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Anne Sexton  Feb 2010
Cinderella
You always read about it:
the plumber with twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
From diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the big event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little gold slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
The don't just heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.
Grahame Jun 2014
“My Lady! My Lady! Arise from your bower,
    I’d show you something, come down from your tower!”
The maid into the Lady’s chamber goes,
    she is intent on telling her news.

“My handmaid, my handmaid, what’s all the row?
    Don’t you know I’ve been asleep until now?
I am in my bed, in nightclothes I’m dressed,
    so please impart to me, that which you feel pressed.”

“My Lady! My Lady! Please get out of bed!
    it needs to be shown you, it can’t just be said.
In your private garden is something to see,
    you wouldn’t believe it if you heard it from me.”

The Lady arises, and in her clothes dight,
    descends from the tower in the still of the night.
“Hurry, please hurry,” the handmaiden said,
    “lest what I would show you has already fled.”

They reach the tower’s base, both breathing hard,
    go out of the tower, and into the yard
That they walk across, right up to the gate,
    which the Lady unlocks, though the hour is late.

This garden is private, the demesne of the Lady,
    hedged and bowered, everywhere shady.
With windy gravel paths, carefully laid,
    and only attended by the Lady and maid.

This is her refuge, her own privy lair,
    where she’d repair, far from the care
Of running the castle, looking after the keep,
    which often oppressed her, until she could weep.

Her husband, the Lord, is oft-times away,
    in ‘The Field of Mars’, in the thick of the fray,
Leaving the Lady in the castle alone,
    who, for a pastime’s made the garden her own.

She lovingly tends the plants and the trees,
    which were chosen to tempt birds, butterflies and bees.
And, by selecting ones with strong scent,
    she could know, by smelling, at night where she went.

She now knows this garden like the back of her hand,
    and loves to walk through it, or simply to stand
Admiring the vistas, or taking the air,
    now, lead by the maid, she follows to where
A unicorn lies, wounded with a spear,
    stretched out in an arbour, showing no fear.

The Lady and maid, now hand-in-hand
    slowly approach, and before it do stand.
“My Lady, my Lady, now do you see why
    to observe it yourself I have brought you nigh?
If I’d said, in your garden was a unicorn,
    I fear you would have treated my words with scorn.”

“My handmaid, my handmaid, yes, you’ve done right,
    to bring me here, to show me this sight.
And now, we must help with this poor creature’s plight.
    We’ll pull out the spear, I hope that’ll be right.”

“Return to the castle and fetch water hot,
    and cloths to clean, and what simples we’ve got,
And needle and thread to mend this wound.
    Hurry! Go now! Don’t just stound!”

Back to the castle the maid does hurry,
    while, for the Lady, she does worry.
They’ve neither seen such a creature before,
    and know not if a grudge it bore.

Slowly the Lady approaches the beast,
    cinching her kirtle around her waist.
By its side on the ground she kneels,
    and slowly reaching out, she feels
The unicorn’s flank, to try to decide
    how far the spear has pierced its side,
While the unicorn, with lugubrious eyes,
    gazes at her face as still it lies.

Soon the maid returns with the gear,
    which she lays on the ground, conveniently near
To where the Lady is stroking the creature,
    staring in wonder at each feature.

Two brown eyes, limpid and large,
    a spiralling horn crowns its visage,
Muzzle and feet, all black as jet,
    hide as white as milk, unset.

Ears pricked up, alert and keen,
    tail and mane both long and sheyne.
They know not how long there it has lain,
    with open mouth, panting in pain.

The maid hands the Lady a dampened cloth,
    which she uses to mop up the blood, then doth
Grasp the shaft of the piercing spear,
    and with one pull, draws it clear.

The unicorn gives just one start,
    then lies there, still, although alert.
From the wound comes forth a little blood,
    which the Lady staunches as best she could.

The Lady does the wound clean and dress,
    and stitches the edges, neat as a seamstress.
She wipes the unicorn’s fevered brow,
    then she and the maid wonder what to do now.

The sun’s rays over the garden wall creep,
    So the arbour, still in shadow deep
Slowly brightens up, and then
    the beams light up the unicorn, when
A flash of light blinds their eyes,
    and when they can see, to their surprise,
At the place where lay the unicorn
    there’s now a girl lying, looking forlorn.

Amazed, the Lady and handmaid stare
    at the girl, with a stitched wound, lying there.
Seeing her naked, exposed to their sight,
    they cover her form with a length of samite.

The sun does slowly the arbour warm,
    and they think she’ll now be safe from harm,
Then gradually, she opens her eyes,
    looks at them, and then she cries.

