"rumpelstiltskin" poems
In go the stabs to my synthetic skin.
Sew my eyes,
recreate them with the charm of Rumpelstiltskin’s tricks.
Stitch my lips,
Color them with the scarlet of Snow White’s cursed apple.
Snip my hairs,
String together the golden threads of Rapunzel’s deathly charm.
Stuff my *******
Fill them with the ingredients of witches’ wildest fantasies.
Mold my legs,
Fit them in for the glasswork of Cinderella shoes.
Tattoo my heart,
make each beat a praiseworthy beauty.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.
Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,
its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;
up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.
Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward...this baby that I bleed.
6k
First name:
A fire red, carrot orange, and dull rust
A dusty-on-the-outside-bright-spicy-and-wet-on-the-inside tuber
A dancer and cartoon
Second name:
Three short letters, one tonal syllable
From my mother's motherlanguage
Joy
Last name:
Hill of deer in German
(Also a Jewish name?)
Sounds like a chocolate sandwich
Makes my name a score of letters long
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
Today I went on a treasure hunt.
Not in search of one-eyed *****
Or
A new life for myself,
But rather
The old one.
Not for the sake of nostalgia
Was my search,
But for a poem.
The words of someone else
That you thoroughly believed
Carried your heart
Into my own ears.
But I was deaf back then.
Before I developed my selective hearing,
Insisting on my revelation miracle.
Until I
Limited my ears
Only to hear
Your lamentations and tongue-lashings;
Before I chose to
Blind myself
To the
Kindness
Hidden behind your fear.
In our prehistory,
You sent me
A piece of your heart,
Still sopping with heartbreak
Beating with rejection.
You sent me
Someone else’s poem
And now I wonder,
If you knew
You were planting a seed
That when watered,
With months of silence and
Countless looks that passed right through,
Would grow into a beanstalk
That I would climb
To reach back into
Our
Brothers Grimm Love Affair.
With no happy ending in sight
I stepped higher,
Knowing what turmoil I had left
Above.
I awaited the curses we cast
And the wishes we wasted
And I was poised for war;
With my armor coated,
Repellent of
Sarcasm and aggression,
I marched back to look at our battlefield
Ready as any warrior.
I was not ready, though, for memories
That looked as appealing
As Prince Charming,
With the face of
A queen.
No, my love
We did not have a
Happily ever after
But, our
Once upon a time
Wasn't half so wretched.
We were the
Fairytale in reverse.
Meeting at the ball,
In all our glory.
Leaving breadcrumbs
Back to the life that was familiar;
The ones that we didn't realize
We were running away from.
But at the ball,
Looking more beautiful
Than any princess in all of the land,
I met you
On your throne,
Refusing to Rise
In all your queen-like splendor,
Hearing from my
Little bird
That you would request
My presence.
I, your humble maiden,
Approached with
The caution of
A girl who only had
One shoe,
Breaking under the weight of memory.
And while you
Were offering me riches,
I was playing
Goldilocks,
Trying to find the home
That was just right
To rest my heart.
Little did I know
That I had bumped into Rumpelstiltskin,
Thinking he was gold
Luring me away
With me thinking
My heart was sold.
Only now
After I found
That gold weighs
Far too heavy
On someone
Who's only just grown wings
Is it that I find the moral of this story.
And so,
As I gaze at you,
With your now fair maiden
I say a solemn
“Thank you”,
For sending
Your love letter
In another's handwriting,
Because,
Although I never struck it rich,
I realize that the treasure was not in the
Happily ever after,
After all,
But all the magic
In Between.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
In the barren bowl
Of the local park
There is more brown
Than green
And naked trees
Rest like tired moths
Upon grass
That has been lacerated
By studded shoes
And knees and toes
And elbows
That have ploughed it
Bare.
The edges of the path
Look like eyebrows
Scant
Poorly plucked
And rats-tail
Mongrels
Scatter and shred
Across the carpet
Sodden
Sinewy.
Jarring teenage love
Letters
Sit upon February
The fourteenth
Like it is a mantelpiece of
Glass
Tip blue hair to grey sky
Beiged fingers
Intertwine
Black fingernails
Fumble
They watch their childhood haunts
Through the frosted panes
Of spectacle windows
And wonder why
Nostalgia dies so bitter
Today.
