Fairytale Haiku:RapunzelA daughter for greens
Idiots shouldn't raise children
Tower keeps her safe
:thumb263232158:Hansel und GretelSweet gingerbread walls,:thumb259500577:
Call to wandering children.
Blind witch's breakfast.
The Beanstalk
The Beanstalk
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Alec Maynard
Being a farmer's daughter would have meant a life of hard work but self sustenance would almost certainly be guaranteed. However, being a farmer's daughter whose father had abandoned her and her mother meant a life of poverty. Mother was hard working and strong willed but even her resolve couldn't bring us enough money to live a comfortable lifestyle. One day tax was due but we hadn't the money to pay, so mother brought me the last cow and told me to take it to market. I reluctantly agreed. The farm lay in a small field surrounded by a seemingly never ending montage of trees, so tightly packed that sunlight failed to break through the expanding shield of emerald greens and Vandyke browns. The path I trod pierced the hallows of the dark woods like a knife through butter. Small animals rustled in the bushes and birds chirped soulful serenades in the background. Over all the years I had made the journey from the farm cottage to the market, the mys
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:thumb265274174::thumb184040457::thumb150624008:The HousemaidShe had a story-teller's face,
like the late-autumn moon,
and she rested her elbows
on the wooden windowsill
as if lingering between dreams.
The book in her palms
lay in quiet repose
as she sighed and thought about
what waited at the end
of the dirt road
curving like a cat's tail
from the crooked archway
of her home.
How the russet leaves
hissed secrets as they
tumbled across the way,
hurrying to nowhere as she
was left to poke the embers
glowing ruddy on the hearth,
and looked for escape
in the tumbling wind
She longed to sample breezes
free from the heady kitchen musk,
yearned to burn her hands on the sun
rather than the bold brass kettle,
and oh, how she envied
the freedom of the birds.
The Ash GirlYou string hearts like pearls through your fingers:thumb265037979:
Shiny baubles that trick the light
Against a mouth that could make
Hades cry for mercy
And the back of the sun bow in twain
Clinging at the edges of you
To abandon the moon forever
In pale loneliness
You leave your lovers rags of your clothes
Glass slippers that shot sparks
Down the length of his spine
The pulse trapped in her wrist
That fought to the surface and broke
Bringing back the night's flavour
In after taste and the tide of your skin
Like ashes and red wine
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