Posts Tagged ‘fairy tale poem’

Poetry Friday round-up is with Michelle at Today's Little Ditty

Poetry Friday round-up is with Michelle at Today’s Little Ditty

Last week, Michelle welcomed Laura Shovan to her blog with a workshop idea around Fractured Fairy Tales.

I have ordered the two books she suggested, Sleeping Ugly by Jane Yolen and Mirror, Mirror by Marilyn Singer.

Ava reading at A&E Gallery, November, 2013

Ava reading at A&E Gallery, November, 2013

In the meantime, I was reminded of a book of poetry I have by Ava Leavell Haymon, former poet laureate of Louisiana, Why the House is Made of Gingerbread. This book is really for adult readers, but a few years ago Lemony Snicket published a collection of poems for adults that children would like, available here on the Poetry Foundation. He selected Ava’s The Witch has Told You a Story for this collection.

You are food.
You are here for me
to eat. Fatten up,
and I will like you better.

Your brother will be first,
you must wait your turn.
Feed him yourself, you will
learn to do it. You will take him

eggs with yellow sauce, muffins
torn apart and leaking butter, fried meats
late in the morning, and always sweets
in a sticky parade from the kitchen.

His vigilance, an ice pick of   hunger
pricking his insides, will melt
in the unctuous cream fillings.
He will forget. He will thank you

for it. His little finger stuck every day
through cracks in the bars
will grow sleek and round,
his hollow face swell

like the moon. He will stop dreaming
about fear in the woods without food.
He will lean toward the maw
of   the oven as it opens

every afternoon, sighing
better and better smells.
Ava Leavell Haymon

My lesson plan around fractured fairy tale poems will include this poem about Hansel and Gretel.

Jane Yolen challenges us this month to write a septercet, a form she invented.  Each line of the 3 lined stanza has 7 syllables. I will ask my students to write a septercet about a favorite fairy tale, fractured or not.  So I’m giving it a try myself.

Fairy White

When she wanders in the woods,
soft white reflecting diamonds,
her fair skin glows like snowflakes.

Apple laced in evil spells
tastes of beauty golden red
slips her slowly into sleep.

Finally she rests from all
her troubles. Let her be free.
Love will find a peaceful soul.

–Margaret Simon



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Poetry Friday round-up is at Books 4 Learning

Poetry Friday round-up is at Books 4 Learning

wagon wheel

I dedicate this post, a prose fairy tale poem in three parts, to my writing friends Tara Smith, Kimberley Moran, and Julianne Harmatz.  We spent the week together in upstate New York laughing, eating, drinking, touring, shopping, and oh yes…writing.  These verses were inspired by Petal People notecards by Martha Starke. 

I. Julianne

Once there was a girl from Los Angeles
with a head of curly hair.
She walked the hills of New York state
gathering wild flowers–

verbena, hosta, bleeding heart,
Johnny-jump-ups, bridal wreath–

placing them all in a clear glass jar.

The flowers captured sunshine,
the wild air of summer.

She looked at the flowers in the center of the breakfast table,
and smiled a sneaky smile.
She found the key to happiness–
Gather wildflowers in a glass jar.
You will have sunshine every day.

II. Kimberley

There once was a girl from Maine
who walked the hills of New York state,
looking for something, though she knew not what.

She picked up a wreath of wild flowers
arranged in the shape of a heart.

This heart of hydrangea petals
surrounded by Queen Anne’s lace
touched her very own broken heart.

She hung the wreath on her own front door
to show the world and herself
that this was enough.

III. Tara

Once a girl from New Jersey
walked all the way to New York
searching for wisdom,
(perhaps words on a bumper sticker),
a message for the secret of life.

On a bedlam farm,
dirty from long disuse,
she met a man selling seeds.

He told her to plant this tiny seed,
(so small she could hardly see),
water it every day, speak in a soft voice.
The seed will grow into the finest of flowers
more beautiful than hollyhocks.

One day when the sun rose
& the fog lifted,
she saw the flower,
finer than anything imagined,
and she said, “It is good!”

Margaret Simon, all rights reserved,
with incredible respect and love
for the gift of time that is born at a farm in New York


Queen Anne's Lace





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