this garden is generous. kindness in the calendula
which soothes my sore spirit and tired skin.
this garden embraces me with honeysuckle
kisses me with lavender
strengthens me with lifting, hoeing, carrying.
muscles sore from weeding, digging, bring me
a vitality, a sense of life and hope which had been
sapped by the mean streets and tired battle of the
working week. of getting and going and figuring it all out.
I struggle willingly with knotweed, my weary mind releasing
performance targets and bargains and who did what when where.
I abandon the complexities of body language and reading between the lines
for careful examination of red rust markings on the leaves of the roses and
throw aside the daily papers and lifestyle magazines, preferring instead
taking cuttings from a salvia or a pelargonium and laying barricades of salt and grit
around the succulent young sunflowers shoots.
against all advice from manicured neighbours, I plunge bare hands in grainy soil
and feel comforted
by comfrey
I shall stay here in the garden
where grasses ripple, where I slice a spade into thick clay solidity, determined.
where weight-lifting beetles triumph over every obstacle and teach me daily.
this teeming, busy world, never still, never without drama, yet always peaceful,
even in the night when a screeching fox and squirrel battle, ripping out chunks of tail
and berserk, shredding netting from the berries, still the garden is a sanctuary
out there in the dark I like it better than the worries of the world.
in a dressing gown and welly boots with a torch
be diligent; fill half a bucket with fat slugs and juicy snails
and transfer them to the compost or to some place of sacrificial planting.
this is how to chase away restless dreams. and maybe even fall asleep
on a lounger on the back porch, let early morning dew settle on your skin
and wake up and smell the wet leaves and the damp bark on the trees and shrubs
taste the leaf of a nasturtium, bold and peppery
I shan't come back in from the garden anymore
I won't go into the world again to be a fixer and a winner
I'll just stay here and potter and grow my dinner.
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Lucy's Ditty
at the local organic horticultural show, green fingered lucy ditty
had brought no prize veg to display - explaining "it's such a pity!
i have grown the most succulent sweetcorn and a giant marrow
but how could i transport them? i don't even own a wheelbarrow!
i strapped a sturdy basket to my back and filled it with my tasty crop
but i had been digging so much i had no strength left and thought i'd drop.
If only I had a fairy garden mothers gift, like the tale of Cinderella's pumpkin
that could carry me and my harvest in style - "oh don't be such a bumpkin"
said her cousin, on a visit from the bustling nearby town of convenience food.
"oh, sod off you city slicker, said Lucy, "you don't know it all and you're rude!
You'd be very surprised if you knew the magic that happens in tending the land.
Change out of your smart clothes, high heels, put on some wellies, give me a hand!"
Well Lucy Ditty's urban and perfectly manicured relative snootily turned up her nose,
which made Lucy (and would have made me) want to drench her with the hose.
But just at this time, a garden imp (who lived inside an old, rusty bucket)
had been listening to all this, and decided to intervene, saying "oh, fuck it!
humans are hopeless at times, and need some enchanted assistance!"
So she chucked a handful of fairy dust, and flew off into the distance.
A soft breeze danced in the air, and Lucy's cuz breathed it in without knowing
and that night, dreamed of the earth's deep womb and seeds that were growing.
A terrible sadness and loss gripped her soul, ancient yearnings filled her mind.
When Lucy arose in the morning, Cuz had planted ten packets of seeds, neatly lined.
"You should take them out of the packets, first, ideally" Lucy Ditty kindly advised
"but, never mind, you seem to have been seized by the gardening bug - I'm surprised!"
"Well, I felt such a compulsion" said the girl - " I think nature called out to my heart."
"That's great" said Lucy, "unfortunate that you trampled my lettuces, but I guess it's a start!"
"Well, I saw they were being feasted on by nasty, fat slugs, so I put on my high heels
and spiked them! Then I tore down that bamboo, to bend it and make barrow wheels!"
"Shit, the bamboo was stakes for growing my peas and beans" said Lucy, "but not to worry;
I guess we could make a wheelbarrow and still get to the veggie show, if we hurry!
But first, I do have some further gardening tips for you and sensible advice to suggest.
Although I am sure it is liberating to be gardening naked, it helps to be practically dressed -
to wear only stilettos, well, dear - I think you will get stung, bitten and nastily scratched!
"Oh I was in such a hurry, Lucy, "Cuz said, "for just wait till you hear the plan I have hatched!
We can use these improvised wheels to make a cart, then borrow the neighbour's lawnmower,
and build from it an air born machine to pull the cart, propelled even faster with their leaf blower!
Or - you see where you have grown those potatoes, in that stack of inside out tyres?
They're Michellin, and look in good enough knick - let's use them, we'll be such high flyers!
"Oh, that's how I always grow tatties", said Luce, "and anyway I'm not really that fussed
about going to the show now, but I do think you must have been sprinkled with fairy dust.
But, in any case, I do really need a good, sturdy barrow, or some kind of truck or cart -
but slow down, a bit, please, just stop pulling my cold frames and compost bin apart!"
"Oh, but if we use this aluminium, glass and black plastic sections, we can make solar power!"
Meanwhile, the naughty yet benevolent imp was observing all this, perched on top of a tall sunflower.
The mischievous imp laughed her pixie boots off when she saw how they finally invented
a flying barrow from trellis, an old strimmer and a garden bench - "How very demented!"
"But gardening's not all about gadgets and gizmos" said Lucy - it's about honest toil and graft."
"Oh, never mind, sweetie, I don't want to be a gardener anymore" said her cousin, who'd gone quite daft.
"You grow the nice floral arrangements and salads, and I'll be an inventor and weird stuff designer!"
And now Lucy has a unique new shed, and polytunnel too, made from garden junk and her auntie is learning to be a water diviner.
(for Lucy - by eva day)
had brought no prize veg to display - explaining "it's such a pity!
i have grown the most succulent sweetcorn and a giant marrow
but how could i transport them? i don't even own a wheelbarrow!
i strapped a sturdy basket to my back and filled it with my tasty crop
but i had been digging so much i had no strength left and thought i'd drop.
If only I had a fairy garden mothers gift, like the tale of Cinderella's pumpkin
that could carry me and my harvest in style - "oh don't be such a bumpkin"
said her cousin, on a visit from the bustling nearby town of convenience food.
"oh, sod off you city slicker, said Lucy, "you don't know it all and you're rude!
You'd be very surprised if you knew the magic that happens in tending the land.
Change out of your smart clothes, high heels, put on some wellies, give me a hand!"
Well Lucy Ditty's urban and perfectly manicured relative snootily turned up her nose,
which made Lucy (and would have made me) want to drench her with the hose.
But just at this time, a garden imp (who lived inside an old, rusty bucket)
had been listening to all this, and decided to intervene, saying "oh, fuck it!
humans are hopeless at times, and need some enchanted assistance!"
So she chucked a handful of fairy dust, and flew off into the distance.
A soft breeze danced in the air, and Lucy's cuz breathed it in without knowing
and that night, dreamed of the earth's deep womb and seeds that were growing.
A terrible sadness and loss gripped her soul, ancient yearnings filled her mind.
When Lucy arose in the morning, Cuz had planted ten packets of seeds, neatly lined.
"You should take them out of the packets, first, ideally" Lucy Ditty kindly advised
"but, never mind, you seem to have been seized by the gardening bug - I'm surprised!"
"Well, I felt such a compulsion" said the girl - " I think nature called out to my heart."
