Sorrow

Utterly lost
with my head in my hands
and my hands in my head

– Leonard "One for Sorrow" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Written upon seeing this photograph at Poets United:

Sorrow by Dechobek at deviantART

The Shiva machine

I dropped the change in the slot.
Nothing happened,
nothing was returned.
Hey, that's no way to change,
I told myself.
Change is not loss.
Or is it?
Is it the beginning of change?

– Leonard "Shivji" Blumfeld (© 2012)

Posted for One Single Impression and Change.

Proverbs from the Chinese VII

Do not demolish resolution.
Transform.

– Leonard "Proverbially Yours" Blumfeld

Another puzzler from the infinite well of Chinese wisdom. Since it's so close to the beginning of the new year and its resolutions, the advice appears to be particularly appropriate.

Includes the words demolish, resolution and transform from 3WW.

Red & blue no. 1

For S., who actually said it

Light turned red
out of the blue.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Basho on the end of the year

The moon and the snow,
I live and look at beauty,
The year is ending.

– Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694)

Posted for the end of the year. Actually a translation from German, which itself, of course, was a translation.

A fairytale

Prince Pygmalian II, on a walk in the forest in the proximity of Castle Tsvitskenstein, could not believe his eyes – there was his beloved Cinderella, rendered immobile by a hideous red-bearded dwarf, who was fondling her to his heart's content with his callous and – most likely – smelly hands, all the while emitting lustful grunts.

Oh what to do to avoid equal immobility, restore Cinderella's mobility and seek retribution?
The prince, counting on dwarves' proverbial greed, thought of a plan that might possibly work.

"Pray, my dear fellow, I would reward you handsomely if you told me how to immobilize someone like this girl you have here," he said, stepping forward.

The dwarf was visibly annoyed but also instantly tempted.
"And what might such a handsome reward be, my dear prince?"
The dwarf had immediately made out that the prince was a prince by his princely garb, the politeness of his speech and a few other princely attributes.

"I have some gold coins with me," said Pygmalian II, "but can also offer you dollars or euros."

Like all princes, Pygmalian II always carried with him a sizeable number of gold ducats and bills in major currencies.

"No, gold is best. The other two have lost a lot of their market value lately."
"Will 15 ducats do?"
"Make it 25, and we are in business. My craft does not come cheaply."
"25 it shall be, then."
"I take cash."
"Of course."

The prince took out his heavy wallet, counted 25 gold pieces and handed them to the dwarf, who counted them scrupulously, which took a while and required some shuffling because he did it using the seven fingers of both hands.

"Shall we shake hands on the deal?" the prince said.
The dwarf proffered his hairy hand.
"But before we do, please tell me your name, my dear fellow. I always like to know who I do business with."

This request clearly did not please the dwarf.
"We normally do not disclose our names to your kind," he eventually replied, "but be it for business' sake. I am called Rumple, and I'm of the illustrious line of the Stiltskins."

The prince shook hands and immediately had to suppress an urge to wipe his hand.

"Now, dear Rumple Stiltskin, please reveal to me the immobilization magic."
"You say, 'Freeze, oh,' and then the name, all the while looking into the eyes of your victim, err beloved," the dwarf explained.

"Thank you, dear fellow. I shall practice this magic real soon. – How would you like to earn some more?"

Rumple licked his fat red lips.

"Wouldn't be adverse to it. Something to add to my stocking for retirement. What other magic is it you wish to know?"
"Well, it might come in handy once in a while to restore mobility to someone. You don't want to leave statues around all over the place."

"I'll take 30 for that one," the dwarf declared smugly.
"As you wish! I've never been known to be stingy."

Once again the prince took out his wallet, counted 30 gold pieces and gave them to the dwarf.
"Thank you, my prince."
"What are the words, then, dear Rumple?"
"They are, 'Unfreeze, oh,' followed by the name. But you have to stand behind the person when you say these words."
"And will they work on any moving creature, big and small?"
"Anything that is alive, guaranteed."

Looking into the dwarf's eyes, the prince said, "Freeze, oh Rumple Stiltskin!"

The dwarf froze instantly, the beginnings of outrage showing in his face.

Then the prince stepped behind Cinderella and spoke, "Unfreeze, oh Cinderella!"

