NaPoWriMo – Day 21

Each day for the month of April, the Cedar Bark Poets are writing a poem a day in celebration of NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing month. Poems are posted here daily. Let Katheren know if you would like to participate!

“And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!”


Yes I am all wet
But truly not so slimy
I watch you carefully lower
Lips to my croaking face
Really Lady!!
At least bring me a fly
Payment for torment
Kissing humans has never
Been My dream,it is
Disturbing-I won’t lie!
Pond folklore never
Had a story for THIS!!

– Kath

Fairy Godmother

Her tears are rushing down
somehow summoning my presence
poor child so lost and alone
driven to her breaking point
tattered and torn

As I walk through the garden
each flower in its place,
yet the blossoming flower
my child, my creation, my love
is the one wilting so

To approach her, yet not startle her
she turns and reflects me
I think of a lie to who I am
I think it up quick
She needs to know I am watching
That there is someone who cares.

Now I have her attention
to play my role, my character
making it up as I go along.
With a swish and a flick
her love and faith is restored
now run along my daughter
and conquer what you wish.

– Rhiannon

Magic Mirror (From Snow White)

One more glance upon her face
Would be a complete disgrace
Watching the evil from within
I would get rid of her if I had skin

Oh here she comes to speak that phrase
This is how it goes, what she always says “ Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

No more lies, I cannot fake
Her heart is so ugly, for goodness sake
She will be mad, angry but I no longer care I will do the impossible, my own little dare

Stood up to her once and for all
You should have seen her jaw fall
Now an evil plan she conjured up quick
She told me the secret, it makes me sick

To kill that poor, innocent, heart felt child Force her into that scary wild Oh my goodness I cannot take it anymore There goes the child, and the huntsman out the door

Oh mercy have it upon me!
What I have I done, I must see
For I will keep my eyes upon that special one I will simply watch over her and hope the killing is not done

Phew, my eyes are blessed to see
She is alive and as well as can be
She is safe inside a cottage in the woods Happy and baking many great goods

Now the queen is furious once again
And she is heading into the den
She is working out an evil spell
Something I just cannot tell

A poisoned apple to make her sleep
Knowing this just makes me weep
That poor child will soon be gone
No more hearing her sing a song

Tears fill my eyes as she lays there
She shared so much of her love and care
Now the prince comes to bid her farewell Kisses her lips and breaks the spell

Rejoicing in the kingdom here
Everyone shedding a happy tear
The two are now set to be married forever The wicked queen is banished, never see her ever

As for me, I now hang on the corridor wall I greet each person who comes down that hall The palace is such a beautiful place to be Come see for yourself, you just have to see

– Jonah

Shears a handmaiden

let me tell you a story about a story that was based on a story of another story

for as was just recently explained to me, a story is like a tree, steady strong trunk, and branches main but some of the smaller ones get pruned off all the same

some elements just don’t make the cut
or into the final version, cleanly butt
or sometimes stories get into a bit of a rut reinvented, with bits cut out and left out in an old box tightly shut

they change, slightly rearrange, the stories are subjective even if that sounds strange

but no one ever aspired to be a handmaiden you see nor ever to be frightened by one or even take much notice that they even be.
so stripped from the story was she, somewhere in the telling between them and we.

I shall tell you a forgotten bit of tale, all the trimmed bits that were locked away in an old strong box alas, and starting to smell stale, but rejoice! for I have the key

so let us read of a minor character that never made it to the final story line, so let know finally her words to be free in a letter she wrote without glee

yes little was known
about a servant, everyday rose before the sun and walked with her draw-bag to a tower of stone employed by an old crone whom on about things did drone and to be overly protective of her garden she was a bit prone

found hidden away, in a place a handmaiden had very briefly stayed, a letter she had written at the end of a very very bad day

— — — —
no one ever said being hairdresser for the royal court would be in anyway easy day after day putting up hair for princesses, a hair sleazy a comb over for a king, that refuses to claim he’s lost a thing

so I had looked for other work, and gone out into the far forested country side where the job prospects did lead for whatever steady work there was to seed

But Rapunzel, was a whole other thing indeed, but what could I do but for another assignment plead I worked my fingers to the bone, my tormented fingers fumbling into the wee hours until they did bleed then back home for a half keg of mead

Brushing and combing, through it looking for trapped birds roaming picking out muddy bits at the end from landing on the thorny berm grass, weeds and twigs through it again did worm

sheared short, what does she expect me to do,
how do I break it to her that a crewcut is unlikely make her mystery prince coo
I’m going to go, a pot of tea brew, while I wait for her emotions to settle and no longer stew
before I again work my way from root to tip through
and futilely trying to see if back on it will glue

thats it, once more and I’m giving that girl a perm!
then once and for all, no more will young man around and up her hair squirm
if only somehow I could figure out away afterwards to safety lower myself down back onto that grassy berm

Yours in kind, Rapunzel’s former hair dresser
but probably this letter you will never find
but I don’t let that one thought destress me in my mind in kind
but never again, that golden blond hair, that doubles as stair, am I going to clean, put back up or bind

For I hear there is a man far out in the forest of the valley looking to hire a hair dresser, with a wife with short hair, and two new small children, twins, a girl and a boy, that will pay quite well for help as he has recently become blind.
— — — —

this is just another version of a grimm tale. that to gain any royal traction did fail, so the scroll was tossed in the pail and a new version was started, one they were sure as a hit people would hail

also a new main line, as on ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, comb through your hair!’ they also decided to bail

– W.B.

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