Her whole body with her sorrow shakes,
    the arbour echoes with the sobs she makes,
She appears so fragile and delicate,
    and seems to be inconsolate.

The Lady, sitting by the girl’s side,
    is concerned that the wound might open wide.
So violent is the girl’s paroxysm,
    that she fears it might cause the suture to schism.

So taking the young girl in her arms,
    she cuddles her closely, to soothe her alarms,
And with gentle rocking to and fro,
    the girl, exhausted, to sleep does go.

Later, the Lady feels the girl’s hot,
    and realises she a fever has got.
From the simples she makes a febrifuge,
    which she administers in the arbour refuge.

The sun is almost overhead,
    so fleetingly the time has sped.
The arbour now is cool with shade,
    while the Lady continues administering aid.

The samite cloth is soaking wet,
    so some of the Lady’s clothes does the maid get.
Also fresh water, because she does think
    the girl might like a cooling drink.

She sees the girl is sitting up,
    so offers her water in a cup,
And then offers her a silken gown,
    though wonders if she can dress on her own.

The Lady asks, “Can you put this dress on?”
    Weakly, the girls says, “I’ll try anon.”
Although, when she tries, she cannot stand,
    so the maid offers to give her a hand.

With the help of the Lady and the maid,
    in the dress, the girl is arrayed.
And then she says, still seeming dismayed,
    “Thank you for your help, I’ve been so afraid.
And if you’ll continue sitting near,
    I’ll discover to you just why I am here.”

“My stepmother did me cruelly treat,
    though when with my father, she seemed so sweet,
And because his love, he between us divided,
    to separate us, she then decided”

“She semblanced gaity by day,
    while always looking for a way
To make me seem as a fool, or worse,
    and to appear in all things as perverse.”

“At night she magic studiéd,
    while my father, drugged, lay asleep in bed.
I tried to tell him of her deceit,
    though he always maintained she would not cheat.”

“Eventually, she found a way
    of letting me stay a fille by day
While becoming a unicorn filly at night.
    Against her magic I could not fight.”

“I knew it would break my father’s heart
    to discover his wife had used black art,
And so I thought it a kinder way
    to pretend to go on holiday.”

“I forged a letter from a friend
    inviting me to go and spend
A few weeks visiting her home,
    and took the chance to distantly roam.
And that is why I happened to come
    into these woods, near your home.”

“Because I’m a unicorn at night,
    I live in the woods, like an eremite.
I try to keep to my cave by day.
    I have found this is the best way.”

“As a lady in the wood,
    it’s difficult to find any food.
My clothes are ragged and all torn,
    I’m better off as a unicorn.”

“As a unicorn, I’m able to eat.
    There’s grass all around, and shoots so sweet.
There are ponds and streams where I can drink,
    and this is my best chance I think.”

“I left my cave early last night,
    however, there was still some light.
The sun had only just then set,
    and I, some grass, was eager to eat.”

“It was then I did realise
    I wasn’t alone. To my surprise
A band of hunters, going home,
    by chance through your woods did come.”

“They, straightway, their horns did sound,
    and then let slip their pack of hounds.
I desperately fled away,
    and from my cave was forced to stray.”

“I managed, in front of the pack, to keep,
    meanwhile, my strength, did slowly seep.
On reaching a river that did rapidly flow,
    I desperately leapt it, and over did go.”

“Just as I landed on the further bank,
    I felt a sharp pain in my flank.
A huntsman had chanced a spear to throw;
    I thought I’d been given a mortal blow.
Because the hounds couldn’t the river cross,
    they had to reckon me as a loss.”

“I carried on, full of fear,
    until, to the castle wall I came near.
Then seeing a garden gate open wide,
    I managed, painfully, to struggle inside.”

“I staggered into this arbour deep,
    hoping it would me safely keep.
Then, passing close by, walked your maid,
    and I made a noise though I was afraid.”

“I didn’t want to die alone,
    so I made a sound before she was gone.
I only wanted someone to be there,
    I didn’t expect to receive any care.”

“Your maid came in, quite unafraid,
    and saw me, as on the ground I laid.
And from her eye fell down a tear,
    so then I knew I’d naught to fear.”

“I could now die in company,
    except your handmaid said to me,
‘You stay there, some help I’ll get,
    I will not let you die just yet.’”

“So she brought you, and you helped me,
    and for that I’ll always grateful be.
And now, if you’ll kindly open that door,
    I’ll return to my cave and you’ll see me no more.”