*Kiss my empty skin
Waiting.*
I find myself a love affair
In the sky
Clouds form a coastline
A single dribble of peach
Taints the ash
Like careless words
And I tilt my chin towards it
Already the spindle of my mind
Turns
And begins to weave
Gold from straw.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Your fingertips
Heal me…
Just that soft touch to my face
When my tears stream down my face
Defining that my whole world
Had a hurricane
And that no sunny days
Are approaching
Just the rain
And the wind
And that bad vibe
But you can heal me…
Your fingertips
Have that soft touch
That mends my heart together
Without plasters but with magic
It’s touch turns my hair
Into fine wool
And my skin into soft silk
My eyes then become
Your favourite colour,
Green
And all the rags become riches
And all the tears become
Nourishing water that heals
Only because of your touch
Please heal me
With your fingertips
That lay a soft touch on my body
Just caress the scars
And let them turn to brave soldiers
On my skin that fight back
To whatever tries to hurt me
I don’t want that depression
I don’t want that hurt
I just want your soft touch
I want your fingertips to heal me
I want them to spin my heart into gold
Just like the miller’s daughter with straw
In Rumpelstiltskin
Can you do that?
My back is brutally beaten
With twigs that have thorns
And bullets always pierce
Through my body
But knives constantly stab
Through my heart
Just stabbing
And stabbing
And stabbing
I need that to stop!
My back is hurting
And my body is numbing
But my heart no longer has
Oxygenated blood in it
Will you be able to touch it?
Will you be able to put
Your hand through my chest
And just touch my heart
With your soft bare hands
That feel like cotton candy
Not because it’s healing is sweet
But because it’s healing is gentle
Fact is
That your fingertips heal
They have a soft touch
So soft that they can turn
My heart amnesiac
I need to forget,
But I only need you
And your soft touch
To help me…
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 9:10 AM UTC
Rumpelstiltskin caught the clap
Miss Muffet got a slap
Breadcrumbs leading to the gap,
Indicated on Grimm’s map.
The Magic mirror’s spewing crap
Helping the Huntsman continually fap.
The Third Little Pig, stripped of his red wig.
Booked a new gig, on Cinderella’s oil rig.
Snow White fell back asleep.
Creepy dwarves tentatively creep
The Big Bad Wolf’s known to weep.
Staring regretfully at the flock of Lil Bo-Peep.
Mother Goose’s gone years without a peep.
Recognizing that royalties shouldn’t come cheap.
Humpty Dumpty forgot the wall, forewarned of the inevitable fall.
Beauty left Beast at the mall, said kind words, but never did call.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
For her 18th birthday
Her parents,
Who were good Christians thankyouverymuch,
Bought her a golden cross
To wear around her neck
*On her 20th birthday
She sold that necklace
And told her parents she lost it
While pulling her shirtsleeve down
To cover the marks on her arm*
On her 23rd birthday
Her high school sweetheart
Put a dainty ring
Onto her even daintier finger
*On her 24th birthday
Her husband asked where her ring was
“Oh, it’s just up in my jewelry box”
She said.
Her dainty fingers
Had become too skeletal to wear it*
On her 26th birthday
She gave birth
To a lovely baby girl
With one straw colored curl
That looked like gold in the sun
*On her 26th birthday
A woman in a black suit
With a court order
Took her first born away
She never knew the woman’s name*
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
in pealing season, she is a girl of lousy ingrowth
she is an unkempt corner; kitchen sink. legs pulled like knives. phone call her curled tendons; isolation in
grit and fibril
she is women with wings. this is how we stymie the rapunzel. we carve the ugly into her. we teach her to wear skin like saran. skin like punishment
cut-coin the rumpelstiltskin. how she is wound and string, paper-doll; bird-in-a-box
how we wring the juice of her on washcloth. hung upturned from the ceiling fang; plucked and feathered
like apology. cherry-picked; veins like mikado. how it is dark and she is blind-bat wind-warriors; waterboarded with no hands
upturning the paper boats of her in every follicle; how the flipswitch insecurity eats her like pickle. in a storm
she is neither nor tongue nor limb
just breast, bone, the weight of mirrors
how we jettison when the grief is heavy. abandon. thick, empty abandon.