"That's great" said Lucy, "unfortunate that you trampled my lettuces, but I guess it's a start!"
"Well, I saw they were being feasted on by nasty, fat slugs, so I put on my high heels
and spiked them! Then I tore down that bamboo, to bend it and make barrow wheels!"
"Shit, the bamboo was stakes for growing my peas and beans" said Lucy, "but not to worry;
I guess we could make a wheelbarrow and still get to the veggie show, if we hurry!
But first, I do have some further gardening tips for you and sensible advice to suggest.
Although I am sure it is liberating to be gardening naked, it helps to be practically dressed -
to wear only stilettos, well, dear - I think you will get stung, bitten and nastily scratched!
"Oh I was in such a hurry, Lucy, "Cuz said, "for just wait till you hear the plan I have hatched!
We can use these improvised wheels to make a cart, then borrow the neighbour's lawnmower,
and build from it an air born machine to pull the cart, propelled even faster with their leaf blower!
Or - you see where you have grown those potatoes, in that stack of inside out tyres?
They're Michellin, and look in good enough knick - let's use them, we'll be such high flyers!
"Oh, that's how I always grow tatties", said Luce, "and anyway I'm not really that fussed
about going to the show now, but I do think you must have been sprinkled with fairy dust.
But, in any case, I do really need a good, sturdy barrow, or some kind of truck or cart -
but slow down, a bit, please, just stop pulling my cold frames and compost bin apart!"
"Oh, but if we use this aluminium, glass and black plastic sections, we can make solar power!"
Meanwhile, the naughty yet benevolent imp was observing all this, perched on top of a tall sunflower.
The mischievous imp laughed her pixie boots off when she saw how they finally invented
a flying barrow from trellis, an old strimmer and a garden bench - "How very demented!"
"But gardening's not all about gadgets and gizmos" said Lucy - it's about honest toil and graft."
"Oh, never mind, sweetie, I don't want to be a gardener anymore" said her cousin, who'd gone quite daft.
"You grow the nice floral arrangements and salads, and I'll be an inventor and weird stuff designer!"
And now Lucy has a unique new shed, and polytunnel too, made from garden junk and her auntie is learning to be a water diviner.
(for Lucy - by eva day)
Friday, 24 June 2011
Frog Ponders
though his traditional frog name was said to have made him lucky,
protecting from danger, Kermit was more fortunate than he was plucky.
His mottled skin would shiver, his delicate green knees quiver and shake,
when he and his family moved home to begin a new life in the great lake.
He felt anxious, dreaded great danger at every ripple or splash -
he was just not like the bolder frogs who were so sporty and flash.
"I wish we had stayed safe and familiar, in our cosy, pretty little pond,"
he told his mother, Madame Le Vert, of whom he was very fond.
"My dear, we needed new bigger lily pads, as our family had grown,"
she told him, "and here you can have a large one of your own,
to rest after swimming, and watch dragonflies fluttering their wings,
listen to the cheerful crickets chirp, and the bright blackbird who sings."
"But I'm afraid that great, greedy bird might attack, viciously: peck out my eyes,
swooping down on me suddenly, cruelly, when I'm distracted, busy with catching flies.
And the crickets chattering makes me nervous, their mad leap makes me jump!"
"Oh, my boy, don't be so timid," said ma, "and don't just sit here on your rump!
Try to muster some courage and give things a try - hop from one leaf to another!"
Expand your comfort zone, son!" encouraged his patient and wise, loving mother.
"You might enjoy it all, live life much more fully, once you get going!"
But just then Kermit saw some people, with rods and nets, in a boat, rowing.
"Oh no! The season has started, the anglers have been given a fishing permit!"
""Invasion! Licensed killers!"cried poor, scared trembling, lily livered Kermit
"I don't belong here, I'm not like the others, I feel just like a fish out of water!
Those horrible people are after the trout for their supper, and it will be slaughter!
I'm sad for any who get caught today, but if those fish get disturbed, and see that I am here,
will I get away fast enough? They'll eat me before they themselves are dinner, I fear!"
"You're a strong swimmer, and have good, springy legs, but life is a risk at times!" said his mater.
"Your Uncle, who went on safari exploring the Florida swamps, sadly got eaten by an alligator!
"Your cousin was cooked, eaten, in a restaurant. He was caught on his way to the river to see his sweetheart.
He lived for love and for revelry, for night life, wild parties and play but ended up served a la carte!
These things are so, tragically, yet they both had many adventures and a truly full and good life -
perhaps, like your uncle, you will feel more complete and much braver, once you have a wife?"
"No, no, I am not ready for that, as I don't think I shall stay here!" said the anxious amphibian
"But a wedding will be wonderful!" said his sisters, "And just imagine!! You could honeymoon in the Caribbean!"
"I don't want to travel, or live in such busy places! Leave me be, I want to go and live quietly, alone!" Kermit cried.
"All this gives me bad dreams! I'll find a rock and some deep mud, somewhere I can get away from it all and just hide!"
But his family were puzzled, frustrated. Caution was fine, but this fear was really too much, they firmly told Kermit.
"We would miss you, you're good company when you're calm, and you can't just go off and live like a hermit!"
"And of course, " said his sister, "who would visit your pad? Remember - a frog is by nature a sociable creature.
I know a nice lady frog, cold blood and warm heart, and delicate webbed feet, who'd just love to meet yer!
Her name is Florence. She is feisty and fierce and would be glad to wed a mate with such a good breaststroke as yours!
Picture the two of you, matrimonial bliss, two frogs contended in sharing bed, the dawn song, children, and chores.
You could make a great partnership, you swimming so swiftly, catching bugs and her there, vigilant, watching your back;
keeping guard to protect you and your many wriggling offspring from otters, or herons and fending off any attack."
"I like the idea," Kermit said, " but perhaps I'd stay home, look after our Tads and Tadettes, while she goes out to get worms.
I'll be a modern style home husband. Be domestic, while she brings home the grubs. If we are to marry those are my terms."
"What?" said his sister, "you'll stay home, sit at the edge of the great lake, bounce around with the babies, and blow happy bubbles,
neglecting to keep your best freestyle swimming in top form, your webbed feet strong, while she goes and faces troubles?
No! You must be a good partner, and also make friends with the neighbours, the lake wide community! No more yellow bellied croaking!
Kermit, you must take your place in these waters, make ripples, fight your fears, so my brother, I do really hope you are just joking.
If dear old dad, were here now, had he not been caught by humans and put into an aquarium, a limited world, that sad little tank,
I know he would urge you to meet life head on, don't waste your time hiding! I say this to strengthen your nerve and be frank!
Father would tell you, the prison he's in is perhaps no worse than the one which you build for yourself from such worry and stress"
And Kermit, inspired, agreed to be married quite quickly, if Flo was willing. "Let the nuptials be soon, or I'll get cold feet, I confess!"
Florence Froggola felt an easy rapport when they met, and agreed to the marriage, if he'd try to be braver, no crawling toad, or sly newt.
And when he met her, he did find her amusing, affectionate and with such large bulging eyes and supple joints, very sexy and cute.
So Kermit and Florence indeed did have a contended marriage, together, after having conveniently both fallen in love and in lust.
His sensible wife managed things well, as she insisted " as hunters and gatherers, we'll take turns to go foraging - you simply must!"