Cinderella was released from immobility and gave the prince her best Hollywood kiss.

And if you take a walk in the forest near Castle Tsvitskenstein and come upon a garden dwarf, do not stand behind him and utter the words, "Unfreeze, oh Rumple Stiltskin!"

Because there is no guarantee that Rumple Stiltskin would react kindly upon his return to life.

As to Prince Pygmalian II and Cinderella, they lived happily ever after, doing whatever princes and princesses do best and gaining exposure through tabloids.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written for 3WW (immobile, proximity and retribution) and Sunday Scribblings (Fairytale).

So what fib no. 7

Did
get
a hair-
cut this week-
end, played games and drank
beer with friends. So what, you say, that
hardly broke ground. Oh,
I forgot
to men-
tion
this.

– Leonard “In Crisis” Blumfeld (© 2011)

Seeking refuge

Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo.
– José Martí

"So what's a wounded fawn doing in the forest, quoting poetry?"
I had to laugh at my friend Ramesh's deadpan understanding of things.
"The fawn's not quoting poetry. The fawn is wounded and seeking refuge in the forest."
"That sounds realistic enough. So where's the poetry connection?"
"José Martí says that his verse is a wounded fawn –"
"– seeking refuge in the forest. I get that all right, I'm not that dumb. I just fail to see the point."
"Come on, Ramesh, you just refuse to see it."
"Oh, I get his drift all right. Poetry is frail and all a-tremble in the forest, shaking with fear to be read by critical and analytical souls like me."
What could I say? I'd never be able to convince this agnostic, this nonbeliever in the frailty of poetry.
So I quoted more Spanish poetry at him:

La poesía es un arma cargada de futuro. *

That made him chuckle.
"This one I like a lot better," he said, "but that weapon charged with future is probably what wounded that frail fawn in the forest."

You just can't win against Ramesh in matters of poetry. Or Spanish language poetry, to be more precise.

– Leonard "Seeking Refuge in Poetry" Blumfeld (© 2011)

* Title of a poem by Gabriel Celaya.

Written in response to 'seeking' at One Single Impression.

Notes
The first quote may be familiar from the song Guantanamera, which is based on the poem by Cuban poet and national hero José Martí.
While the above dialog is entirely fictitious, my friend Ramesh does exist and, with his typical distrust of things not traceable by science, might have responded in this very manner.

From the office

Occasional mouse
clicks and the roll of traffic
outside. Steps going by.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2011)

A slightly overstuffed haiku. Oops! Somebody might die from that. But the truth and nothing but the truth.

From Gertie Dreary's diary

I simply had to get to L.A. to see my auntie Nell as she was about to leave for Nepal. They did not renew her job with the UN. Being an attractive young girl, I drank lots of my favorite cherry liqueur to muster up the courage to hitch a ride in the deep dark night. Too late for buses. And no money for a taxi, not even to the nearest train station. Who knows how long the train would have taken anyway. Also, my experience with trains is limited and bad. However, all went well as I got a ride from an elderly gentleman in a vintage white car with white hair who reminded me of Kenny Rogers. He played country music and smoked cigars, but what do I care. Kept telling me about his five ex-wives and the twelve children he had with them, and the grandkids. Remarked with a smile on the cherry flavor I kept burping up. Told him about my nervousness and how I overcame it and how I was praising the Lord to have found such an excellent ride with such a lovely old man. He gave me a look then I thought was a little on the lecherous side, so I quickly changed the subject, asking about his current wife Louisy Ann, or how ever that's spelled. She's a sexy little fox, he said, and I'm looking forward to a lot of lovin' once I pick her up at L.A. International Airport. That made me burp some more, with a cherry flavor so strong I could smell it myself, and he kept his head turned towards me for a long time so I had to remind him to watch the road as everything was pitch black. But it all went OK as I wrote above and before any more cherry burps and lecherous looks could happen we were in my auntie's neighborhood, where he dropped me off, telling me on parting that there sure was going to be a lot of hot lovin' once he'd picked up Louisy Ann, that sexy little fox and sixth wife of his, at L.A. International Airport.

– Leonard "Speaking for Gertie" Blumfeld (© 2011)

Written using drank, hitch, muster from 3WW.