ECA! THIS IS THE WRITING ASSIGNMENT I WAS GIVEN IN MY COLLEGE CREATIVE WRITING CLASS, THE ASSIGNMENT WAS TO REWRITE A POEM OR CHILDREN’S STORY, I CHOSE – THE THREE LITTLE PIGS! IT’S COMMON ENOUGH, MOST EVERY ONE KNOWS IT, AND I TOOK THE HUFF, PUFF, BLOW, AND REFASHIONED IT WITH HUFF, PUFF, BA-LOW, STILL SOUNDS CLOSE ENOUGH TO BLOW, ITS UNERSTOOD, AND JUST – A LITTLE BIT CLEVER, PAY PARTICULAR ATTENTION TO THE CLOSER I STOOD, AND STOOD HORIZONTAL, THEY USED IT IN THE PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN, AND – ITS REAL, AND NOT ALL WHITE OR BRIGHT LIGHT, IS THE END, NOR IS HEAVEN, SO BE VERY, VERY, VERY CAREFUL – NOT EVERYONE IS MEANT TO PLAY A PART! AND THAT HOLY WARRIOR STUFF IN PARIS – IS REALLY REAL! A PERSON HAS TO BE VERY JESUS CHRIST CHRISTIAN AND GOD – DEVOTED, INTELLIGENTLY! YOU ONLY – THOUGHT – PARIS WAS AWESOME BEFORE! I LOVE FRANCE FRENCH – ESPECIALLY PARIS! CAO! ;($!

Cherith J Gjestland

10-30-02

Poem #5 Myth

SwineZ

Walking in the wilderness

Along the trees with lofty canopies

And stubbly twigs below,

I realized the lateness in the day

and the emptiness in my stomach.

Being a highly evolved fur-lined carnivore

albeit with shiny white teeth that glimmer with glee,

I partake only of ground bound nutrition

And wash it down with a milky bean.

A cavity in the forest appears and a modest

thicket house stands in the middle.

From the tiny cabin the smell

of tofu sauteed and marinated

dripping in juice

grabbed my stomach,

which caused my mouth to salivate and drool.

In a sprint,

I rapped on the door

bound and determined.

Soy beans are mine.

Soy beans are mine.

Anticipation fueled my hunger

as I waited, not quite like Job, for someone

to let me inside for a smidgeon of Buddha’s Delight.

No one answered.

Nothing happened.

A flip from my stomach and immediate action

was the only logical next step.

I wondered aloud

Huff

Puff

Ba-low.

A small voice I heard

but ignored.

Evolution reversed upon itself

when my hunger could not be fulfilled.

Huff

Puff

Ba-low.

A pile of dried grasses lay before me,

Swanson stood in the middle holding

the bon vivant of my ravenous desire.

With a pounce, the pot and swine dashed

through the woods.

Quicksteps brought me to a twig-lined house,

overflowing in bean curd glory.

Wince from acids, which form in my belly,

bound to fill the emptiness

and my fascination.

Huff

Puff

Ba-low.

From the tips of my toes,

I hold to my dying strength.

 Huff

Puff

Ba-low.

In the stubble of saplings,

Swanson cowered with Tyson

held the succulents.

Closer I stood

reaching for a morsel

whoosh

was all I heard.

Heavy paws carry me to a mortar-lined abode.

Drained of my former self, 

I pound on the door.

Huff

Puff

Ba-low.

Horizontal I stood,

And walking into a bright light.

I hear soft, hushed tones

Swanson, Tyson, Jimmy Dean

giggle out loud.

Soy beans are ours.

Soy beans are ours.