If we look closely, fairy tale images can be found all around us. Whether inside or out, there are nooks and hollows that glimmer with storybook charm. Here is a creative photographer who creates magical scenes with the ants in his yard. In photography, paying attention to the little things can lead to delightful surprises.
Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. We enjoyed Magdalena’s interpretation of a classic Indonesian folktale:
Every now and then
when the moon is so full it glows green
the wind might howl a lullaby
from another atmosphere.
Then you’ll take me by the hand
tell me I’m diligent
show me what to do, and I’ll do it
with grace, humility and well.
You’ll tell me I’m Garlic, the good girl
heady with the pleasure of service.
But mostly the sky is moonless
no breeze moves the air
you’ll know me as Shallots
lazy, sloppy
the ugly sister
I know what I’ve lost.
Instead of cleaning I’ll howl
my dark side out
like a pumpkin full of vipers.
My eyes won’t touch the earth
chin too high to kiss.
I’ll eat the world and spit it out
licking hungry chops
leaving no bones.
PHOTO PLAY PROMPT: Find a little corner, nook, or hollow (inside or out) that reminds you of a storybook scene. Take a photo and share it with us.
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NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Find inspiration from the photo in the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading.
Photo by Jyrki Salmi. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
Browse Fairytales
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- Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
- Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
- Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018
Maureen Doallas says
Some wonderful images, Magdalena, and very creative take on the tale.
Donna says
Magdalena the way this begins is enchanted… you really hit the mark and captured the fairy tale theme so beautifully all the way through. So much imagery.
Donna Saliba says
Laughter In The Forest
Can you hear them
In the clearing of the forest?
Laughter
And the fluttering
Of playful wings.
The thicket flickers
With sprinkled flecks of gold,
Pixie powder spread about.
The tales they tell
Of whimsical worlds
Spark imagination,
A juvenile fascination
With which to wander from the world’s woes;
Breathe.
Be.
Believe in the fairies,
Procure the fantasies.
See the world
Through their eyes,
The sparkle of sun kissed dew
Set upon the forest floor.
Donna Dissauer Saliba
Professional Prose
Richard Maxson says
I like:
“A juvenile fascination
With which to wander from the world’s woes:”
This keeps one youthful.
Sandra Heska King says
“Breathe. Be.” The better to see…
I don’t think I’ve “met” you, Donna. Are you new(ish) to these parts? Welcome!
Donna Saliba says
Thank you! Glad to be here and part of this community!
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
This is so delightful. Filled with wit and whimsy. Thank you for joining us here. I hope you’ll return again and again. So grateful for your contribution to this community.
Donna Saliba says
Thanks so much! I am relatively new to this site and I really enjoy it! Thanks for the wonderful comments, it was the first poem I wrote on the subject!
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
An feel the red carpet, brushing against your feet
Donna, that is for you.
The poetic welcome mat for you. Welcome, truly, here.
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
“And” can you feel….
Richard Maxson says
A fantastic tale, Magdalena, from its enchanted beginning to its boneless conclusion. I hope you stay with us for awhile.
Richard Maxson says
I took this photo when I stopped to rest from walking in the Jay B. Starkey Wilderness in Lutz, FL.
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/323274079478101841/
What the Shadows Made
Here in the library of the trees, a lounge,
a quick plot of grasses—but for some cut teeth
and a tongue of May Apples, an opening,
like a surprised mouth in the face of day.
I am past the thickets of human definition
that rise from the soft ground around me,
like pencils, whose green ends pitch and swing
in the wind as they write what happens next.
A slender iridescence in the air appears,
like a hyphen between worlds, watching me
with limped eyes from a single blade of grass,
its wings shaped from the forgotten shadows of noon.
Now it is written in the trees from which it arrived,
a prince or princess in disguise, a fairy
on its way to a story meant for bedtime,
forever small and bright in lovely dreams.
Sandra Heska King says
“in the library of the trees.” Best. Library. Ever. Lots to read there.
SimplyDarlene says
green ends pitch and swing
in the wind as their write what happens next
^ i like the aloud sound of all that ^
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
“A slender iridescence in the air appears, like a hyphen between world…”
Imagery is rich and “wordy”. Every word choice brings me back to the spine of the poem.
