Kingfisher Oblivion by Don Kingfisher Campbell

UN-TRADITIONAL MYTHS AND FAIRY TALES by Petrouchka Alexieva

 

UN-TRADITIONAL MYTHS AND FAIRY TALES - By Petrouchka Alexieva

 

Life is a Theme Park

 

Life is a Theme Park.

Once you get in, you get addicted.

You go from one rollercoaster to another.

You get addicted to these high-to-the-top travels

From where you see from above the others

Like ants or like chimps hanging around

On the Merry-Go-Round.

And you think the whole Universe

Is yours. But in a second…your sit falls down

Vertically from the wall.

 

Oh, yes, this travel scares you

That you might go to hell

With such enormous speed.

Being afraid to death,

Your exited brain stars

casting prayers and spells.

You repeat and repeat until

You just get calm on the bottom and

Gasp for air. The travel up starts again.

 

Life is a Theme Park.

You seek adventure when sliding

In a water, curving down with speed

But then you still

Did not figure it out where you’ll land -

In some cemented pool, in a roaring sea

Or in a swamp full of mud…

 

You know you act like a fool, but

You keep going because

You still dream

for this glorious splash on the end.

You are already wet, so…

You just enjoy the ripple effect.

 

Life is a Theme Park.

You want to keep riding straight

On the back of its pony. You travel…

And you notice this pony trots in a circle.

You realize that you just coordinate

With the rhythm of this fun-looking cowboy

Who stands on the center and handles the rope -

A little bit loose; then, a little bit short...

Don’t we call him “God”?!

*

Ghost Not Supposed to Feel

 

Ghost sitting in my chair

staring at me. Silent. Transparent.

I know she is there waiting for me.

I’m an extra-sense, indeed.

 

I reach out. In her eye gleams a tear.

I sensor her ethereal pain.

 

Her unbearable pain from love

in her short human life

it’s still strong on the other side.

The tear drops down in the dark.

 

She comes to me every night,

Hoping to heal

trough the black candle light.

Frosty chills run through my palms.

 

Ghost not supposed to feel.

I already know, but is that right?

*

I Wish I Was a Three-Headed Fiery Dragon

Statue of a three-headed fire breathing dragon in Lipetsk region, Russia.

Photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/363595369918456895/

 

I wish I was a three-headed fiery dragon

And solve all my problems at once.

As you know, all my brothers travel at night

Due to traffic control. That’s right!

 

The first head could lie down

On a heavenly cloud

Avoiding my insomniac time.

So, I could get my beauty sleep

Way above the commoners’ crowd.

 

Meanwhile, the second head,

Could blow flames on the neck

Of the people who only exist

To inflict pain to the others. I have a list

And I’d give them a glimpse

How the furnace below really is.

 

A note of delight: Dante was right

About hell, but my list is longer.

My flames might be faster and stronger –

Because I carry three fiery hells at once.

 

I almost forgot! I would have a third head!

It would be flame-buoyant and wild.

The two heads could stay sober and dry.

In fact, I don’t mind to turn my domain

To a beer-marathon den.

 

Folks, I would have no problem to host

Everyday Barbie-cute in my back yard.

Oh, pardon my spelling. What I was telling?

I meant “b-b-q” and…you’ve got the clue.

 

I swear! I’m not going to still sexy maidens.

Oh, Holly Dragons’ heavens!

This is an outdated fashion

For this Internet age, but I’ll party with no brake.

And keep on my neck

Boys from fire-fighting descent.

 

They’ll point out a hose. Of course!

It would be great, if on every event

I could get free swimming lake there

Just bursting my breath in the air.

 

No, no, no! I’m not going to flap my wings

And silently disappear!

My happy and dizzy third head

Would weave its long neck and cheer:

"Oh, what the heck!

Hey man, toss me another barrel with beer! "

*

Ghost Ship

Credits: https://wallpapersafari.com/w/q2NgsI

 

Emerging from the mist at midnight

Drifting slowly in a dark not far from the shore

With no direction and unknown destination

She’s not looking for bay or place to dock.

 

The anchor is a long-time rusting;

The compass is for centuries lost.

The Nordic runes whisper glorious stories

about battles of Vikings coming from North.

 

Drifting slowly from sea to sea,

She’s a house of pale lonely shadows,

A cradle of long-time forgotten souls.

The ghost wait there for next epic battle.

 

It is a heavy and chilling night.

Full silver moon silently hides

Among dark-spider clouds. No gulls.

Only crows take closer approach

Near her flag that is torn in storms.

 

It doesn’t matter for her, if the lighthouse exists.