And as Kermit grew older and time passed, he found marriage and fatherhood did make him considerably braver and overcome many fears -
until their numerous clusters of taddies grew up, and had little wrigglers of their own; Kermie and Flo had many grandchildren, over the years.
But then Flo was ready for a new phase in life, wanting broader horizons and so she suggested a trip to the well tended gardens of humans nearby.
"I would like to dive and swim in their ponds and luxurious water features" she said. It was something she'd so much always wanted to try.
"I have heard stories from other creatures, and know of a family of humans", she explained, "with a fountain and gnomes in their garden."
But this kind of enterprise was beyond Kermit's limit for danger, and he was distressed. Flo became quite insistent, and felt his heart harden.
"It seems now we want such different things in life", he said, for he longed to return to the pond where he lived as a little tadpole, so secluded.
"Well if you think i am going to that backwater," protested Florence strongly, "then I'm sorry Kermit, honey but you are completely deluded!
Why it is dull as ditch water there, I won't go and I think I must say, Kermit, you've been a good mate to me, and great tadpole spawner
But you can't or won't share my sense of adventure! I want a good new hopping life! You're holding me back, boring me, you're such a yawner
Still Kermit insisted, he wanted peaceful retirement and safety, though his lady frog tried to persuade him to visit the local suburbs and have a jaunt.
"We never go anywhere! Is it capture, being shut in a tank like your pa, that you're scares you or maybe you can't out leap a few cats? she would taunt.
Well this was low talk and poorly done, but Kermit just repeated that he did not crave such hazardous adventures for entertainment or adrenalin rush -
and such a rift had grown between them, so back to his little safe birthplace he went to dwell in a hole in a log - simple and quiet, but he liked the hush.
I have no regrets, have loved our life together, but now the time's come for me to please my old bones" he explained , to his friends, children and Florence.
"For all that high living and swamp hopping, the curious travels which you seem to yearn for, myself I have a deep and instinctive total abhorrence.
I want to go back to the place of my birth, downsize if you like, for I guess at heart I am still plain old Kermie, humble and simple backwater pond scum.
But I don't need fancy stuff and am not ambitious: nostalgic maybe, but I am proud of my ancestral roots!" - and he smiled wisely at his dear old mum.
And so, he and Flo agreed to be fairly amicably parted, and forgetting her harsh words, he said he guessed if she followed her dreams she'd feel more fulfilled
he just hoped, thinking of all those cats, foxes and humans, and roads with those awful cars and trucks that squash frogs, that she would not get killed.
And as for him - he planned to write poetry, sing ballads, float happily in his old age and he hoped his children would sometimes hop by and visit his log.
And they do - get together for stories and sing-a-longs and croaking sessions, now he is a venerated, well loved and much calmer old frog.
They had to admit, he did seem much more settled. " We know he was always a bit of a worrier," they'd say, " but he is a kindly old croaker;
he songs and his poems are deep as the lake although his ponds small, and he's a good host, a good listener to all and a bit of a joker."
"I have no regrets" Kermit said, if we'd not gone to the lake I never would have had such a wonderful family and, though I don't have worldly advice to dispense
I have followed my heart, done my best for my offspring, and I hope, entertained with my stories - and I do have a little bit of good common sense!
Perhaps we all have a destiny or a soul journey to fulfil and some frogs, I think, are just born for the simple life and that's their dream -
but other frogs have a calling for quests and discoveries, or need challenges, and they must find something different and swim upstream.
Though a cliche, of course is a truism too, so variety I think, truly is the spice of life and each of us is born with a path to follow!"
He philosophised, to the sky and the fish, and particularly, by way of comforting a nice juicy slug he was just about to swallow.
"Well, to conclude my tale" Kermit said- "I heard that Florence was found by a human and romantically kissed (apparently he was a prince)
and although it sounds like a fairy story ending - I hope for the best as no one has heard any further news of her ever since.
And was for me? Life's been good to me, I survived and thrived, love my music and dawn chorus poetry croakings, and have met a sweet new lady friend
and she's a great dancer, so we're quite a pair - I am hoping (this being a leap year) she'll pop the question and I will be once again wed!"
Well, sadly" (interjected the white duck who's narrating this story" , this was not to be, as just then a hedgehog burrowing under the log bit off Kermit's head
- and that is the end of the story, but of course Kermit's ancestors live on, and one branch of the family populates the lake, and some in the pond
including a young froglet, a dancer and singer, good swimmer and small, but with big dreams, called Rita Ribbet, of whom I am quite fond.......
the end.
protecting from danger, Kermit was more fortunate than he was plucky.
His mottled skin would shiver, his delicate green knees quiver and shake,
when he and his family moved home to begin a new life in the great lake.
He felt anxious, dreaded great danger at every ripple or splash -
he was just not like the bolder frogs who were so sporty and flash.
"I wish we had stayed safe and familiar, in our cosy, pretty little pond,"
he told his mother, Madame Le Vert, of whom he was very fond.
"My dear, we needed new bigger lily pads, as our family had grown,"
she told him, "and here you can have a large one of your own,
to rest after swimming, and watch dragonflies fluttering their wings,
listen to the cheerful crickets chirp, and the bright blackbird who sings."
"But I'm afraid that great, greedy bird might attack, viciously: peck out my eyes,
swooping down on me suddenly, cruelly, when I'm distracted, busy with catching flies.
And the crickets chattering makes me nervous, their mad leap makes me jump!"
"Oh, my boy, don't be so timid," said ma, "and don't just sit here on your rump!
Try to muster some courage and give things a try - hop from one leaf to another!"
Expand your comfort zone, son!" encouraged his patient and wise, loving mother.
"You might enjoy it all, live life much more fully, once you get going!"
But just then Kermit saw some people, with rods and nets, in a boat, rowing.
"Oh no! The season has started, the anglers have been given a fishing permit!"
""Invasion! Licensed killers!"cried poor, scared trembling, lily livered Kermit
"I don't belong here, I'm not like the others, I feel just like a fish out of water!
Those horrible people are after the trout for their supper, and it will be slaughter!
I'm sad for any who get caught today, but if those fish get disturbed, and see that I am here,
will I get away fast enough? They'll eat me before they themselves are dinner, I fear!"
"You're a strong swimmer, and have good, springy legs, but life is a risk at times!" said his mater.
"Your Uncle, who went on safari exploring the Florida swamps, sadly got eaten by an alligator!
"Your cousin was cooked, eaten, in a restaurant. He was caught on his way to the river to see his sweetheart.
He lived for love and for revelry, for night life, wild parties and play but ended up served a la carte!
These things are so, tragically, yet they both had many adventures and a truly full and good life -
perhaps, like your uncle, you will feel more complete and much braver, once you have a wife?"
"No, no, I am not ready for that, as I don't think I shall stay here!" said the anxious amphibian
"But a wedding will be wonderful!" said his sisters, "And just imagine!! You could honeymoon in the Caribbean!"
"I don't want to travel, or live in such busy places! Leave me be, I want to go and live quietly, alone!" Kermit cried.
"All this gives me bad dreams! I'll find a rock and some deep mud, somewhere I can get away from it all and just hide!"
But his family were puzzled, frustrated. Caution was fine, but this fear was really too much, they firmly told Kermit.
"We would miss you, you're good company when you're calm, and you can't just go off and live like a hermit!"
"And of course, " said his sister, "who would visit your pad? Remember - a frog is by nature a sociable creature.