S. Etole says
tucked away for the winter
enfolded in dreams
the fairies sleep
https://www.flickr.com/photos/45405642@N08/sets/72157650752748435/
Magdalena Ball says
So lovely and dreamy. I love the way you’ve filtered the light on these pictures.
S. Etole says
Thank you. Fairies seem dreamy to me.
SimplyDarlene says
Here’s mine –
http://simplydarlene.com/2015/02/11/laces-over-fairies/
Magdalena Ball says
Ooh yay – just came across this (should check every day). Thanks so much everyone. Will have to try getting the camera out.
Tammy Perlmutter (@tammygrrrl) says
Hanseled and Greteled
I cannot tell you how the story ends
I only know of the forest, the siblings,
the bread crumbs, the witch, and the oven.
I don’t recall a triumphant rescue
Or daring escape
They were ripples in a fictional history
That faded into a river bank.
Dropping breadcrumbs.
That I understand.
Marking trees to let them know
You came that way,
You were just there,
You can catch me if you hurry
but there will be no reward
for either of us, I think
It’s the finding that’s enough.
Fairy stories were wasted
on kids like me,
the ones who knew
there was no magic in the future,
no long-lost family
to make everything better,
just excuses and lies and leaving.
There are buried nuances
and layers of meaning,
in these stories.
I know all this,
but I am busy being lost
in a new house with new parents,
and the bread crumbs I left behind
are sinking into the undergrowth
sodden and disintegrating
leaving barely a trace
and I resign myself
to lostness and leftness
in a row home
on a city street
where fairies
are just tales
and tales
are just lies.
Elizabeth Marshall says
Tammy, welcome to Tweetspeak. Do you the red carpet. There right at your feet. Honored to have you here.
There is much to love about this.
I hear void and loneliness woven throughout. It is drenched in disappointment. And yet it is not without hope.
The title is my favorite line and I like this too, I resign myself to lostness and leftness.
What a deeply rich poetic offering.
So very glad you are here.
Tammy Perlmutter (@tammygrrrl) says
Thank you, Elizabeth! It’s good to be here. I’m glad I finally had something to share.thanks for your comment.
Donna says
Oh Tammy, this poem has so much to say.
My favorite line just pulled at my heart:
“and the bread crumbs I left behind
are sinking into the undergrowth
sodden and disintegrating”
Thank you much for sharing, and welcome.
Tammy Perlmutter (@tammygrrrl) says
Thanks for the welcome, Donna, and for your kind words.
Magdalena Ball says
“For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand” (Yeats “The Stolen Child”)
https://flic.kr/p/r9C4jm
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
Love this Yeats quote. Thank you for sharing it here.
Magdalena Ball says
Thought it fit the picture I snapped (in my own backyard – seems quite mythological when looked at that way…).
Elizabeth Marshall says
Oh Magdalenda, this is exquisite.Every words makes magic in my mind. SO
lovely
Elizabeth W. Marshall says
In Plain View
In the black of morning, before you are awake
I go searching for the hidden
Seeking shy and untold stories
Those we have yet to live
Or simply hidden from the world
Tucked between the shadows, behind the musty linen drapes
I find them trembling, shaking
Shivering in Earth’s early blue morning light
Dawn breaks open
Cracks
The day wide awake
Like eggshells over jet black skillet
Heavy in my hand
I am both the hunter and the gatherer
Hunted
Lost and found
Words
Underneath us, buried not yet spoken
Will be excavated after that last breakfast dish
Is washed and put away
I hear a faint, cold whisper
And smell a moldy mothballed smell, tinged
In faded shades of every green
The color of my remembering
Crayola’s New Spring Green
All that is
Yet spoken
Yet unseen
And in the end, it all was there
The hidden and the seen
On the breakfast table, beside the paper and the tea
No secrets left to share
The story of our love, the one of me and you
Hidden, no longer
After unraveling love’s sweet mystery
It lay there, still
Not hiding, after all
Hidden, in plain view