A New Spin on an Old Tale

Little Miss Muffet

climbed on her tuffet

to sit on a branch of an oak

With her curds and her whey

she watched butterflies play

when a spider dared give her a poke!

Little Miss Muffet

suffered a buffet

when she saw its four pairs of mean eyes

But she quick gained her wit

and before she got bit

gave the spider a bit of surprise!

Little Miss Muffet

told the spider to stuff it

when he tried to put her in his web

A lassoed arachnid

that does just what she bids

Makes Muffet a certain celeb!

submitted for Thursday Think Tank #103 Fractured Fairy Tales at Poets United

Queer by Frank Bidart

A tad late for LGBT Pride Month but wow, what a poem...

Queer
by Frank Bidart

Lie to yourself about this and you will
forever lie about everything.

Everybody already knows everything

so you can
lie to them. That's what they want.

But lie to yourself, what you will

lose is yourself. Then you
turn into them.

*

For each gay kid whose adolescence

was America in the forties or fifties
the primary, the crucial

scenario

forever is coming out—
or not. Or not. Or not. Or not. Or not.

*

Involuted velleities of self-erasure.

*

Quickly after my parents
died, I came out. Foundational narrative

designed to confer existence.

If I had managed to come out to my
mother, she would have blamed not

me, but herself.

The door through which you were shoved out
into the light

was self-loathing and terror.

*

Thank you, terror!

You learned early that adults' genteel
fantasies about human life

were not, for you, life. You think sex

is a knife
driven into you to teach you that.

Sometimes We Must

Sometimes we must destroy to build

Let go of the common to find the rare

Old structures upturned and new soil tilled

Though we may not believe we are skilled

We haven't the strength and do not dare

Sometimes we must destroy to build

So difficult to be strong willed

But inertia is too much to bear

Old structures upturned and new soil tilled

Though we breathe, the heart is stilled

We can not grow in stagnant air

Sometimes we must destroy to build

Create a place to feel fulfilled

Where one finds joy beyond compare

Old structures upturned and new soil tilled

Too many spirits silenced and killed

Find that thing for which you care

Sometimes we must destroy to build

Old structures upturned and new soil tilled.

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, In Form Poet, Villanelle 

and  Poets United, Vice Versa #4

Hell Is Empty

painting by Micael Chadwick

 submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Kerry's Wednesday Challenge, (Very) Old School

inspired by a line from Shakespeare's The Tempest: "Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

and Poetry Jam, Mood Swings