alone in grit-cusps when the monsoon has eaten into the white, wispy mortuary. dark in hallways; yet pale and slender. she is beautiful.
we lift her ribbed corpse off the shoreline.
we unload the offering like red carpet;
this is how we wrap her in white and weary-eyed
translucent. how unavoidable we become when we are the last hope. crippled. when we look hope in the eye. askance. how she will beg you to look at her with the heart in the honey-jar; torso in tourniquet
how the walls are ripped in shades of askance. how we look away.
how us, walls, look away.
how, us, walls, askance.
how we drip of askance; how the pink flesh and cherry-limb slips like matchstick on brushfire
how there is purple and primrose and bruise
there are some spots on the floor where it still reeks purple and yellow and bruise
how we are
lousy
ingrowth
here. how we
try
to
pluck
and erase
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
steam-roller log-pipe and blackberry moonshine, granny-apple moonshine--straight-potato-thwack... three firelit mason-jars of lighter-fluid fire, balanced on a railing; our Rumpelstiltskin host at length shouts, "Hide it! Hide the shine!" as headlights dim the moon, "Cops" is mumbled each to each; but no, wait--it's his buddy and his wife, come to sell some ginseng weeks before the violent umbel-berry date, a pretty $50,000 supplement to living, breathing mountain dirt
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Am filling my right eye with sand and i'm blinking fine
So clear, Rumpelstiltskin, i knew your name
But the womb won't do
You yourself have feet like mother --
They are dancing and stamping on you
Realize what they really are
The heart can't beat for so long
You didn't wish you were so strong
In my eyes you are grained,
Enough to feed on your own
And i bit my nails but they
Kept growing long
And i cut my hair but it kept growing long
And the skin is dry, tongue and teeth are dry
The knees tinted pink and they fade-
Back then the chest wasn't so heavy
Too much water, maybe
We kept drying the air, the sky
We kept burying clouds in the lungs
And now are broke for buying too many headstones-
Rumpelstiltskin, i know your name
So clear, now i tell you, the womb won't do
You yourself have feet like mother
Dance and stamp on me -- it won't do
So clear, now i tell you, the villagers never liked you---
We had so much water it was too easy to drown
We had so much water it was so hard to walk
We had so much water we even couldn't talk
So clear, Rumpelstiltskin, i knew your name
Am filling my right eye with sand and i'm blinking fine -- except i stop crying i will be fine
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
we are back to ten
preteen novelties, bralettes, tents
you meditating, holy book in hand
quiet scribbles, I pen something for you
a meditation on how the light falls
so strikingly on your face
ink bleeds through the page
you are in so many of my dreams
knight in shining armour
rumpelstiltskin twirling, spinning gold
I hear you say “she’s so deranged I’ll take her”
I smile and look away
something fragile flutters
I catch myself blushing
this moment blossoms
into a hundred more bad poems
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
I was awakened
from my dream,
chased away
by dying screams.
****** scenes
filled my head
until it bursted at the seams.
I lay upon my bed,
sunlight pouring through the screens,
Rumpelstiltskin looming over:
the example of serene.
"Mr. Prince, you're awake,
and unharmed, as you can see."
Said the mountain of corruption
that towered over me.
"We shared a little piece
of what makes us both unique.
You saw gutted, sloppy, ******
with an underlying greed.
Deprivation, destitution,
the ********** lies beneath:
This putrefaction on the outside
reflects the horrors I have seen."
The beast again looked hurt,
then his face was wiped clean.
"While you recovered,
while you slumbered,
I have crafted you this thing.
It will take you to the brightest.
It will lead you to The Queen,
but you decide when you arrive
how you further will proceed,
when you gaze upon her face,
and you wish for it to bleed."
From behind his twisted back,
appeared a mirror lain with gold.
Rose and thorn and stem
adorned the filigree of its mold.
The glass of the mystery
showed depths I leave untold,
and the handle in my grip
felt of ice, it was so cold.
"Before I leave you to your quest,
be warned, I hold your heart in thrall.
A little piece of you to keep,
a price to pay so very small.
When your objective do you seek,
Ask the mirror. That is all:
Place it high upon the mantle,
and its magic you will call."
I did as he instructed,
and I summoned up my gall.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
where's the brightest one of all?
