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!
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