Stage Fright

Dad’s sweatshirt transforms into a velvet cape,

draped over my shoulders.

I flourish a stick I found in the yard

in front of an appreciative plush audience.

Passing it over a hat I found

for a quarter at a garage sale,

I conjure flying silk squares,

and moon white rabbits

that do somersaults,

and sing songs dryads taught them

back when the world had plenty of magic beans.

But when I bring my wand, hat, and cape

to the school talent show,

when I stand alone on the stage,

all that I find in my hat is rabbit poo.

Song Choice: Nothing  performed by Natalie Cortez from A Chorus Line

This poem was inspired by a prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens for Real Toads: Weekend Mini Challenge, Following a Thread

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

The Moral of the Story

They rose from the waves to welcome her home.

not expecting to see their sister jump,

stay aloft on the air for a moment,

and then vanish into the foam

formed when her body hit the sea.

The sea princesses came home
wailing for their lost sister,

with their grandmother joining them in grief.

Together their cries rose up out of the sea

bubbling up as a moan,

reverberating to the human lands.

The unease it inspired would have pleased the merfolk,

for as much as the kingdom loved its lost little pearl

they now despised fickle humankind,

who did not notice bloody feet,

or the wincing covered by smiles.

Hurt is a hardening agent,
for resolve,
for strength,
or sometimes for minds,
and hearts.

Trips to the surface were suspect

after the princess’s sad end.

What true merperson would allow

themselves to be enthralled
by such barbaric creatures?

  

So everyone said in the light of day.

Though in moonlight,

a mermaid would polish her collection
of hairpins and tea kettles,

while another would sing human songs in her room.

One merman would analyze

the knots and weaving of mysterious human fabric,

while another would swim to a village

and to repeat his vow to his sweetheart

that the troubles below

would not stop him from seeing her.

Some succeeded in keeping their hearts hidden.

Some did not.

Sometimes the price was a broken tea kettle.

Sometimes it was more,

all for the non-malicious vapidity of a boy,

and shortsighted folly of a girl.   

Invisible Pain by Kathy Crabbe

Follow Kathy's artistic adventures at her blog.

Song Choice: Urami Bushi by Kaji Meiko

This poem was inspired by Magaly Guerrero's prompt given for Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month: Beyond the Happily Ever After. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Recalled Sunlight

Morning found me exploring

around the old chapel again.

The walls, at least, started in the right spots,

though broken plaster had long since yielded

to insistent vines and wings claiming shelter.

Finding my favorite boulder,

I sat, and stretched,

drinking the water I pulled

from the well earlier in my pilgrimage.

It held up to my memory:

sweet and restorative after the journey made,

fortifying the spirit for what lay further ahead.

The sun dappled boulder was a more congenial spot

to enjoy my libations,

than the hard backed pews,

softened somewhat by the spread of moss.  

The water finished, I went around back,

to find the spot I enjoyed hiding in

when I was small.

A sea of violets greeted me,

more dazzling under the stream of sunlight,

than the cold glitter of the stained glass windows,

once whole in the crumbling walls,  

My sketchbook came out.

I lost myself in translating petals and leaves

into lines and letters

until the results pleased me.

Only afterwards, I noticed

that although I’d outgrown my hiding spot,

I still had my sweet tooth.

I gathered the violets for candying later.

They would delight my children as well as myself.

Perhaps I would tell them the stories

I found along the way.  

Song Choice: Pocket Full Of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield 

This poem was inspired by two prompts: A Dash of Sunny's Prompt Nights - A Drop of Sunshine and Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads - Tax Day (use words from T.S. Elliot's The Waste Land. I used violets, wings, well, chapel, memory, broken, and glitter).

By Rommy Cortez-Driks