I know a nice lady frog, cold blood and warm heart, and delicate webbed feet, who'd just love to meet yer!
Her name is Florence. She is feisty and fierce and would be glad to wed a mate with such a good breaststroke as yours!
Picture the two of you, matrimonial bliss, two frogs contended in sharing bed, the dawn song, children, and chores.
You could make a great partnership, you swimming so swiftly, catching bugs and her there, vigilant, watching your back;
keeping guard to protect you and your many wriggling offspring from otters, or herons and fending off any attack."
"I like the idea," Kermit said, " but perhaps I'd stay home, look after our Tads and Tadettes, while she goes out to get worms.
I'll be a modern style home husband. Be domestic, while she brings home the grubs. If we are to marry those are my terms."
"What?" said his sister, "you'll stay home, sit at the edge of the great lake, bounce around with the babies, and blow happy bubbles,
neglecting to keep your best freestyle swimming in top form, your webbed feet strong, while she goes and faces troubles?
No! You must be a good partner, and also make friends with the neighbours, the lake wide community! No more yellow bellied croaking!
Kermit, you must take your place in these waters, make ripples, fight your fears, so my brother, I do really hope you are just joking.
If dear old dad, were here now, had he not been caught by humans and put into an aquarium, a limited world, that sad little tank,
I know he would urge you to meet life head on, don't waste your time hiding! I say this to strengthen your nerve and be frank!
Father would tell you, the prison he's in is perhaps no worse than the one which you build for yourself from such worry and stress"
And Kermit, inspired, agreed to be married quite quickly, if Flo was willing. "Let the nuptials be soon, or I'll get cold feet, I confess!"
Florence Froggola felt an easy rapport when they met, and agreed to the marriage, if he'd try to be braver, no crawling toad, or sly newt.
And when he met her, he did find her amusing, affectionate and with such large bulging eyes and supple joints, very sexy and cute.
So Kermit and Florence indeed did have a contended marriage, together, after having conveniently both fallen in love and in lust.
His sensible wife managed things well, as she insisted " as hunters and gatherers, we'll take turns to go foraging - you simply must!"
And as Kermit grew older and time passed, he found marriage and fatherhood did make him considerably braver and overcome many fears -
until their numerous clusters of taddies grew up, and had little wrigglers of their own; Kermie and Flo had many grandchildren, over the years.
But then Flo was ready for a new phase in life, wanting broader horizons and so she suggested a trip to the well tended gardens of humans nearby.
"I would like to dive and swim in their ponds and luxurious water features" she said. It was something she'd so much always wanted to try.
"I have heard stories from other creatures, and know of a family of humans", she explained, "with a fountain and gnomes in their garden."
But this kind of enterprise was beyond Kermit's limit for danger, and he was distressed. Flo became quite insistent, and felt his heart harden.
"It seems now we want such different things in life", he said, for he longed to return to the pond where he lived as a little tadpole, so secluded.
"Well if you think i am going to that backwater," protested Florence strongly, "then I'm sorry Kermit, honey but you are completely deluded!
Why it is dull as ditch water there, I won't go and I think I must say, Kermit, you've been a good mate to me, and great tadpole spawner
But you can't or won't share my sense of adventure! I want a good new hopping life! You're holding me back, boring me, you're such a yawner
Still Kermit insisted, he wanted peaceful retirement and safety, though his lady frog tried to persuade him to visit the local suburbs and have a jaunt.
"We never go anywhere! Is it capture, being shut in a tank like your pa, that you're scares you or maybe you can't out leap a few cats? she would taunt.
Well this was low talk and poorly done, but Kermit just repeated that he did not crave such hazardous adventures for entertainment or adrenalin rush -
and such a rift had grown between them, so back to his little safe birthplace he went to dwell in a hole in a log - simple and quiet, but he liked the hush.
I have no regrets, have loved our life together, but now the time's come for me to please my old bones" he explained , to his friends, children and Florence.
"For all that high living and swamp hopping, the curious travels which you seem to yearn for, myself I have a deep and instinctive total abhorrence.
I want to go back to the place of my birth, downsize if you like, for I guess at heart I am still plain old Kermie, humble and simple backwater pond scum.
But I don't need fancy stuff and am not ambitious: nostalgic maybe, but I am proud of my ancestral roots!" - and he smiled wisely at his dear old mum.
And so, he and Flo agreed to be fairly amicably parted, and forgetting her harsh words, he said he guessed if she followed her dreams she'd feel more fulfilled
he just hoped, thinking of all those cats, foxes and humans, and roads with those awful cars and trucks that squash frogs, that she would not get killed.
And as for him - he planned to write poetry, sing ballads, float happily in his old age and he hoped his children would sometimes hop by and visit his log.
And they do - get together for stories and sing-a-longs and croaking sessions, now he is a venerated, well loved and much calmer old frog.
They had to admit, he did seem much more settled. " We know he was always a bit of a worrier," they'd say, " but he is a kindly old croaker;
he songs and his poems are deep as the lake although his ponds small, and he's a good host, a good listener to all and a bit of a joker."
"I have no regrets" Kermit said, if we'd not gone to the lake I never would have had such a wonderful family and, though I don't have worldly advice to dispense
I have followed my heart, done my best for my offspring, and I hope, entertained with my stories - and I do have a little bit of good common sense!
Perhaps we all have a destiny or a soul journey to fulfil and some frogs, I think, are just born for the simple life and that's their dream -
but other frogs have a calling for quests and discoveries, or need challenges, and they must find something different and swim upstream.
Though a cliche, of course is a truism too, so variety I think, truly is the spice of life and each of us is born with a path to follow!"
He philosophised, to the sky and the fish, and particularly, by way of comforting a nice juicy slug he was just about to swallow.
"Well, to conclude my tale" Kermit said- "I heard that Florence was found by a human and romantically kissed (apparently he was a prince)
and although it sounds like a fairy story ending - I hope for the best as no one has heard any further news of her ever since.
And was for me? Life's been good to me, I survived and thrived, love my music and dawn chorus poetry croakings, and have met a sweet new lady friend
and she's a great dancer, so we're quite a pair - I am hoping (this being a leap year) she'll pop the question and I will be once again wed!"
Well, sadly" (interjected the white duck who's narrating this story" , this was not to be, as just then a hedgehog burrowing under the log bit off Kermit's head
- and that is the end of the story, but of course Kermit's ancestors live on, and one branch of the family populates the lake, and some in the pond
including a young froglet, a dancer and singer, good swimmer and small, but with big dreams, called Rita Ribbet, of whom I am quite fond.......
the end.
Monday, 4 April 2011
Nursery Tales for Grown Ups
I want a lot of what I haven't got and not much of what I have, and we want some of what they've got:
what a lot they've got! I want to look inside their secret box, I want to see what's in that great big pot,
I wonder if they're cheating? And maybe I'm fair game for every hustler on the take: Play fair, play square!
Count the pennies for a rainy day and peep out the window - Look at those ripe green fields over there!
Don't be Greedy, Don't Be Sly, Don't Be Selfish, cut the pie, in equal slices, two for the master, one for the dame
none for the little boy: never gets the best bit! he stuck his thumb in, pulled out a plum. They took it, just the same.
I want a lot and what I haven't got they want a lot, they want to look inside my secret treasure box
fill up my pot and max it up and give me extra helpings, I said. why should I not covet my neighbours ox?
it's a very fine ox , I wonder where they got it, we never had an ox like that when I was a child even though we tried
Mother hustled
and Father rustled
But Mum got busted
and Da wasn't trusted
and I always knew that damned knave would steal those tarts.....
