Planet Artz

Princess tea against bad breath

January 18, 2012 at 0:00 (poetry)

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Went for a walk in winter’s woods
lost my sense of time and destination
saw an alarming deterioration
commencing at my boots

I was puzzled, was aghast
the morning fart of some mad hatter
changed clothes and backpack and all matter
into crude peasantry, and fast!

Behind each tree I seemed to see
an ugly nose-drip, grim-grin witch
eager for a medieval stitch, I
wanted to shriek like a banshee

But it was dwarfs who came into sight
they pleaded help, gave me a tiny sword
to slay the dragon called ‘Bad Breath’ Gaylord
who fed on forests theirs by right

A sword, I protested, I cannot yield!
I want back my mobile phone
I’ll report this dragon’s home
I’m only a hero in my own field!

The full fledged fantasies stared up at me
and ran off, I expected to wake up
after I gave my eyes a vicious rub
I swore: no more day trips on XTC

Right that moment I should have fled too- a Roar!
the giant beast crushed rocks and trees
I swooned and fell on weakened knees
no mistaking this for a protected boar!

My holiday beard got seared, I screamed
this fairytale became far too grimm
my comprehension ran to the brim
the ground heaved shook cleaved boiled and steamed

Save all your captured dames, I begged
I’m a software pedlar from beyond
my sole believe is in Bond, James Bond
your horrid world just got me pegged

The dragon stared, and, just like that
said, Bloody hell, well well! a nice bloke
Ay knight, can you spare some of that dope
If not, I will smoke you to death!

I said; how d’you fare at arm wrestling
he said: Lo and behold, I have short arms
unfit even for work at funnyfarms
and don’t spread this: I got one false wing

He welled up lukewarm tears right then and there
his p.r. sucked, no confidence
screwed up his act in arrogance
he even invited me to his lair

There he served me Princess tea
more and more I grew suspicious, he
seemed to find me quite delicious
asked me; Fish and chips, or me?

So…as it comes and goes in old fairy tales
I killed that dragon, freed the beauty
my life as Prince got rooty-tooty
for me no more 21st century ails!

Robert Wayt Smith paints not only fiery dragons; he paints
dragons with a character.
They can be viewed here, two pages of them. Delightful!

To clear something up: I never (my Darfur poem ‘Diafragm’
is an exception) write poems to illustrations. It’s the other
way around, I find, or search for, illustrative art that I feel
fits the poetry. In some cases I adapt the poem a bit, like
here, where I turned the woods into winter(y) woods.
Robert’s dragon is a far better creation than my poem,
nevertheless he is perfectly cast.

©2005dedeurs