"The Doll in the Grass" (traditional) retold with variations as a Sestina

Lois Lenski

The King had twelve sons.
Each son was suited with armor
and told to find a woman
who could sew a shirt in one day.
So they set out into the world,
each high upon his horse.

The youngest, Ashiepattle, road his horse

into the woods; as sons 

go, he was good-hearted but often lost in the world,

a shy boy whose armor

could not protect him from his brother's jokes. This day

his life would change when he would meet a woman--

Deep in the forest, buried in the grass, a doll cried, "I am a woman.
Ashiepattle, come underground and ride your horse

through tunnels night and day.

I have made a shirt to give to one of the king's sons."

When Asheipattle found the tiny woman she glowed like golden armor
and he brought her cupped in his palm to the bright world.

She road in a silver teaspoon driven by mice through the world--

Ashiepattle upon his horse; beside him, his tiny woman.

But the spoon toppled by a lake--Oh!-- Ashiepattle's tears rolled down his armor.

He searched the lake upon his horse,

the sparkling water spilling from his fingers like a thousand suns. 

Then from the water a  mermaid rose and in her arms night turned to day.

She had delivered the tiny woman full grown as if it were her birthday.

Hooray! They road together upon his horse back to the world,

back to the King where they gathered with all of the sons.

Ashiepattle was afraid to show the King the shirt made by the woman--

small enough to fit a bee or hold a bite of sugar for a horse,

but the King's heart was not encased in armor.

And he ordered it placed in a tiny pendant of armor,

that he wore around his neck each day.

And the mice? Free of the spoon, they had scurried past the horse,

and set out on their own adventure in the world,
turning a scullery maid into a royal woman
and filling their bellies with the finest crumbs scattered by many sons.

envoy to come later....tp 12/.31/13

"The Lambikin" Traditional and here retold with considerable liberty.

This is the start of a new project based loosely on Candlelight Stories selected and edited by Veronica S. Hutchinson with drawings by Lois Lenski, 1927.

Image: © Nevit Dilmen found at Wikimedia commons

The Lambikin

Lambikin, Lambikin was light on his heels,

he leapt through the forest

turning cartwheels.

Along came a jackal

who looked hard and long,
then with a sad look,

Jackal sang him this song:

Lambikin, Lambikin,

you would have a sweet taste.

If you want to get to grandma's

you'd better make haste. 

Lambikin, Lambikin was light on his heels,

he leapt through the forest

turning cartwheels.

Then along came a Vulture

who looked hard and long,
then with a sad look,
Vulture sang him this song:

Lambikin, Lambikin,

I hear through the trees.

you're sweet to the taste,

better than butter, sweeter than fleas.

Like a rabbit to Grandma's,

you really must hurry, so
take your woolie-white furry,
and go scurry now, scurry.

Lambikin, Lambikin was light on his heels,

he leapt through the forest

turning cartwheels.

Then along came a Tiger, a Wolf,

a Dog, and an Eagle.

They looked and they looked,

they prowled and they  growled,

they looked and they circled,

then stopped when wolf howled,

Oh Lambikin, Lambikin

you'd better get going,

our bellies are empty

our ribs, they are showing!

Lambikin, Lambikin leapt through the wood

and in Grandma's door as fast as he could.

He never forgot his friends of the forest

and put out a suet with cranberry porridge.

Giant (after reading Douglas Florian's "Giant" in Laugh-eteria)

from Jack and the Bean Stalk

Giants are just lonely guys.
Step up behind one and give a surprise--
Shout out to him, Hooray!, then slap his hand-- high five.
Invite him roller skating, then from a plane sky- dive!
If you're dropping too fast, he can hold out his mitt,
and catch you in air quick as a wit, then smile --
which will help to lessen his cares,
(a hedge- trimmer will do to clean up his hairs).
And while you're at it,  before they go green,
clip all his nails so he doesn't look mean.
A giant is a grown man, a very big man
who acts like a bear because he thinks he can.
He's not one of course, he's really sort of kind

                                                   and smart, and a lucky find. If you find one

                                                   he likes peanut butter and jellies,

                                                  and drinking cocoa while watching the telly.

My Own Stage

Great Pershing Balloon Derby Joe Deshon Photographer

Some people bike, others swim

Dad runs miles at the gym

I’ve seen Aunt Sara's yoga--

Downward Facing Dog,

And Uncle Walt cuts firewood, log after log,

I would like to get up and take to my feet,

To dance wild and crazy right my down my street,

but I can close my eyes

and move like clouds through the skies,

                                                                                  even  though I'm still here at this page

                                                                                  I am free and dancing on my own secret stage.

It All Began With the Letter A

I Like the Letter A

I like dada and Lady Gaga.

I like fish with fresh alfalfa.

I like to sing: Mi, fa , so, la.

And I like your nose, Mr. Rosa.

I like to dream the Cat's Eye Nebula.

I like both my fibula.
I like a little song
from a concertina.
I like chewy cheese,
especially Fontina.

The Peepers

Spring Peepers

(A tree frog is sometimes called a peeper because of its song.)

O! the peepers-- they rise in chorus!

Their music fills the evening skies,

with such a glorious

Tiny frog uproarious.

First to sing their spring song,

For that we’d wait a winter long.

To learn more and to hear the song: National Geographic Kids

Fish is fish?

I need to spend a day at The Eric Carle Museum and let my dreams soar. I am a fish that needs to find my wings.Oh, here's my Pinterest Board: http://pinterest.com/renlibrarian/my-slj-reviews/   I adore Leo Lionni. And hope some day SLJ will send me a Douglas Florian book to review. I am keeping my fingers crossed.

POETRY

By melalouise from East St Kilda, Aus.

P ointing isn't polite.

O bjects can be pointed, right?

E ven ballet shoes can be point shoes, and

T o the point can mean something else, confused?

R emember, that pointing isn't polite. 

                                           Y ou get the point, right?