whence palace exuded festive air.
fast forward to at least a year
post golden fleeced couture
when with a “poof”,
the trawling impish hunchback
of Notre Dame glowered
thence slammed wrought
iron drawbridge door
when divine mother
begat plethora of progeny
bade bon jure
upon correctly guessing
the name of mite size roar
ring elfin grot,
who out of rage tore
himself in half –
as if within him exploded
a civil war
akin to music scene
five plus decades ago
when Elvis Presley of yore
set off a metaphorical hand grenade,
rocket ting propelled opportunity
shattering ethics, graces, habitués
freaked out the older generation,
perhaps a relation
such as your mommy
or daddy, who felt helpless
against the tsunami surge
wresting provocative
purported debasement
corrupting the innocence
and naïveté reverberating
until prurience ran rampant
such as on this green day.
Replies:
Re(1): poem - By oaskehyMarch 29, 2024 at 10:22:58 AM
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