To bed to bed said sleep heady, tomorrow we'll upset their apple carts
But tarry a while, the neighbours are setting off on holiday, said slow
I heard they had a big lottery win, so let's rob them once they go.
Put on the pan, said greedy Nan, we'll take the ox and all their sheep
dig up their vegetables, steal their diamonds, make a stew while they sleep
but the King of Spade and the queen of hearts just got a divorce
she got custody of the kids, half the house and a good horse
and the nouveau riche the Queen of Diamonds and the King of Clubs
blew their ill-gotten gains and easy money in casinos and backstreet pubs
the neighbours dazzling jewels and hidden coins are all fakes and forged
and all night long, on tales of corruption and extravagance we gorged.
(eva day)
what a lot they've got! I want to look inside their secret box, I want to see what's in that great big pot,
I wonder if they're cheating? And maybe I'm fair game for every hustler on the take: Play fair, play square!
Count the pennies for a rainy day and peep out the window - Look at those ripe green fields over there!
Don't be Greedy, Don't Be Sly, Don't Be Selfish, cut the pie, in equal slices, two for the master, one for the dame
none for the little boy: never gets the best bit! he stuck his thumb in, pulled out a plum. They took it, just the same.
I want a lot and what I haven't got they want a lot, they want to look inside my secret treasure box
fill up my pot and max it up and give me extra helpings, I said. why should I not covet my neighbours ox?
it's a very fine ox , I wonder where they got it, we never had an ox like that when I was a child even though we tried
Mother hustled
and Father rustled
But Mum got busted
and Da wasn't trusted
and I always knew that damned knave would steal those tarts.....
To bed to bed said sleep heady, tomorrow we'll upset their apple carts
But tarry a while, the neighbours are setting off on holiday, said slow
I heard they had a big lottery win, so let's rob them once they go.
Put on the pan, said greedy Nan, we'll take the ox and all their sheep
dig up their vegetables, steal their diamonds, make a stew while they sleep
but the King of Spade and the queen of hearts just got a divorce
she got custody of the kids, half the house and a good horse
and the nouveau riche the Queen of Diamonds and the King of Clubs
blew their ill-gotten gains and easy money in casinos and backstreet pubs
the neighbours dazzling jewels and hidden coins are all fakes and forged
and all night long, on tales of corruption and extravagance we gorged.
(eva day)
Thursday, 31 March 2011
I and Thou. a contemplation and creative writing challenge
this piece was written as a writing challenge, which Shapeshifter Anna and I both experimented with. The idea? Choose a picture of any person , from the internet, and write a descriptive passage.....
can you guess who it is? picture link at foot of page to show you....
I and Thou
what do you notice first, do you see she is black? brown skin, bronzed tones, ancient iconista on byzantine copper weathered green?
is your eye drawn to the scars on her right cheek, in curiosity, compassion - two vertical line with a short horizontal stroke between?
is it a random slash, wound or injury to the lady? has her painting been damaged, battered by time and climate and adversity?
do you see her as an image, she is as she is, or look through two millennia of tales of grace, sorrow, strength, prayer and pity?
she gazes directly from the picture, she looks out from her own story into yours, her eyes are calm, sad, small almond eyes
in a long, slender face, small mouth, neat and slightly mournful, but gentle, eyebrows, curved, soft, dimple in her chin
and, defined, slightly rounded at its tip, accentuated in the fall of the light; the nose is long, both strong and delicate, thin
the light falls on her nose and right cheek; her right hand to her breast, curved, slightly stiff. she holds the child in her left arm
her neck looks short: do you notice that, or find you're wondering whether she the woman, or her painting, came to harm?
the scar perhaps looks like a letter H, I think of Holy, Human, Hope, Hebrew, Healing...... the halo, like a symbol of infinity
encircles her head, and that of the child, connecting them in union, and telling us the familiar story of their divinity
her robes are dark in colour, decorated with fleur, de lys, and trimmed with softer orange gold, her hair covered by the hood
her eyes are sad, wise, still, full of memories and future vision, do you see an ordinary woman or the Mother of all that's True and Good?
(eva day)
here is the link for the picture
see also separate note in comments section
can you guess who it is? picture link at foot of page to show you....
I and Thou
what do you notice first, do you see she is black? brown skin, bronzed tones, ancient iconista on byzantine copper weathered green?
is your eye drawn to the scars on her right cheek, in curiosity, compassion - two vertical line with a short horizontal stroke between?
is it a random slash, wound or injury to the lady? has her painting been damaged, battered by time and climate and adversity?
do you see her as an image, she is as she is, or look through two millennia of tales of grace, sorrow, strength, prayer and pity?
she gazes directly from the picture, she looks out from her own story into yours, her eyes are calm, sad, small almond eyes
in a long, slender face, small mouth, neat and slightly mournful, but gentle, eyebrows, curved, soft, dimple in her chin
and, defined, slightly rounded at its tip, accentuated in the fall of the light; the nose is long, both strong and delicate, thin
the light falls on her nose and right cheek; her right hand to her breast, curved, slightly stiff. she holds the child in her left arm
her neck looks short: do you notice that, or find you're wondering whether she the woman, or her painting, came to harm?
the scar perhaps looks like a letter H, I think of Holy, Human, Hope, Hebrew, Healing...... the halo, like a symbol of infinity
encircles her head, and that of the child, connecting them in union, and telling us the familiar story of their divinity
her robes are dark in colour, decorated with fleur, de lys, and trimmed with softer orange gold, her hair covered by the hood
her eyes are sad, wise, still, full of memories and future vision, do you see an ordinary woman or the Mother of all that's True and Good?
(eva day)
here is the link for the picture
see also separate note in comments section
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Give her an inch and she'll take your soul..... The Dark Tales of Thumbelina
For no particular reason, I've been doing a series of posts and pieces of writing in sets of three, with linked theme. Here's another min-trilogy, this time a sinister (and rather odd) twist on a fairy tale.....
Prelude: Thumbelina's Thimble
"good skills, how you gathered all those scraps and made a marvellous patchwork quilt"
good construction how you read between the lines and fabricate accusation guilt
"oh but poetry is beautiful and yours slithers from the sewing machine like satin"
put the cat out, bring the kettle in, do domestics, turn the gas off let the cat in'
"but that's so contrived and ill-fitting, badly tailored, you only introduce the feline theme
because you wanted something rhyming, like a word garment, neat hem, tidy seam."
but i was always fond of rhyme and rhythm and of tongue in cheek and poetic whimsy:
so when you asked me to design new emperors clothing, I created something flimsy.
and faithful to the fairy story, did you expect the clothes to be invisible, like the original version?
"oh darling, have a rummage through the remnants, tour my premises, enjoy this sweet excursion!"
because I am not a practised needlewoman and can't sew for you a gorgeous costume drama:
someone let the cat out of the bag, we had a domestic: I took it out on you and now I am much calmer.
scissors slashed your suit of the best day of our lives, and cut you from the picture album so completely.
a stitch in time won't save a marriage but my homely prose and poems about us are tacked so neatly.