The burning flame, spells unclean,
I seek to find the evil queen.
The people fear her blackened hand,
whose shadow darkens all the land,
and so to seek this darkest night,
I must find this brightest light."
The mirror seemed to grow, and swell,
and shrink, and twist, and glow as well.
It seemed as though a cosmic veil
was thrown aside, and truth prevailed.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:27 PM UTC
"Mr. Prince," Drooled the demon,
"I have paid the price for greed.
Dealing with worse than I
has made me what you see."
The lich stuttered when he said this,
pained to recall the deed.
Once again, the same thorn
made Rumpelstiltskin bleed.
"The degradation to my body
may have left my mind free,
but in order to make magic
on this scale, I have a need
for a life force, a will…
The kind of spark that starts a seed:
Small and bright, packed in tight,
with all the power of a tree.
Do I look as though
I have that kind of power left in me?
If I killed you in the process,
what kind of deal would that be?
I do not wish your death.
This you must believe,
by your heart, I mean your aura,
if you know what that word means.
It is a bright one...
Though not the brightest I have seen.
You will not die,
you will not sleep,
but more of something in between.
I will use your vitae,
Spiritus ichor,
you may not like what you perceive,
but from this force,
from this chakra,
I will fashion you a thing.
It will show you to your desert.
It will show you to the queen.
It indicates the brightest aura,
anywhere from here to sea,
and of them all, we know
that the strongest one is she."
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:37 AM UTC
i told you there would be a christmas poem
and i meant it at the time
but hours got away
there was a cough and i needed sleep
or thought i did
there is a full moon out
and somebody out there in the world
just thought about me so hard
that it sent chills from my head
down my back
and i thought to myself
i hear you
it has been a tough year
and i know that
i've said that before
but my mettle has been tested
and when the chips were down
i thought i was done
maybe not so much anymore
i seem to have got a second wind
i may still skip out of the stress-full job
and go back to time travelling
in the eighteenth century
they have wool there
and i can spin threads
just like old rumpelstiltskin
i can do that, you know,
have spinning wheel
will travel
my nest is far from empty
but i have suffered
from the eldest little eaglet
flying away
just a couple of three states
for six months so far
but no
i'm just not ready for it
she flew in for christmas
and wanders in and out of the house
still gone
but somewhere in the same county
at least
it is good to keep a sense of humor
especially in the midst
of all the tragedy
i understand now
what my grandmother meant
when she said
'why couldn't it be me?'
i would have taken any of their places
they were too young for funerals
but still i here am
and so many lessons left to learn
at my young old age
and merry new year to all of you
you are still my best gift
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
The man I met, short of height
was lightly built, with pale skin.
He was covered in dripping sores
As if to vent the ill within.
He was decayed to the core;
it had worn his frame thin.
"Hello, my friend," his mouth extruded,
Saliva flowed upon his chin.
"I have no want," I replied,
"For a beast so full of sin,
that his body has surely died,
long before him."
His brutish face contorted
and he looked as if chagrined.
"Don't let your eyes deceive you,
I believe you won't again,
once you've tasted of the power
Of Rumpelstiltskin."
At this, I knew for sure,
If I fought, I would not win,
So I listened, and I thought,
That I felt frost upon the wind.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:17 AM UTC
"You say you wish to slay me, prince,
yet you barter with ease
with- what was it you said?
Dead flesh and mal disease?
What do you see?
Corpse meat?
The food of flies?
Yet you demand what you please!
You haven't heard my price, prince.
Let me give you reprieve:
You may not want to part,
but it's your heart that I need.
I will have my payment full,
if you wish to see my deed."
"My heart indeed!
You ask for only everything!"
My voice rose in pitch
as my words grew in speed.
"Vile wretch!
How am I to stop what summer brings,
without a heart to beat inside my chest
and blood for it to clean?"
Is this a dream?
What does this creature mean?
He needs a pulse?
He needs a life?
He needs a heart for conjuring?
Rumpelstiltskin let me think
while he poured himself a drink.
It was thrown into his mouth,
from which rose a vile stink.
Blackened gums and septic teeth
caged a tongue, red and pink,
and saliva, ever always,
filled the dam and breached the brink.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
"I've a story that I'll share,
if you think you can attend.
It seems I know a little more
than you think that I pretend.
