I’ve read the words of the winners of this year’s Poetry Contest,
the words that reaped $3,000 in winnings for first prize.
Yeah, mine would likely never win,
Certainly not nearly as obtuse or just plain weird enough.
I like my poetry as I like my burgers,
grilled, salted, a little cheese, with no gold leaf and truffle oil.
It is not cold yet, but the wind is up, and the grey sky has that chilled, streaked, snow-is-on-its-way look about it. And it is ever so quiet; as though most everyone and everything is still asleep and unaware, unperturbed, and comfortable in their beds.
Imagine how quiet it must have been while Princess Aurora and her minions slept and the briar surrounding the castle grew and grew and tangled itself into an impenetrable shield. I bet the old hag who condemned them all for slighting her had given no thought to the fact that the prison she created was also a safe haven; that the dreamless sleep of all within preserved their confidence and courage so that when and if they awoke, they would not be hindered by lingering nightmares. All would simply yawn deeply and stretch their arms wide, walk out the kinks in their hips and knees, and get back to it, not remembering, or even realizing, they’d slept one hundred years.
They say her name was Malificent. I prefer ugly hag, or old hag, or simply “hag” with no flourishes. Over the years they have stretched her tall and graceful, and oh, so sympathetic. Even her twisted horns exhibit elegance. They insist we must embrace her, she was damaged you see… she could not help herself, until her heart filled with love, and that love set her free, and she was restored, and all the world healed, and bloomed and prospered; and the birds sang, and chipmunks giggled and, well, you know…the magic thing.
I call foul…
11/17/2020 first entry