The Lady and her maid said, “No!”
    adding, “from here we shall not let you go.
You have still got a crippling wound
    and for it to mend it needs to be bound.”

“My maid can fetch some serving men.
    They’ll carry you to my chamber, and then
We can give to you the care you need.
    With this plan I hope you’ll concede.”

The girl said, “Nay, this I must gainsay,
    I really must now go away.
How do you think you’ll cope with the sight
    of a unicorn in your bedroom at night?”

The Lady and handmaid thought about this.
    Then the Lady said, “I wis!
My old nursemaid lives near the wood.
    We’ll get you to her, I know we could.”

“She has a cottage and a little land,
    a stable and outbuildings round it stand.
For love of me she’ll look after you,
    I think that is the best thing to do.”

“My handmaid, fetch some serving men,
    and ask them to bring my litter, and then
They can carry the girl to my old nursemaid.
    You’ll be safe there, look not afraid.”

The handmaid goes to find some men,
    while the girl and Lady stay snug in their den.
The girl tells the Lady about her life,
    and the struggle to cope with the constant strife
Which arose from the stepmother treating her ill,
    while her father seemed totally bent to her will.

The maid returns with the men and the litter
    and though the girl said she does feel fitter,
They place her on it, and she’s then transported
    carefully to the nurse’s home. All is sorted.

To alert the nurse, the maid goes on ahead,
    and the nurse listens carefully to what is said.
She quickly makes a spare room ready
    to look after the girl, who is so needy.

The girl is gently placed on a cot,
    while the nursemaid, making some water hot,
Gives the girl a sleeping potion,
    and covers the sutured wound with a lotion.

She binds the wound with cloth that’s clean,
    then asks the Lady what it does mean.
The Lady asks her nurse, so dear,
    to keep it secret, which the nurse does swear.

The nurse then listens, quite bemused,
    how the wounded girl’s been so badly used.
And the outcome, really tragic,
    of the stepmother’s evil use of magic.

The nurse says that of course the girl may stay,
    and the garden’s enclosed, so she will not stray
At night, when become a unicorn,
    so she should be quite safe there alone.
And, furthermore, while the girl is there,
    she’ll try to find a way to save her.

The Lady and maid walk back to the tower,
    and start climbing the stairs to the Lady’s bower.
The Lady asks the maid about the gate,
    if she knows why it had been open so late.

The handmaid said, “I must confess,
    I knew the gate was open, yes.
Oh please try not to be angry with me,
    I had unlocked it with my key.”

“Why were you out, my maid, at night?
    Why couldn’t your business wait until light?”

“My Lady, I have made a match,
    a soldier who’s in your night-watch.
His duty’s at night, he sleeps by day,
    so I have managed to find a way
To see him sometimes, if I can,
    Together, we have made a plan.”

“Although he’s always on duty late,
    he’s occasionally stationed by the gate
Of this garden, near the bower,
    and then he lets me know the hour.”

“When he’s there, I use my key,
    to enter the garden secretly.
I go through it, to the gate,
    then open it, for some time with my mate.”

“So I suppose, when late last night,
    I had opened the gate for a sight
Of my leman, I must have forgotten to
    close it tight when to him I did go.”

“Then, later on, when going home
    through the garden, I heard a moan.
And tryi
Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr. Belaker
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker,
"Why did the **** crow,
Why am I lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd?
The tropical leaves are whispering white
As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away
By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid?
I raced through the leaves as white as water...
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her,
Left her...edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the sirens' Metropole and Grand;
And along the parade I am blown and lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd.
The guinea-fowl-plumaged houses sleep...
On one, I saw the lone grass weep,
Where only the whimpering greyhound wind
Chased me, raced me, for what it could find."
And there in the black and furry boughs
How slowly, coldly, old Time grows,
Where the pigeons smelling of gingerbread,
And the spectacled owls so deeply read,
And the sweet ring-doves of curded milk
Watch the Infanta's gown of silk
In the ghost-room tall where the governante
Gesticulates lente and walks andante.
'Madam, Princesses must be obedient;
For a medicine now becomes expedient--
Of five ingredients--a diapente,
Said the governante, fading lente...
In at the window then looked he,
The navy-blue ghost of Mr. Belaker,
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker--
And his flattened face like the moon saw she--
Rhinoceros-black (a flowing sea!).
topaz oreilly Dec 2012
There is nothing more than composing
sonnets  and blank verse,
like Larkin and Heaney never willingly leaving home,
seeing character and landscape grow:
no television, by view of partition
a barbed wire sandwich
a calculated drip feed reaction.
Don Bouchard Apr 2017
There'd only plundering be;
If all of us were wolves,
No sheep could flee....