"a quick tuck, a dart, a poison glance, a pattern from our lives of married- this- years- hottest- trends.
but the material of matrimony suits neither me nor you, all shabby, frayed, lots of unpleasant loose ends."
do I love you? i don't like you anymore so much: instead of a cushion I use a voodoo doll to stick my pins.
my mother said back then, girl don't be a seamstress, be a weaver and a spinster (one who spins.)
when we got wed, I bought the product and the promise, wanted to wear you like a designer label.
who would be king, who would be queen? for me, no Cinderella's ballgown that i read of in the fable.
I don't have fancy clothes or stylish looks, i make ends meet, turned out in hand-made skirt and dress
i hate our home, unravelled ordinary life: i sew and sew and so , and so .... I write poems less and less.
well then, to hell with you, and I'll keep your heart in my thimble, darn your ripped life with my fateful thread
here is the story of your life to come, your past re-sewn and patterned, served up with your breakfast in bed.....
Opus: Jack Nimble's Lament
my wife was small, formed perfectly, enchanting, and delicate in frame but not in spirit, action or intent.
she wished me harm and when once love had began to fade, her hatred was determined, she would not relent.
she sailed at night in a walnut shell, haunting me with fiendish nightmares and ghoulish curse.
the honeymoon was bitter-sweet, after the evil spells she hurled, not for better but for worse.
I was always nimble, but no agility was enough to out-reach her malevolent rage and spite;
perhaps I was entertaining, yet I not on the whole a good husband, but only a light-hearted sprite.
my acrobatics did not entertain Thumbelina, the circus tricks could not win her deeper passion.
I was witty, and charming, and couldd spin a good yarn, was always dressed in the latest fashion.
but my miniature wife yearned, she said, for something or someone with greater vision - and bolder.
her brooding spells and furious loathing grew in heat despite her size, and yet her world with me grew colder
I heeded not when mother and father had warned, beware, Jack, marry that lass in haste, repent in long remorse.
witchery wife, she lit a candle and chanted a dreadful spell of loveless binding and a devilish fearsome force.
I who am nimble and fast, I jumped over the candlestick, leapt through the flame into the abyss of despair beyond.
oh I could not outreach her grasp, the chill and cruelty of the punishment of the sweetheart, once so dearly fond.
and how she'd delighted in me, in early days, a handsome boy, a light relief from lonely bleak long years,
a game of love and elegance, an easy distraction from the history of her legacy and all her deepest fears.
as a child, the beautiful Belina had told me, her mother had taught her that witches will sail dusk to dawn
in the empty shell of the breakfast egg: so if you don't smash the case, you'll rue the day that you were born.
but I was the shell that was broken, and the lady ate walnuts and eggs and my soul, all pickled in brine:
despised the marriage, the fairy tales I had believed in, and devoured the life that was once mine.
she had grown not in her mother's womb, but in an empty snails shell, conceived by supernatural force;
Tommelisa the country folk called her with good cheer, but soon learned her cruel nature and angry heart.
when she met me and wed me, they never warned the darker side of the vows and till death do us part.
yes we happily left the inhabited lands of human company, Thumbelina and I, and went to our own sweet nest.
I thought there we would live in a tender romance, a world of gentle sensual lust, easy peaceful rest.
but, soon disappointed and bored with wedlock, she wanted me neither in her home nor her bed, but still -
would not let me go, and I could not leave for I was compelled by her, and must stay or go at her will.
in time, after weary years, her attention was taken by a chance meeting with an ugly toad and a devious mole.
oh my dearest Belina, with slender, sweet body and eyes so kind, yet a mind like a swamp and black as coal.
these undergrowth creatures were more of her kin than an airy being with no harsh desperate past.
she cut the ties, I bled I hurt, I was cruelly starved of her magic. but I was wise, knew I was free at last.
she still lives in that faraway place, with the mole and the toad, not the friendly ones from wind in the willows -
but the evil kind, who will haunt you: children keep talismans, bent pennies, eggshells and walnuts, under your pillows
And all is well, for the most part, for me, for I live in a wonderful castle where the walls shout out, warn of danger,
and rise up one hundred feet tall and grow one thousand arms wielding swords, to alert and protect at approach of a stranger.
I am visited often, though, by invitation and with welcoming smiles, by thirteen princesses, such grace and sweet sweet charms.
I shall never marry again, and I dine, dance and dream with these ladies and yet, empty - I dream I'm embraced in Belina's arms
yes I am Jack, the lad, the flash, the man with sparkle in his eyes, and known for being quick and nimble
but I am not free, she's kept a portion of my soul, it floats ghost-like in her cauldron, the beautiful Belina's thimble.
Finale: the fairy tale romance of Jack and Tiny Belina....
it was a silly fancy, mother said, to keep broken eggshells, coins, nuts, beneath my pillows, horsehoes hanging over my bed.
she assured me that the dreams I had were childish nightmares, I'd grow out of them, put superstitious worries from my head.
tragedy came at spring cleaning season, when I was off at school, learning the facts of life and sensible ways of the world.
Mum's good intentions were my road to hell, my talismans went in the bin, and the nightmares were unfurled.
yes, many times I'd thought I'd heard and sensed that tiny lady of the world of horrors, stalking eerily,
out in the garden, and up at my window, hungry, greedy: but "don't be silly" ma had said, so wearily.
returning home I felt the terror, and helpless to repair the damage done, for there were no eggs, the chickens had not laid;
no walnuts to be had for love nor money, the horseshoes alone would not protect, the coins were gone, the milkman had been paid....
and so the ordinary domestic duties and peace in our household seemed safely comfortable and tidily secure.
but I knew I now had now protection from the Tiny Thumbelina, coming to devour me and the waiting I could not endure.
and so that night I ended the long hours of tormented agony dreading, yearning for her nocturnal touch and dark caressing
out into the garden I stumbled, fearful, desperate, and there was wed to Thumbelina, as a dark priest gave his blessing.
each morning, after nights of pain and struggle, she lets me go, so quietly I return to bed and often mother says I seem withdrawn.
she knows not that she's a grandmother, the night shadows dance with the children of a lad and a tiny witch, those wicked spawn.
but day by day, well trained now, yet full of fear, regret, I do the routines of a normal lad; sports, girls and homework.
yet I am hollow and never shall be free, to have a home, hearth, wife and family, doomed by the world where Belina and the tiny devils lurk....
well-meaning mothers everywhere, believe this tale and for god's sake do not take duster, mop and broom
to sweep the debris from your sons dark lair, there are worse fates than the foul pit that is his room....
(eva day)
(note: alternative names and versions of Thumbelina are drawn from original and traiditonal tales.... with thanks to Hans Christian Anderson and various translators.)
Prelude: Thumbelina's Thimble
"good skills, how you gathered all those scraps and made a marvellous patchwork quilt"
good construction how you read between the lines and fabricate accusation guilt
"oh but poetry is beautiful and yours slithers from the sewing machine like satin"
put the cat out, bring the kettle in, do domestics, turn the gas off let the cat in'
"but that's so contrived and ill-fitting, badly tailored, you only introduce the feline theme
because you wanted something rhyming, like a word garment, neat hem, tidy seam."
but i was always fond of rhyme and rhythm and of tongue in cheek and poetic whimsy:
so when you asked me to design new emperors clothing, I created something flimsy.
and faithful to the fairy story, did you expect the clothes to be invisible, like the original version?