She cannot hear the songs of the tempting sirens.

The napping winds don’t bother to blow her sails.

Only the creepy squeak of her dark rotten deck

Reminds she is still voyaging in the Black Sea.

*

Midnight Cinderella (from my C’est la vie’ series)

Credit: https://abc7.com/cinderella-disney-movies-characters/402620/

Like a midnight Cinderella I lost my sleeper

Running fast from the midnight bar

Because you cannot handle your liquor.

 

You were blinking like cosmic quasar,

Wobbling head, bubbling words

And explaining to me that I’m your universe.

 

I lost my sleeper and I neglected the other;

So, the stairs were easy…Oh, brother, brother!

Please don’t search for me!

C’est la vie, Mon Ami!

*

Pegasus on Strike

(The winged unicorn is called Pegasus, a winged divine stallion, a symbol of poetic inspiration.).

Its flight is an allegory of the soul’s immortality.

 

I was sitting at my corner this morning

Thinking to write something poetic,

Something for love,

Something that melts the heart,

Something that burns the imagination.

And…I wished myself very good luck.

 

My Pegasus was curled on the floor

Resting next to my couch.

I hoped he’ll get up and fly,

I hoped he will glide,

But… he said “I’m on strike”

And pointed out the dazzling chandelier

With his twisted sparkling horn. Oh, Dear!

 

My pen began dripping blood.

Dark blue cloud darken the sky

And purple hell began drumming on the path

Of my creative imagination.

Then, came the flood of useless words,

a tornado of unfitted verse after verse -

With no rhythms, no rhymes.

 

The page became thin, almost transparent.

My magical feather made whole after hole;

Scratching deep to the table.

I was thinking: “I’d better

Write on paper tissue”.

My stallion nodded his horn: ”True”

And went back to sleep.

 

How I deserved this?

– He telepathically read my mind.

“You abused me every day and night.

From sunset to sunrise you write

And you write, and you write…

I am hungry and tired, I cannot fly.
So, I’m on strike. At midnight

At least you can share with me glass of wine.”

*

Paleo Journey

I want to fit in my fabulous gown.

I asked “Alexa, help me to chose a diet”

The suggestion was: “The paleo food,

The one that cave man was once eating.

Make it your daily routine.”

I scroll down on my screen.

 

Perfect! Right away,

I felt like a Paleo diet queen.

In the backyard I have a grill.

It will help me to cook ancestral meals,

Why not to give it a try?

And my cave man journey began.

 

I started a conquest for wooly mammoth.

I began running from store to store

Shooting birds with my hungry eyes

Hunting ribs and stakes in the freezer isles;

Wondering what kind of dinosaur was on display -

A grass-fed or fed with GMO grains.

 

Next, I focus on piles with eggs.

Which one were better, the whites or the darks?

Eggs with one yolk or the genetically altered with two?

And I spotted the answer – right there, on the middle shelf!

The ostrich one! It looked great

Showing off his Gulliver size among these Lilliputs.
In fact, its mama and daddy are paleognaths;

So, no question, it was the best of all finds.

 

My Paleo journey did not stop there.

I returned to my four-chamber cave.

I unloaded my bags with veggies and fruits

(Hopping!) with no pesticides,

(Hopping!) they will be delicious nutritious goods.

 

The paleo man was lucky –

In his time, Bayer, Monsanto, and Dow AgroSciences

Were not even born.

Thus, their logos are not painted on stone.

He had not to write 60 different names of sugar

 – It would be a challenging list for his chisel, for sure!

 

From my bowl, various nuts were blinking at me

And burst from inside enormous temptation.

But I’m strict and précised, and surprisingly patient.

I looked at their size and the table of macros.

I counted… eleven almonds, eight haves of pecan, sixteen cashews…

It hit me! The curbs were never his issues,

They are just mine.

 

I had a question in mind:

Did the paleo man

Could count at least to ten?

Or he just grabbed what he wanted with his bare hand?

He munched for his own satisfaction

Sharing bites with his hunting band.

But for me what is left is a restricted fraction,

A paleo diet with moderations

And what’s-on-plate concentration.

 

Oh, common! What the hell! Let’s move on

Because I am hungry and can eat a whole mastodon.

*

The Oyster Tells Its Story

Credit: https://pearlwise.pro/what-are-shell-pearls/

 

I am an oyster, stacked to the rock

In a deep dark oceanic bottom

I can’t see the sun, not even a glow -

Out of reach from a beach or a shore.