There's an evil in your house,
on which your lover's life depends.
There are wheels set in motion,
and it isn't gold they spin."
I cut the air in half
between my sword-blade
and his chin.
"Are you threatening my household?"
I growled; rage built within.
He turned his eyes upward:
Proffered breast to razor's whim.
In his sickness, he seemed ready
to meet his life's end.
Indecision overtook me:
Hesitation, paper thin,
Gave advantage to the monster
that was Rumpelstiltskin.
He pushed it in.
The sword pierced the rotted flesh
unlike any live men
I had ever pierced in battle
when evil commanded them.
He thrusted forward,
the light in his eyes dim,
until nose to nose he faced me;
No sword would divide him.
"Now, please, Mr. Prince,
I'd like to provide hymn,
although the subject of my sermon
isn’t divine sin.
Here stands the castle
that your wife resides in.
What is she doing, sleeping soundly,
Safe within your den?
Yet as we speak,
there is a serpent,
No brute leviathan,
but no less deadly,
I assure you,
or I'm not Rumpelstiltskin."
At this time, with a flourish,
he whipped around in sudden spin,
and the sword within his heart
was cast aside into the glen.
His twisted, mangled face
made a somehow violent grin.
I used that very moment
to turn heel and fly from him.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
I found the room was gone,
leaving my head spinning.
I was standing near a mountain,
vast chasm grinning.
Lamps within the cavern
took their turns dimming
as the wind teased their flames:
The tongues of dragons spitting.
I flew back into my head
as I heard the rock splitting.
So The Queen hides herself
beneath a mountain's peak...
I knew of only one summit
she could reach at any speed.
Suddenly, I was filled
with a sense of dire need.
Righteous rage, smelted anger,
rose to bloom inside of me.
The weight of knowledge,
and of hope,
forged a blade of urgency.
Is this blade of mine a tool?
Is pressing rage a strategy?
...Or am I forced to play the fool?
Is this tale a tragedy?
While I reacted to the visions,
I shook violently,
and heard the gurgle of the beast,
as he breathed in labored heaves.
"Listen filth;
He who is made of dead leaves,
if only for the reason
he is what the worms eat.
There is less purpose for you
than there is for rotted meat.
Why are you so intent
on that I try and I succeed?
What business is it of yours,
I wield a sword against The Queen?"
At every curse uttered,
Rumpelstiltskin seemed to lean
a little lower, in the shoulders,
like the sadness of defeat,
but once again, he drew the curtain,
his demeanor growing mean.
He looked stronger in his anger
than anyone I'd ever seen.
"Do you not know yet, Royal One?!?"
He exclaimed explosively.
"Do you not think that I take notice,
When I see you pity me,
And insult me, and degrade me,
Simultaneously?
What was it you said
the first time you heard me speak?
I greeted you as friend,
and I repulsed you instantly!
If I have anger, and I do,
it is for she who made this be..."
The answer satisfied more
than my curiosity.
I almost pitied him then and there,
but for the mention in his speech,
the maniacal in his eyes,
the pain hidden beneath.
It is that way I recall him,
Looking back in memory,
And it is that way he stood silent,
As I took my quiet leave.
Like a tree, where once was forest:
Too lonely there to grieve,
and no reprieve in the weather,
only wave and wave of heat.
I peered into the mirror,
and saw that same look upon me.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
I remembered the deal made,
with the seer beneath the trees.
How careless my words chosen
in my haste amidst the weeds:
("Move my wife instead,
away from this evil thing,
and I will go, and I will slay it,
then return my wife, I plead.")
Would the seer place her in bed
if I slay this royal beast,
or is the white already dead?
...surely knows The Queen.
I felt frostbite creeping in,
through my leather-booted feet.
"Aye." I said, and paused
for the shiver 'cross my skin.
"The hands of winter are the cause
I will place my life in.
The Queen is gone from stead,
with her magic to hide in,
and I'm left with naught but bedsheets,
and a corpse to confide in.
I'll play your game, Rumpelstiltskin,
as though there were choice to begin,
but let me assure you, leprous horror,
I will do anything to win,
for my land is green and white;
I fear the desert's din."
Words ran from the mouth of decay:
"Let us start."
I stood beside the bed,
afraid to do my part.