Oh, the pirate's life for thee.
And the pirate's life for me,
And the world were all in flames,
And the world were all in flames.

If everyone were pirates,
Why, villains all we'd be,
And every deck-born swab
Would glower at you and me

With our laces and our kerchiefs,
And our killer pirate wigs
As we stormed across the continents and seas;
As we stormed across the continents and seas.

And good men, none, would live their lives,
With the gentling help of their good wives;
And children, all, would yell and terrorize,
Chasing down the nursemaid with the kitchen knives.

If everyone were pirates,
No farmers, and no fishers on the beach,
No bakers, and no soldiers continental,
No doctors, and no teachers left to teach,
No preachers and no sermons for to preach,
But only pirates coming up the streets...
But only pirates coming up the streets.
Response to a poem "From the Sunken Chest"  read here at 3:45 AM. Yikes!
S R Mats Mar 2015
Sun burns away the day, Night is born,
Wrapped in blankets of clouds, handsome lad.

Tell the stars that I am jealous of the moon,
For with the dying of each new day;

Crystal orb with swaddling of mist and light,
Nursemaid that she is-

She attends, O precious delight,
The infant Night!
This is an old poem of mine.
Terry Collett Mar 2012
You’re ill in bed.
You think you’re
Dying, but no one

Will affirm or deny,
They just come and

Go with smiles and
Kind words and only
Molly comes to wash

And change you and
Feed what little will

Stay down. The bed
Creaks when you move,
The phone beside the

Bed never rings, the
Curtains let in little

Light, the clutter of
Years of living hang
On walls or sit idle on

Shelves gathering dust
Despite Molly doing her

Best and being quite
The one for work and
Bustle. You miss her

When she doesn’t come,
You miss her gentleness,

Her soft touch to brow
And body. But when he
Comes with his beady eyes

And gruff words you feel
The closeness of death

Breathing in your *****.
He’s gone now, business
In the city, meeting to be

Arranged, money to make,
Life to be lived. The house

Is silent now, except for
The far away sounds of
Passing traffic in the street,

The hushing voices down
In the hall or on the corridor

Outside your door. Your body
Aches; the memory of love
And embraces and kissing are

Fading into gloom of day after
Dayness. The children are kept

Away to prevent the spread,
You hear their voices, their
Running feet, soft, soft, soft,

Gone. The time must be getting
Late, you feel the need to urinate,

You wish the curtains were open,
Wish the light would invade.
He comes and stands by your

Bed looking to see if you’re still
Living, he’ll come to the room

Smiling once he hears that you’re
Dead. Molly comes just in time,
Her gentle hands, her soft voice,

Wipes your brow, pumps the pillows
Beneath your head. Just a nursemaid
Now, no more the lover in your bed.
Broken Arpeggio Dec 2017
Growing up in a loud and boisterous world,
makes it easy to seek solace in the
shadows
It allows for a fine-tuning of the senses,
in order to mirror what those around you
show

Quietly and dutifully, you play nursemaid
to everyone else's needs
Eventually losing touch with that inner voice that pleads

Remaining consistently neutral and in-tune
with others, has seemingly served
you well
Though the waves of ignored and
forgotten emotions, uncontrollably start
to swell

So becoming comfortable projecting a
voice, that you never really had
Is quite the challenging and daunting task
to an introverted empath
It's easy to lose yourself while being genuinely concerned for the well-being of others! It actually can take on a life of its own, if done long enough...Never forget that an empathetic soul, that willingly and easily hides among a crowd, also needs to be heard and nurtured!
wordvango Apr 2017
My three daughters and I
Spot, Blue and sweet Timex,
live within the walls
of this Verona like  apartment,
Missy, the Black Lab who played nursemaid
to these three I believe, aided and abetted
sweet Timex's foray.
I, a Capulet, truly love my daughters
but easily fly into rages,
wishing a fair and providing man for them,
not the hell of the Montague clan,
namely bighead. Bighead roams the streets the alleys the back woods
no earnings or propriety,
no means to his unmatted fur,
his wild houls in the night, testament.
The nurse then, on a late night, asked to go out.
I tired, got complacent and out timex flied!
She returned a week later,
not the young kitten, playful,
but a Cat, with hunger in her eyes.
Spot and Blue, still are eager to discover the outsides,
Probably filled in on all that is there,
by Timex. And she no longer plays.
She even meows different now,
seems to meow
O Bighead, wherefore art thou Bighead!

— The End —