 

The octopus came and told me a story,

About the Egyptian queen

Who dissolved a pearl in a glass of wine

To win a bet with her victorious Roman lover –

 

I’m an oyster - shy, simple and clean -

It seems that the octopus told me

The great Cleopatra and Mak Antony’s saga,

Waving his limb like a dagger - 

You know...you know what I mean.

 

I am fixed in a bottom from years ago

Guarding my irritant tenant.

I tried to get rid of him, but he didn’t go;

I still rebel this trendy invasion.

 

The story is short. It’s a bad situation:

The more I resist, the bigger it grows

I have to outstand the sand, the debris,

The power of angry polluted ocean,

And the attacks of all hungry fish.

Being stuck to the bottom,

Showing hopeless devotion,

I’ve got tired, wrinkled, and dark outside.  

What a surprise – inside, on the end,

The intruder became a gem!

 

I dream to ride a wave one day

And rich the oceanic edge,

But I am afraid

When people open my thicken shell

The pearl will shine on somebody’s neck

And I will be thrown back -

To nurture again

Another opportunistic gem.

*

having a drink (tanka)

 

romantic poets

writers of novels

beggars and nobles

and victorious kings -

all need a couple of drinks

*

Urban Cinderella (Cubicle Cinderella)

 

I fall in love, I should admit.

This is my deep romantic secret.

I am your Cinderella, my prince.

The one that lost her slipper,

And wait for you to come.

But, as a matter of fact,

I differ from your exclusive pack.

 

I am a commoner, pure and simple.

When the dances with others are over,

I’ll ask the moon to light your path,

And the stars to bring you good luck.

 

Did you notice I’m a blossoming flower,

Singing river, or a flying bird?

My heart is yours, pumping crazy

Between two luxurious floors.

I am lost in the sea of urban emotions.

I fall in love, I admit.

I had no time to say ‘Good Bye!’

 

Do I fit in this fable?

Do I fit in this crazy world

With my old-fashioned feelings

Among cellular calls, talks in reverse

And endless corporate meetings?

 

Did you noticed at all my existence

Among your top subordinates?

Do you even remember… my face

Passing by my silver-grey cubicle,

(I mean my domain)?

Do you recall my name reaching the end

Of the polished conference table?

I know, you play the bachelor game

“Please, leave a message after the beep…”

 

I wonder how I might fit… in this tale.

It says I shell wait until the rays of light.

Ok, the fable goes right.

I’m persistent, but what is the meaning

Of waiting this long?

 

In fact, it is after midnight and beyond.

I noticed my sleeper is gathering dust

And…the pumpkin outside

Is developing rust.

On the end of this story

Who cares what’s wrong or right?

Hurry! You must find me! If not,

Please don’t waste my night!

*

Tired Princess Sleeps Under the Bush

Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1085508316408495894/

Tired princes sleeps again

Under the lilac bush…until midday.

Her dancing shoes

Are torn into pieces.

Her skirt gathered dirt.

 

I know, she is pretty and young,

But she deserves more

Than wasting her time

Dancing and drinking in the boring bar

With meaningless dwarfs.

 

She is a princess over all.

Please, do me a favor

And continue this fable.

You might like to turn the table.

All time is yours, of course...

*

Santa, It’s Time to Break Up

 

Santa, you know… It’s time to break up.

I am all grown up.

Sense childhood, you messed up;

Most of my wishes did not come true.

Did you ever read my letters?

The true old fashion ones, not like today

– the e-mails with checker

full with spelling mistakes.

 

I asked for a doll with blinking blue eyes

And gold shiny curls,

But you gave me a thick boring book.

See, because of You,

All my live I went to school (True!).

But I always tried to look

Like this shiny doll from my childhood dreams

With long blond curls and flapping lashes.

Ok, ok, sometimes, in the dorms

I went to extremes, parting long weeks

With other dolls, but never failed tests.

And I always looked in my best among them all.

 

Santa, you know…It’s time to break up.

I’d better burn my dreams into ashes.

I sealed the chimney, I locked the door.

I do not like you to drop from above.

How many times you got stack

And then landed (Thank God!) on your but

Dusty and dirty and looking like coal.

Once you even came late

Wobbling-blabbering on my cheerful door.

Your eyes were blinking like garland from hell.

 

Santa, Dear! Upgrade your slay.

Buy a new Bentley, or at least, Chevrolet.

Poor reindeers! Let them free!

They must be in struggle (being such old!)

running all night around the globe.

No surprises. Like you,

they all must have already arthritis.

 

And change your diet…

Only cookie and milk, cookie and milk.

Go to the gym, buy a treadmill

Go on keto, get somewhat slim.

 

And for me, if you like to make up the past,

Park Lamborghini with sitting young genie

On the front sit, right on the wheel.