Trepidation overtook me
as I gave into the art.
As you may have well guessed,
Rumpelstiltskin took my heart.
Rotted fingers worked their way
between the spaces of my ribs.
Infection spread, from ***** digits,
seeking new places to live.
The gnarled knuckles
rubbed and scraped,
like a bony dungeon shiv.
I felt his hand puncture my lung,
and I had no more breath to give.
I think maybe I died,
or maybe fell asleep.
I had visions,
dark and deep,
and dreams of evil things:
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
I threw the weapon to the floor;
the world was once again the same.
"What sort of vile trick is this?
What a sick and twisted game!
Are you amused at my discomfort?
Does it quench your boredom's flame?"
I had more to say to him,
but despair had wracked my frame.
How could my winter be this death?
Such a fate for one so tame...
And the way that I had spoken!
My heart was filled with shame.
"If this is some deception,
I'll send you back from whence you came,
with your rumpled, stilted, skin,
left in the field for crow to claim!"
Rumpelstiltskin let me finish.
My tirade and my disdain
had taken toll upon the beast,
whose face showed only pain.
"Please, my prince," he said.
"You need only say my name,
and if you know it to be true,
then my form I will regain.
Use the mirror that I made
from the love that you contain,
and you will see I do not lie.
The truth will be made plain."
I did not come this far,
just to argue, doubt, and stall.
I placed the mirror on the mantle,
and its power I did call.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
where lies the fairest of them all?
Raven hair, and softest lips,
adorn the face I long to kiss.
Gentle mind, and gentle touch,
gentle heart, and beauty such,
that to live without its grace,
is to beg for death's embrace.
Heart in hand," I glanced at sword,
"And tears upon my face,
I beg this mercy of you, mirror,
Where is my wife? Show me the place!"
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
By now I had my wits,
and I knew what I had seen.
This child was blind as night!
I recognized this magic thing!
"Tell me of my wife!
Is there danger where she dreams?
As she lays there in her peace,
I imagine a dagger's gleam
Floating silent, in the darkness...
Would she even wake to scream?
I am told by a monster,
there are serpents where she sleeps."
A crooked smile formed slowly;
across her face it creeped,
like the shadow of the taker
Eclipses those he reaps.
As slowly as it came,
the smile did retreat.
The Oracle came to stand
in the shadow of the trees.
"By asking me this question,
do you accept the gifts I bring?"
In the worry for my other,
"Yes!" I almost singed.
The priestess grabbed my wrist
as her ivory teeth gleamed.
The wind began to shift,
Picking up countless leaves;
the smell of rotting fish
filled the aroma of the breeze.
As quickly as it came,
the smell was gone,
and the girl fell to her knees.
The wind and litter fell.
The heat rose ten degrees.
The child stood, face in pain,
sweat running down in beads.
"The news is bad," she said simply,
and my heart skipped a beat.
"It looks as though your snow
is in danger, I agree,
but my visions, they are short,
and the peril I did not see."
The monster spoke the truth:
She is in danger! Why tell me?
Rumpelstiltskin and his tricks,
or an assassin of The Queen's?
Has my lover been attacked?
Was she murdered in her sleep?
Are there knives in her back?
...Fire licking at her feet?
The panic on my face
was thick enough to read
for a blind seer standing
Barefoot in the weeds.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC
This time I did not stumble.
As I ran, I did not fall.
I did not swim the moat,
Nor did I climb the castle walls,
But I made it to our chambers,
Ten guardsmen at my call.
As I crept into the room,
I left my charges in the hall.
The bed sat there empty,
sheets knotted in a ball.
The guardsmen came thereafter,
and we found nothing.
Nothing at all.
"Rumpelstiltskin!" I screamed,
with all the vigor of my lungs.
"Oh name of names,
Ill of ill,
the very word poisons tongues!
Show yourself! Explain to me,
what exactly have you done?"
"Oh, Mr. Prince, can't you see,
that I am not the one?"
Came a filthy, bubbling voice
From behind me, as I spun.
"If you recall, all I did
was warn you of danger come.
I gave notice, and you heard.
Believe: my heart is wrung.
This isn't my doing-"
Pulling curtains, I brought sun.
He flowed into the shadows,
like an oily liquid run.