"oh darling, have a rummage through the remnants, tour my premises, enjoy this sweet excursion!"
because I am not a practised needlewoman and can't sew for you a gorgeous costume drama:
someone let the cat out of the bag, we had a domestic: I took it out on you and now I am much calmer.
scissors slashed your suit of the best day of our lives, and cut you from the picture album so completely.
a stitch in time won't save a marriage but my homely prose and poems about us are tacked so neatly.
"a quick tuck, a dart, a poison glance, a pattern from our lives of married- this- years- hottest- trends.
but the material of matrimony suits neither me nor you, all shabby, frayed, lots of unpleasant loose ends."
do I love you? i don't like you anymore so much: instead of a cushion I use a voodoo doll to stick my pins.
my mother said back then, girl don't be a seamstress, be a weaver and a spinster (one who spins.)
when we got wed, I bought the product and the promise, wanted to wear you like a designer label.
who would be king, who would be queen? for me, no Cinderella's ballgown that i read of in the fable.
I don't have fancy clothes or stylish looks, i make ends meet, turned out in hand-made skirt and dress
i hate our home, unravelled ordinary life: i sew and sew and so , and so .... I write poems less and less.
well then, to hell with you, and I'll keep your heart in my thimble, darn your ripped life with my fateful thread
here is the story of your life to come, your past re-sewn and patterned, served up with your breakfast in bed.....
Opus: Jack Nimble's Lament
my wife was small, formed perfectly, enchanting, and delicate in frame but not in spirit, action or intent.
she wished me harm and when once love had began to fade, her hatred was determined, she would not relent.
she sailed at night in a walnut shell, haunting me with fiendish nightmares and ghoulish curse.
the honeymoon was bitter-sweet, after the evil spells she hurled, not for better but for worse.
I was always nimble, but no agility was enough to out-reach her malevolent rage and spite;
perhaps I was entertaining, yet I not on the whole a good husband, but only a light-hearted sprite.
my acrobatics did not entertain Thumbelina, the circus tricks could not win her deeper passion.
I was witty, and charming, and couldd spin a good yarn, was always dressed in the latest fashion.
but my miniature wife yearned, she said, for something or someone with greater vision - and bolder.
her brooding spells and furious loathing grew in heat despite her size, and yet her world with me grew colder
I heeded not when mother and father had warned, beware, Jack, marry that lass in haste, repent in long remorse.
witchery wife, she lit a candle and chanted a dreadful spell of loveless binding and a devilish fearsome force.
I who am nimble and fast, I jumped over the candlestick, leapt through the flame into the abyss of despair beyond.
oh I could not outreach her grasp, the chill and cruelty of the punishment of the sweetheart, once so dearly fond.
and how she'd delighted in me, in early days, a handsome boy, a light relief from lonely bleak long years,
a game of love and elegance, an easy distraction from the history of her legacy and all her deepest fears.
as a child, the beautiful Belina had told me, her mother had taught her that witches will sail dusk to dawn
in the empty shell of the breakfast egg: so if you don't smash the case, you'll rue the day that you were born.
but I was the shell that was broken, and the lady ate walnuts and eggs and my soul, all pickled in brine:
despised the marriage, the fairy tales I had believed in, and devoured the life that was once mine.
she had grown not in her mother's womb, but in an empty snails shell, conceived by supernatural force;
Tommelisa the country folk called her with good cheer, but soon learned her cruel nature and angry heart.
when she met me and wed me, they never warned the darker side of the vows and till death do us part.
yes we happily left the inhabited lands of human company, Thumbelina and I, and went to our own sweet nest.
I thought there we would live in a tender romance, a world of gentle sensual lust, easy peaceful rest.
but, soon disappointed and bored with wedlock, she wanted me neither in her home nor her bed, but still -
would not let me go, and I could not leave for I was compelled by her, and must stay or go at her will.
in time, after weary years, her attention was taken by a chance meeting with an ugly toad and a devious mole.
oh my dearest Belina, with slender, sweet body and eyes so kind, yet a mind like a swamp and black as coal.
these undergrowth creatures were more of her kin than an airy being with no harsh desperate past.
she cut the ties, I bled I hurt, I was cruelly starved of her magic. but I was wise, knew I was free at last.
she still lives in that faraway place, with the mole and the toad, not the friendly ones from wind in the willows -
but the evil kind, who will haunt you: children keep talismans, bent pennies, eggshells and walnuts, under your pillows
And all is well, for the most part, for me, for I live in a wonderful castle where the walls shout out, warn of danger,
and rise up one hundred feet tall and grow one thousand arms wielding swords, to alert and protect at approach of a stranger.
I am visited often, though, by invitation and with welcoming smiles, by thirteen princesses, such grace and sweet sweet charms.
I shall never marry again, and I dine, dance and dream with these ladies and yet, empty - I dream I'm embraced in Belina's arms
yes I am Jack, the lad, the flash, the man with sparkle in his eyes, and known for being quick and nimble
but I am not free, she's kept a portion of my soul, it floats ghost-like in her cauldron, the beautiful Belina's thimble.
Finale: the fairy tale romance of Jack and Tiny Belina....
it was a silly fancy, mother said, to keep broken eggshells, coins, nuts, beneath my pillows, horsehoes hanging over my bed.
she assured me that the dreams I had were childish nightmares, I'd grow out of them, put superstitious worries from my head.
tragedy came at spring cleaning season, when I was off at school, learning the facts of life and sensible ways of the world.
Mum's good intentions were my road to hell, my talismans went in the bin, and the nightmares were unfurled.
yes, many times I'd thought I'd heard and sensed that tiny lady of the world of horrors, stalking eerily,
out in the garden, and up at my window, hungry, greedy: but "don't be silly" ma had said, so wearily.
returning home I felt the terror, and helpless to repair the damage done, for there were no eggs, the chickens had not laid;
no walnuts to be had for love nor money, the horseshoes alone would not protect, the coins were gone, the milkman had been paid....
and so the ordinary domestic duties and peace in our household seemed safely comfortable and tidily secure.
but I knew I now had now protection from the Tiny Thumbelina, coming to devour me and the waiting I could not endure.
and so that night I ended the long hours of tormented agony dreading, yearning for her nocturnal touch and dark caressing
out into the garden I stumbled, fearful, desperate, and there was wed to Thumbelina, as a dark priest gave his blessing.
each morning, after nights of pain and struggle, she lets me go, so quietly I return to bed and often mother says I seem withdrawn.
she knows not that she's a grandmother, the night shadows dance with the children of a lad and a tiny witch, those wicked spawn.
but day by day, well trained now, yet full of fear, regret, I do the routines of a normal lad; sports, girls and homework.
yet I am hollow and never shall be free, to have a home, hearth, wife and family, doomed by the world where Belina and the tiny devils lurk....
well-meaning mothers everywhere, believe this tale and for god's sake do not take duster, mop and broom
to sweep the debris from your sons dark lair, there are worse fates than the foul pit that is his room....
(eva day)
(note: alternative names and versions of Thumbelina are drawn from original and traiditonal tales.... with thanks to Hans Christian Anderson and various translators.)
Thursday, 24 March 2011
An Inventors Flirtation and a Scientific Romance.......
I have been playing a lot with words, ideas and themes, for many years and more recently revisiting the games and fun of writing, as a way of freeing up flow and creativity. Myself, I am a perpetual beginner, but here I offer an idea for some fun, for others who want to write and to develop their storytelling or character building skills. I've also shared a few writing challenges, jointly, with another aspiring writer, as well as looking at similar challenges and practises from on-line writing groups, and recommend these as a good focus. If you want to do similar with others, just takes turns to pick different themes and guidelines for short pieces, which you can then share for feedback and further inspiration. This can help give you a starting point,too, if you're committed to producing some writing on a daily basis, to keep reaching into your potential.