He will fulfill my every desire

And keep the flame rubbing

my magic lamp.

Oh, I’d like to burn in his hands!

 

Santa, you know…I grew up.

And it’s time for you to retire tonight.

That’s right!

And please, keep for yourself

the biggest coal.

After all, you well-deserved it. That’s all!

*

Waltz with the Black Angel

 

Note: In the practice of metaphysics and spirituality

 another interpretation of the term “Black Angel”, is that of a lover.

 

A black angel dives over my head

With bloody-red rose in his mouth.

His shadow dances on the wall

With the pulse of his flipping wings.

 

My oracle candle shimmers under his glides.

 

The black wax melts slowly, slowly

dripping sigils on the midnight floor.

I try to read the flaming runes. I know

he’s a messenger from another world.

 

The silky breeze whispers “Love, love, love …”.

 

Then, he comes closer and closer to me;

Lands down, cushions me with his feathers

And we dance, we swirl, we waltz…

One-two-three, one-two-three…

*

With St. Peter’s Interns - Trust the Process

 

I’ve got company in the divine elevator

With two of St. Peter’s interns.

Two silent angels

Supposed to bring me to heaven.

I was sure, I deserved

The furnace down there,

In the flaming basement.

 

A-ha! I was told it was a tunnel.

Hell no! I was lifted up

Thinking: “O-oh, what if

I get stack in between two levels

In this holy skyscraper.

It happened before. I was returned

To my small earthy life

Not once, but twice.

 

O-oh, Divine Angels!

Help me out this time,

Lift me up straight to heaven

Or drop me from above

 - I don’t mind,

But don’t stack me again

With a claustrophobic guy.

 

He was swearing,

Then he begged hell and heaven

Not to die. Then he cried,

Then he grabbed my skirt to stay in touch

With a human soul (At least he said so)

While biting his fingers

And weaving his knees on the floor.

He glued to my legs and tried

To express his fear.

 

I just wanted to disappear

When he hugged me so tied;

I thought I might completely die

From suffocation. Then he began

Hiding behind my back for protection

He opened my little umbrella

To stop the ceiling to fall from above.

 

Hey you, St. Peter’s interns,

I trust you, but promise me

– This time no more returns;

No ups and downs or any confusion.

I trust the process and I have no illusion.

Just bring me… where I deserve.

*

Whitby Abbey

 

Spring already showered

With lavish green

The surrounding fields.

 

Oh, there! Small daffodil blossoms

Guard the mid-century castle.

Ducklings take their morning bath.

 

The sun shines on some spots,

But creepy fog still hags

The ruins of the monastery walls.

 

I wonder if the spirit of Dracula still walks.

Maybe. Oh, I just heard a trot

And a sound of an invisible frog.

*

Start Writing Today

 

I got early this morning thinking

“What a wonderful time

To start writing today

A new poem, a new book…”

And I looked through the window -

Birds were singing;

Sunflowers and my citrus trees

Burst aroma of heaven.

A whole poetic universe fits

In my cup of lavender tea,

Million galaxies span in front me.

What a morning trill!

 

I felt cozy in my fluffy pajama

And my lucky sleepers.

So, I got my perfect

Creative poetic inspiring spot.

I tried to collect my thoughts.

I laid down a piece of rose-scented paper.

My fancy pen and...

Nothing, nothing came to my mind.

My creative cells were blind.

 

Being silent like an archaic flat stone,

The sheet stared at me,

Burnt my eyes and blocked my brain.

My flashy pen for some reason broke.

My Pegasus got scared,

Spread his wings and…

Flew through the window.

His scattered feathers joined the wind.

My Pegasus simply vanished…in a blink.

 

I felt like a cave man, you know what I mean.

The cave, my poetic domain, got chilled.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

A bunch of dark clouds

Gathered outside;

And rain began

To splash over my feelings.

My chisel turned into dull piece of crap.

I was not able to carve

A single stroke on the stone,

Not even a scratch,

Not even a dot. Oh, God!

 

And a huge sabertooth tiger

With blazing eyes torn me apart,

Thrown my mammoth-fur cloth

From cave wall to cave wall.

I tried to run, but my legs lost speed.

I couldn’t even make a turn.

I wanted to scream,

But my voice stacked in my throat.

So, I thought I was done.

Somehow, in my poetic den,

I was still alive with a chisel in my hand!

 

I woke up, I survived and…I spilt the tea

All over the rose-scented sheet.

But I am still ready to write, indeed,

With a chisel in my hand, (you got it!)

- My flashing pen.

What a wonderful time!

And meanwhile, my poem was done!