"Listen demon, you play fools,
and I assure you, here are none.
I've battled dragons, battled ogres,
and all these battles, I have won.
If I should find a way to slay you,
That is not battle. That is fun.
Tell me the purpose of this ruse
before my patience is overrun."
"Oh, a deal, Mr. Prince?
Are you sure you're up for this?
I have knowledge, you have need,
but can you pay to rent my wit,
or should I leave you to yourself,
to search the halls and dungeon pit?"
Every word that he spoke,
the horror dribbled spit.
"Name your price, monster,
And I will give what I can give.
My life is nothing without White.
I would be only black within."
I waited for the council
of this Rumpelstiltskin.
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
He must have seen my face,
and smelled the adrenaline
as I searched for my blade,
thoughts of anger turned to him.
He reached into the air,
In attempt to catch the wind,
And in his hand appeared my heart.
The monster held me at his whim.
"I am bound by rule,
as was The Queen, by this curse.
I can only hint
at the nature of its worst.
I have played my part well,
if I may say so first.
The rules of curse dictate
it is time to reimburse.
...With that being stated,
I'm sorry if this hurts..."
Frozen in my place
by the touch he did impart,
I was once again at mercy
of the mystery of art.
Rumpelstiltskin, in control,
took my sword, and pierced my heart.
I saw it melt into the blade,
as it became the vital part.
I once again could move,
I realized, with a start.
"Here now, we have an edge,"
he said, "that knows a thing or two
about the rose, and the thorn,
and the cold and fire, too.
It has pierced the hearts of three,
first me, then queen, then you.
This sword knows more
of this kingdom than you do.
When it's placed within your palm,
you will only see the truth.
Keep it with you always.
May your rule be long and smooth."
I hesitated, full of fear,
that this act had been a ruse,
and Rumpelstiltskin had been waiting
for this very moment's cue
to strike me down with magicked blade,
if his appearance was a clue.
...But then again, I recalled,
how my men had been subdued,
and in my horror, at their states,
I might have stricken them down, too.
This ugly vision lended aid,
and nothing more that came undue.
I was shocked and dismayed
and overjoyed at what ensued:
When I gripped the Thorn of Rose,
every lie I ever knew
was blown away, in single gust:
So much smoke through open flue.
Rumpelstiltskin had gone,
and a blizzard filled the room.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 6:49 PM UTC
"Let's see," said the corpse,
"I spy a large tree.
There are apples all around it,
and the men pick out the seeds.
They throw the apples out instead,
and give the seeds to The Queen.
Now, a ring!"
His face changed with the scene:
Intense concentration
underneath the gangrene.
"Under veil of a wedding,
it seems a joyous thing,
when the jewelry is exchanged,
with the heavens opening.
Sunlight melts the snow,
And the birds begin to sing,
But somehow, I still know
That evil is happening;
Apple seeds in the snow,
That won't grow in the spring,
Turn to rot, down below,
In disruption of the serene."
No longer could I act
As though this monster told me lies.
Through the act of sharing magic,
I saw truth behind his eyes.
Oh so blind I had been!
The vision blossomed in my mind:
Seeds, apples, snows, and rings,
connected by their lines.
Constellations, resolution,
and clarity defined,
gave me reason to hesitate.
Before I spoke, I took much time.
"Look at me corpse," I began,
"Just keep your mouth closed and drown.
The way you salivate disgusts me,
and defiles the ground.
I see The Queen has used the seeds
in her poison compound,
and when I gave my bride her ring
The Queen was nowhere to be found."
I heard a knock upon the door,
which grew into a pound.
The guardsmen outside
had heard my voice sound.
I sent the men away,
to the searching of the town
for the seer with no eyes,
and brambles in her gown.
"Rumpelstiltskin," I said,
and his image solidified.
It seemed he faded when I left
to send the men back outside.
"I will **** you on this spot,
if next you tell me winter died.
This is a forest, not a desert,
tell me: is my wife alive?
I threatened ******
but we both knew I had lied.
I'd rather try to slay this villain,
with no hope that I'd survive,
than spend a minute or a moment
in a world without her eyes.
"I hope you realize
that the power in between us
is more than normal lives.
We are part of this land
Filled with winter's ice."
...And with my heart in my hand,
I purchased his advice.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC