Folklore

snow white

once upon a time,

in a kingdom

(not so far away),

there lived a pretty

little daughter

and a pretty

little stepmother

and a pretty

little father.

the daughter wore white

that was pale as the moon,

and her skirts

flew about

when

she ran.



the stepmother's own dress

was flat

and dull,

so she grew jealous of the daughter

and decided to kill her.

one day,k when the daughter

was in her

pretty little skirt

that flew when

she ran,

her stepmother came moaning

and crying to her.

"it's so cold in here,"

sobbed mother,

"and your father is too content

with the colors of the maids

to be enamored with our snowy plumes."

and the pretty little daughter

said:

"i will pick you some flowers".

and off she went,

unplucked,

dazzling in her skirts

that danced when

she ran.



while she was picking

a sweet bundle of dragons

and lions

and bells,

her pretty

little stepmother

hired forth a hunter

to handle the whiteness

of her dancing

when

she ran.



and find her he did:

with breeches undone

and claws grasping,

he curled her cloth up on to balls,

creasing them with sweat,

and turned off all the music

while he hiked up all her skirts.



stricken with a fear,

the pretty

little daughter

took her hairpin from her head

and stabbed it

deep into his ugly

little heart.

it clanged like a gunshot.

with her dress all wrinkled

and wilted,

she dropped all of her flowers

and went running off to the woods,

sobbing like a willow

as her eyes shut

when

she ran.

the hunter went on home

to his ugly

little wife

and their ugly

little children;

all their hearts were matching

and, in turn,

so was their sex.



now off in the woods

with her dress

and hairpin melted,

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A retelling of "Snow White". My version is much darker, but I personally find it a bit more realistic, especially considering the 1950's views on women.

View kragey's Full Portfolio
tags:

apology

"it's time to make amends"

said the giant to the bird

"if you peck out my eyes

that should repay for your nest"



and later with the rabbit

he said "please forgive me

for destroying your bunny hole

you may chew out my knees"



let this be a lesson about

putting past crimes on the shelf

it's marvelous as long as you

don't feel sorry for yourself

View kragey's Full Portfolio
tags:

Old Neva

What old Neva saw she never told

But once way back in the days of old



T’was said she saw spirits roaming and raving

And looked on to keep them from misbehaving



She sat morning to evening in her rockin’ chair

Looking hard and long into the “way out there”



Grown folks talk was she just weren’t right

Thinking she had her a second sight



What she need that fer?  Two eyes work fine!

They’d laugh and declare she’d done lost ‘er mind



She nothing’ but a witch! the town kids’ud say

Ware of runnin’ ‘er yard when it ain’t day!



Some troublemakers in town had made a name

Driving a big black car they called The Flame



A bet was on anyone who spent the night would die

Those boys were tough and reckoned they’d give it a

try



They made a big party of it and left behind

A buncha broke beer bottle glass and old melon rind



How the those boys laughed at Neva come next day

With her toiling and sweating to clean their mess away



“Oh Miss Neva! Bettah keep on lookin’!

Else dem goblins’ll be comin’ back spookin’!”



And they squealed their tires and sped on past

To find someone else to loot and harass



Neva’s back was bent ‘neath the hot sun

Ma felt sorry and made me help her get done



I gathered up that garbage and hauled it way

Old Neva didn’t smile but she ast me to stay



She served me biscuits and cold lemonade

With eyes that didn’t blink to give themselves shade



Staring glaring her eyes like stone

Seeing something dead and gone



I screwed up some courage from deep inside

Swallowed a bit to let it to toughen my hide



Then I asked ol’ Neva  why she rocked and stared

She didn’t say nothing just sat and glared



I asked once more she just turned ‘n’ spit

Stomped her foot hard and hollered “Git!”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i like hte story of this poem, but i am not satisfied with the way the end sounds...

View tonitails's Full Portfolio
tags:

A GHOST'S STORY

Dear friend,

        This is not fiction. Neither is it a true life incident. Actually no one knows what it is. But why is it here, because you would have seen this dream before. Or you will see it one day no matter who you are or where you are, you will take this ride in one of your dreams before you die. You will visit this place and see it exactly the way it is seen by everyone. Why and how?nobody knows. Who the prince is?nobody knows. Its like a legacy of every human being to live the life of this prince on that day.if you have already seen it, I don't have to explain anymore.

If you haven't, you will and it will be very similar to this. It enchanted me and mystified everyone who ever happen to see it. Believe me its an experience that u will never forget and it will make u cold the day u actually see it. Its like his ghost is pleading to us and using our life to correct his gravest mistake that cost him his life. But why does it happen with everyone?nobody knows.



        

         A GHOST'S STORY



If you wash ashore a cryptic island,

While drifting in a gospels dream,

You will see that it's almost frozen,

In the silence of a distant scream.

Land stretches out into the horizon,

There's a song ebbing in the air,

There are people who seem to be reliving,

What confides as an ancient life.

If you think about taking a ride,

Through the sun bathed country side,

You will feel that it's worth abiding,

There's a secret that these meadows hide...for you:

There are trees where the fields end,

And there's a house with a royal trend,

It's like a castle with opulent windows;

And a lost feeling has turned more evident.

If you pause to ask somebody,

You need a shelter from the fading light,

If you listen more closely they're saying,

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The mystery...

View krishna's Full Portfolio
tags:

The Hunger of Immortals

Bring my eyes to crimson

with blood of innocence.

Pure and light to entrance

the hunger of immortals.



Silent as to stalk the night,

hidden in drowning shadows

to hunt the perfect prey.



Waiting for an opportunity

to pierce delicate ivory flesh.

Letting that sultry ambrosia

flow into my bitter corpse.



Patience lessens as dawn

wakes with her cruel rays.

The dark disappears, as will I

to await a new predator’s night.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

October 2, 2003

View mythers's Full Portfolio
tags:

Wolfish Lullabies

This night upon the witch’s hour

will show true the demons of old.

Howling creatures will arise

consumed by Luna’s controlling glow.



From this bed of black satin

I hear those wolfish lullabies.

Their bays call to my beast,

feverishly craving to join.



To sense that ambrosia of life,

blood metallic upon the air.

My sight becomes feral in time,

tasting the rage within my soul.



Why this night,

on All Hallow’s Eve

must the pregnant pearl

curse my flesh to fur?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

October 2, 2003

View mythers's Full Portfolio
tags:

Broady Bill

Down a country road,
way back in the hills.
Was a little run-down shack,
inhabited by Broady Bill.

 

Broady was an ornery ole coot,
did things his own way.
In a still he made his moonshine,
his only form of pay.

 

The local men all came to him,
when their throats were dry.
They laid their money down,
to get their backwoods high.

 

They'd stay awhile and play some cards,
Broady dealing his very own deck.
These men were none the wiser as they lost,
and much to drunk to check.

 

When their pockets were empty,
Broady sent them all on home.
And he always stood their laughing,
as the wrong way they would roam.

 

He'd go inside and count his take,
then to a tree out back.
And bury it in a coffee can,
before retiring to his shack.

 

Broady grinned and always thought,
"Those fools will never know."
See, he never revealed his hiding spot,
not one man did he ever show.

 

Broady lived to a ripe old age,
died at a hundred and three.
The local men carried Broady Bill,
and buried him under that tree.

 

There they found the coffee cans,
which Broady had carefully stashed.
So they toasted him with his moonshine,
and divided up his cash.

 

They placed a marker upon his grave,
and this is what the gray stone read~

Broady Bill...May You Rest In Peace... 

But You Can't Take It With You, When You're Dead!

View cathycavalcante's Full Portfolio
tags:

The first night that I kissed her

The first night that I kissed her

I will try and paint the scene

September 5th in 87

The air was cool and crisp and clean

Initial nerves and awkwardness

Tried to find a place to ply our charms

We started from two poles apart

But she finished in my arms



The first night that I kissed her

The city’s icon high above

The harbour bridge was our chaperone

The only witness to this first love

And as the waves lapped at the shoreline

Our scents they did entwine

As I pressed my lips to the warmth of hers

From then she would be mine



The first night that I kissed her

Her taste it lingered long

It felt so right. It felt so good

I knew this could not be wrong

As the light rain fell, it made a blend

Of her and me as two

We were us from then and forevermore

My love for her is true



The first night that I kissed her

Time has long passed since that first joy

She was a young girl of innocence

I was just a boy

We have grown in years together

True friends as man and wife

And I say thanks for that kiss beneath the bridge

The birthplace of my life



The first night that I kissed her




Author's Notes/Comments: 

It was a special night and the real START of my life. The best yarns are the true ones. It is not every guy who get to take his date on a stroll beneath the Sydney Harbour Bridge on their first night.

View atspro's Full Portfolio
tags:

olympus

Folder: 
ROXY'S POEMS

ancient beliefs roman&greek.heiroglyphics and scrolls untold storys of old.lost citys and lands battles and plans.mark antony cleo egypt & cairo venus de milo love with her spell hades is hell prometheus fire helios dagger.chariots race the frist olympics take place.zues and apollo the pharaohs will follow.egypts grate race.the sphinx takes face.god of wind and weather father of athena hercules & demeter.

all of the storys of the lands of old never reviewed what has

never been told.

what if there right and all of old

was true.what would we think.

what would we do?.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this was a long time in the makeing i wanted to get it right!!.there is so much to be found in the ancient world!!.started on 3/16/00 to 7/09/02;+)

View arecreed's Full Portfolio
tags: