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Showing posts with label fairy tales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fairy tales. Show all posts
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Woman in a Red Dress
Woman in a Red Dress
What is it about the wine-colored,
crushed-velvet red dress?
A bit of the girl in a riding hood,
a hint of the girl with wayward shoes,
a deep cinnamon base note.
The mirror where you catch a glimpse of her
is misted with dew and wet leaves,
has an ornate, gilt frame, with minute
dragons hidden at the edges.
She's there, through a door,
in a tree, in a vast forest.
You never consider
that she is you.
- Justine Camacho-Tajonera
Image from Wikimedia Commons, Daniel Case
Labels:
beauty,
dragons,
dream poetry,
fairy tales,
red dress,
woman
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Mermaid
By Justine C. Tajonera
There used to be a mermaid
who was scared of drowning,
beautiful scales undulating
in the waves,
warding off
inevitabilities
like
love.
There were sailors
aplenty who were
wrecked by
her singing,
but not so much more
than the mermaid herself,
whose heart had turned
to stone.
She had wandered in
and out
of the wrong fairy
tales,
bewildered by an
earnest toy soldier
and the icy touch
of a well meaning
ghost.
There was a prince
somewhere,
she heard,
waiting to find
her.
And so one day,
he did come
for her,
fins and
all.
But that was after
she had learned to
breathe.
(Dec. 22, 2009)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/kathryn_rotondo/2180997509/
There used to be a mermaid
who was scared of drowning,
beautiful scales undulating
in the waves,
warding off
inevitabilities
like
love.
There were sailors
aplenty who were
wrecked by
her singing,
but not so much more
than the mermaid herself,
whose heart had turned
to stone.
She had wandered in
and out
of the wrong fairy
tales,
bewildered by an
earnest toy soldier
and the icy touch
of a well meaning
ghost.
There was a prince
somewhere,
she heard,
waiting to find
her.
And so one day,
he did come
for her,
fins and
all.
But that was after
she had learned to
breathe.
(Dec. 22, 2009)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/kathryn_rotondo/2180997509/
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
This Side Of The Story
by Justine C. Tajonera
Hardly anyone asks for
the opinion of
the wicked stepmother,
the dead wives of Bluebeard
are mute and damning
evidence,
no one checks
for divorces
after the happy ever
after,
no one asks the coveted
Ibong Adarna
why she sings
seven songs.
A story is
a story
because someone
tells it.
Remember what precious
cups your ears
make
for the spinner
of the tale.
Choose your stories
well,
for there will always
be
stories.
They might corrupt,
they might be
false,
they might be subjugated,
censored
and suppressed.
But remember, too,
that they might reveal,
redeem
and stir mountains
to move
or raise dying embers
into the heavens.
(Dec. 16, 2009)
For the writers and journalists of the Philippines.
Image of a fairy tale book from http://www.flickr.com/photos/gillianam/3448828297/
Hardly anyone asks for
the opinion of
the wicked stepmother,
the dead wives of Bluebeard
are mute and damning
evidence,
no one checks
for divorces
after the happy ever
after,
no one asks the coveted
Ibong Adarna
why she sings
seven songs.
A story is
a story
because someone
tells it.
Remember what precious
cups your ears
make
for the spinner
of the tale.
Choose your stories
well,
for there will always
be
stories.
They might corrupt,
they might be
false,
they might be subjugated,
censored
and suppressed.
But remember, too,
that they might reveal,
redeem
and stir mountains
to move
or raise dying embers
into the heavens.
(Dec. 16, 2009)
For the writers and journalists of the Philippines.
Image of a fairy tale book from http://www.flickr.com/photos/gillianam/3448828297/
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