Tag Archives: Legends

“Elements of Story” for Esther’s Writing Prompts, Sept 3, 2025

9 Replies

Elements of Story

Each myth, legend or fairytale
from “once upon” to “fare thee well”
shares some elements of story
be they sad, uplifting, gory.

Always a damsel in some distress—
Rumplestiltskin’s name to guess,
for straw once spun out into gold,
or another story to be told.

Too much sleep may be her curse,
ugly stepsisters, or worse.
Murder, treason, sloth and pox
were emptied from Pandora’s box.

These troubles spread from near to far,
(although, in fact, it was a jar.)
Zeus forgave Pandora’s shame
and the imp revealed his own strange name.

But the other women described above
were saved by cleverness or love.
Scheherazade escaped the hearse
with stories, legends, tales and verse.

Cinderella rose from hearth and ashes
and Sleeping Beauty opened lashes­­––
both maids saved by daring-do:
one by a kiss, one by a shoe.

So whatever might have been their fate:
loss of child or murderous mate,
wipe tears and fears away with laughter.
They all lived happily ever after.

Elements is the prompt for Esther’s Writing Prompts for Sept. 3

The Building of a Legend

4 Replies


The Building of a Legend

When there’s an event that attracts attention
worthy of notice and worthy of mention,
no matter how silly or boring or gory,
it’s a regional custom to concoct a story
that exceeds pure fact and creates a tale
with additional details added without fail
that with the recital of each new re-teller
becomes much more luminous, sadder or sweller
than at the last telling and so to the credit
of the last person who heard and resaid it,
it reflects the memory and education,
the sense of humor and imagination
of each one who passes the story along
as anecdote, joke or novel or song.
Thus are legends made of the simplest act
by using our fancy to swell out pure fact.

\

 

Today’s prompt words are credit, regional, luminous, exceed and story.Image by Vitolda Klein on Unsplash.

Ragtag Hattie

4 Replies

jdbphoto

 

Ragtag Hattie

Though her clothes are old and ratty,
her cast-off hats tattered and gnatty,
and her aroma eau de catty,
still her style is somewhat natty.
She has a certain savoir faire,
a childlike, careless stylish air.
Silk scarves and clanking jewelry
devoid of runway foolery.

Diaphanous and parachutey,
silk nightgowns might do double duty
as ballgowns were she ever asked
to functions one arrives at masked
in Dior dresses  or black tie.
In lieu of that, she’ll just get by
strolling the streets in finery
gained from her dumpster minery.

Onlookers may think her batty—
clothes so rumpled, hair so matty.
all of her gloriously tatty—
her ballet slippers so pitter-patty
scuffling through the city streets,
greeting everyone she meets.

She is a fixture in our town
with a certain wide renown.
Pointed out to visiting friends,
her unique presence somehow lends
a flavor to the streets she walks.
She does not mind the stares and gawks.

Until one day she is not there—
her birdlike plumage, strange and rare
flown to a runway far above–
a blown-off hat, a single glove
left on the stairway where she fell—
to become this legend that I tell.

 

 

The prompt today is natty.