Of course, you can also invent and set yourself challenges - but a bit of interchange and networking can be very growthful.
Chose some more weighty or reflective themes, but give yourself challenges, too, that are about fun: and go for a range of formats, from straight prose, to poetry, dialogue, first and third person, etc....
Here's an offering, a challenge I set myself. Play with it if you feel like it and see where it takes you:
choose a well known saying or homily such as "too many cooks spoil the broth" or "a rolling stone gathers no moss." Use it in a piece of dialogue between characters from history or fiction, to include a "girl meets boy" element in some way. Write in dialogue only, as much as possible, as if in drama script format; so any action is indicated briefly, eg: exit Luke, Lucy falls down, etc.....
Here's my piece of nonsense!
BOY MEETS GIRL.....
Sir Isaac Newton: "These many unanswered questions and ideas I am having are a burden to me, I feel depressed and heavy.... as if something was pulling me down."
(Newton sits down under a tree.)
Thomas Edison: "Stop fussing, what do you think it's like for me?.... I keep trying and trying with different prototypes for my marvellous light bulb invention, but my brain just won't work. I'm in a very dark mood."
(Enter Kali, Goddess of Destruction, waving her six arms enthusiastically)
Kali: "Don't worry, I can help. After all, many hands make light work."
Edison: "But you're a destroyer!! I don't believe you will help me invent anything, as you have a terrible reputation for breaking things."
Kali: "Well, that's true, so we'll just have to completely dismantle all your current theories, to make way for a new perspective. And have a smashing time doing it, probably breaking new ground..." (laughs crazily)
Newton: "Stop making puns and being so foolish. This is serious, I have a scientific dilemma too, so we need a little gravity I feel.)
(an apple falls on Newton's head.....)
Edison: "Ouch I bet that hurt. Kali, see what trouble you bring? Stamping about, shaking apples from the tree like that!! You really are rotten to the core...."
Voice of God: "DON'T ARGUE, YOU LOT; GET TO THE ROOTS OF THE MATTER AND BE MORE DOWN TO EARTH OR I SHALL INTRODUCE SIR EDWARD APPLETON INTO THE PLOT!!"
(Newton jumps up)
Newton: "Eureka!! That knock on the head has done it!! I have the perfect theory..... to explain falling apples and fallen angels...."
(enter Archimedes)
Archimedes: "You bloody sod, you took my line!! EUREKA was the only bloody spoken word I had in this damned play......"
enter Einstein Stephen Hawkins and Caroline Herschel :
Einstein: "Did somebody mention roots? E =mc 2 and the square root of pi is infinite, it goes on and on and doesn't have a repeating value..."
Newton: "A bit like you then, you old ranter....."
(enter Lucifer)
Lucifer: "And did someone mention fallen angels......?"
Hawkins: "This is madness! Chaos theory, applied....."
Herschel: "Now we see the reason for the long division between science and religion!"
God: "Don't bring me into this!! Look, you lads, here's Caroline, she's a nice lass...... One of you ask her out on a date and then take it away from there. I've told you before to go forth and multiply......"
Herschel: "Boys, if you want to grab my interest, you need to approach me from the right angle. Bring half a dozen red roses, six being a perfect number. In addition, you should not even consider speed dating, it's not at all a sound practice...."
(with a flourish, Edison produces from beneath his jacket, a bunch of roses)
Edison: "Madame! Flowers delivered, faster than the speed of light...."
etc, etc.....
What comes more easily to you? Initial ideas? Characters, coming to life? A storyline? Or dialogue? And what's most challenging.... the aspects you could play and practice with more?
Enjoy! eva day.
Of course, you can also invent and set yourself challenges - but a bit of interchange and networking can be very growthful.
Chose some more weighty or reflective themes, but give yourself challenges, too, that are about fun: and go for a range of formats, from straight prose, to poetry, dialogue, first and third person, etc....
Here's an offering, a challenge I set myself. Play with it if you feel like it and see where it takes you:
choose a well known saying or homily such as "too many cooks spoil the broth" or "a rolling stone gathers no moss." Use it in a piece of dialogue between characters from history or fiction, to include a "girl meets boy" element in some way. Write in dialogue only, as much as possible, as if in drama script format; so any action is indicated briefly, eg: exit Luke, Lucy falls down, etc.....
Here's my piece of nonsense!
BOY MEETS GIRL.....
Sir Isaac Newton: "These many unanswered questions and ideas I am having are a burden to me, I feel depressed and heavy.... as if something was pulling me down."
(Newton sits down under a tree.)
Thomas Edison: "Stop fussing, what do you think it's like for me?.... I keep trying and trying with different prototypes for my marvellous light bulb invention, but my brain just won't work. I'm in a very dark mood."
(Enter Kali, Goddess of Destruction, waving her six arms enthusiastically)
Kali: "Don't worry, I can help. After all, many hands make light work."
Edison: "But you're a destroyer!! I don't believe you will help me invent anything, as you have a terrible reputation for breaking things."
Kali: "Well, that's true, so we'll just have to completely dismantle all your current theories, to make way for a new perspective. And have a smashing time doing it, probably breaking new ground..." (laughs crazily)
Newton: "Stop making puns and being so foolish. This is serious, I have a scientific dilemma too, so we need a little gravity I feel.)
(an apple falls on Newton's head.....)
Edison: "Ouch I bet that hurt. Kali, see what trouble you bring? Stamping about, shaking apples from the tree like that!! You really are rotten to the core...."
Voice of God: "DON'T ARGUE, YOU LOT; GET TO THE ROOTS OF THE MATTER AND BE MORE DOWN TO EARTH OR I SHALL INTRODUCE SIR EDWARD APPLETON INTO THE PLOT!!"
(Newton jumps up)
Newton: "Eureka!! That knock on the head has done it!! I have the perfect theory..... to explain falling apples and fallen angels...."
(enter Archimedes)
Archimedes: "You bloody sod, you took my line!! EUREKA was the only bloody spoken word I had in this damned play......"
enter Einstein Stephen Hawkins and Caroline Herschel :
Einstein: "Did somebody mention roots? E =mc 2 and the square root of pi is infinite, it goes on and on and doesn't have a repeating value..."
Newton: "A bit like you then, you old ranter....."
(enter Lucifer)
Lucifer: "And did someone mention fallen angels......?"
Hawkins: "This is madness! Chaos theory, applied....."
Herschel: "Now we see the reason for the long division between science and religion!"
God: "Don't bring me into this!! Look, you lads, here's Caroline, she's a nice lass...... One of you ask her out on a date and then take it away from there. I've told you before to go forth and multiply......"
Herschel: "Boys, if you want to grab my interest, you need to approach me from the right angle. Bring half a dozen red roses, six being a perfect number. In addition, you should not even consider speed dating, it's not at all a sound practice...."
(with a flourish, Edison produces from beneath his jacket, a bunch of roses)
Edison: "Madame! Flowers delivered, faster than the speed of light...."
etc, etc.....
What comes more easily to you? Initial ideas? Characters, coming to life? A storyline? Or dialogue? And what's most challenging.... the aspects you could play and practice with more?
Enjoy! eva day.
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