Tag Archives: Fantasy vs. Reality poem

Mr. Havisham

photo by Phil Hodkinson on Unsplash, used with permission

Mr. Havisham

His eggs and toast at breakfast are balanced out with kippers.
He dines on them in satin robes and tiny velvet slippers.
Later, it’s his riding habit, whip securely fisted,
although hinted-at stables have never quite existed.
Fantasy and artistry consume his waking world,
as though it’s here that childhood dreams are finally unfurled.

That unexpected ostrich plume, this candle-scented air?
What we see as ostentatious, he maintains is flair.
This flair abounds around him everywhere he goes.
He waves it like a banner from his hair and clothes.
Lacy collars, pompadours and velvet tailored suits
match French provincial furniture and tiny pointed boots.

He hardly knows the difference, now that he is older,
and does not notice as those dreams begin to fade and molder.
His costumes growing threadbare, his candles melting down,
he no longer draws attention wandering through the town.
He has become a fixture, slowly fading in,
shuffling into the future, forgetting where he’s been.

All the single people, constructing lonely lives
creating their personae in unique little hives,
all of us so busy we fail to heed each other,
seeing as a stranger who might have been a brother.
We concentrate on all those differences we see,
choosing to see difference instead of what could be.

For more eccentric behavior, go here:  https://judydykstrabrown.com/tag/eccentricity/  Too bad these two never met.

Prompt words today are ostentatious, flair, unexpected, difference and clothes.



They’ve dispelled my excitement with a coiled line of rope—
imprisoning my fantasies and murdering that hope
that fairies really do exist with dragons and magicians.
Using scientific words and proofs of the tacticians,
they’ve put the rope around the neck of childhood and jerked
and I admit the strategy of reason really worked!
I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I don’t believe in fables.
They’ve ruined Cinderella and lynched Anne of Green Gables.
Pure reason is my only friend now that they’ve slain the rest.
They’ve installed stark reality but murdered all the zest.
I’ll welcome second childhood when silliness again
replaces stark reality to cushion the world’s pain.


Prompt words for today are line, dispel and rope.
The dVerse Poets prompt is to write a quadrille (44 words only) making use of the word dragon.

NaPoWriMo 2015, DAY 14: The Holy Apewoman of Mexico


The Prompt: Write a poem that takes the form of a dialogue. My dialogue takes place between my 7 year old self and my 67 year old self who, ironically, is writing this in Mexico.

Childhood Dreams

The mysteries
of Grandma’s barn
and basement–
whole lost worlds down there.
Our own attic–that door held down
by a gravity never challenged.

I wanted to see
the hanging gardens of Babylon,
Mexico and Africa–
all these places from books,
their pieces jumbled together
like puzzle pieces
in the deep recesses of my closet,
but ready for assembly
some day
when I would
make my future memories

I crouch with myself at seven–
sharing imagined dangers
in deep closets,
trying to conjure the world.
So many small town stories
while I dreamed of living
in those fairy tale places
of Bible stories
that stood on a shelf
sandwiched between
the Bobbsey Twins
and Tarzan.

Some of us spend our lives
trying to be like books,
then spend our old age
trying to remember childhood,
mainly remembering
childhood’s dreams.