Of Toads and Princes

Once,
in a land far away,
a man
and his woman,
recklessly played.

She was pretty, sexy,
vibrantly alive,
but also mixed up
deep inside.

He was handsome, he had good style,
was dashing and daring
for a while.

How sad, one must add,
he was still such a child.

In short
they had their troubles.

They did not know
who they were
or who to be
or where.

Life was no damned good
and it was boring.
So
they decided to make a baby.

Or maybe
did not decide at all.
Perhaps it just happened
when the lights were red
and juices flowed
and the passion let them know
that at least for then,
they were . . .
alive.

And,
for the moment
stilled the aching emptiness inside.

Planned or no,
the result
grew
to become
a fighting spark of life
which formed
in course of time,
a 'he' child.

Soft and round
with light
burning bright in innocent eyes.
and
one may presume
bugles sounded
and
there was some joy!

But
not for long.
For though she had the instinct to conceive
she knew not how to nurture
(herself a mere babe in the wood)
and he,
what can one say . . .
needed mothering himself.

And now,
the short fun of that mad night
echoed distant memory,
and remained
only this little face
with round
gaping,
hungry mouth,
that cried
with want
of something
they knew not how to give.

As in all tales of babes
and things
a Christening happened;

And the boy was,
absurdly I'll agree,
named Gulliver,
which goes to show just how out of touch they were,
his parents,
to indulge a quirk,
a romantic notion,
with no thought at all
of how it would befall
a babe
to have a name so out of time and place,
as
Gulliver.

What had these poor fools
to give their son,
but damaged scripts
to dictate
the future history of his fate.

Did not tell him
he was ugly,
nor in so many words
said he was . . .
their awesome burden,
their distress.

Nor that he was
trash
to be cast upon life's rubbish heap.

Or perhaps,
when they'd drunk too much,
said it all.

Then
having acted out their fantasy,
left the boy
on kindly steps
with shamefaced lies
and promises to return.

But,
with terrible vision
the child
knew he had been left,
and despair etched empty hollows
'round his eyes,
and knew a sense of
not belonging
anywhere.

Picture this:
a babe
abandoned,
thrown too soon
harsh into life
unprotected.
With poignant futures
facing both his child-fixated parents,
and what else
but that
it must somehow
(though he knew not how)
be all his fault.
His badness must have caused it all.
And,
as the knowing grew
he lost his princely possibilities
and grew the rough and slimy
mantle of a frog.

No,
a frog would be too kind.

He felt
ugly inside,
A destroyer,
bad.
A blight -
a toad.

And so
was doomed to live for many moons
and lost the soft round baby-ness.

The sweet round light
became angular and cold,
inside.

Yes,
something seemed to die,
and he grew out of babyhood
to become
a toad.

And
with the inner knowing
toads have,
knew
his only hope of surviving
the sucking sloughs
would be
to find someone
who could love him;
warts
and slime
and poisoned spit,
and would risk . . .
a (probably)
terrible,
kiss.

"Are you my mother?"
asked of the lady in
white starch.
and she took him to her
home to find that she was not.

Are you my mother?"
said again to the chocolate lady
who smiled
and seduced him for a short
respite of family life,
and further chance
t o know
he was not fit
and did not fit
the bill.

Which meant of course
that he was
mad or bad like mom and dad.

And being blamed for all their ills,
he wore his badness
and made the label worthy of its name.

Bad toad,
bad, ugly, unlovable toad,
not to be trusted toad.
Lying, thieving, ugly toad.
Or so,
it came to be believed
by them
and he
and even,
we.

Behind the shutters of his eyes,
behind the angry 'fuck' he spat out at life
fighting the despair that dragged him down,
was a soul
that had survived
and grown rich in understandings
without words.

And he had a lust for fun
and grown to be,
at least
a handsome toad
(Even cute, if the truth be told.)

Inside
he knew a desperate need
to escape from
where they fed young bodies but not souls.
He had to go
or truly die.
Or so he was convinced
inside.

And then he met the man.

Tall, strong, spirited,
a natural HERO
for toad to worship and adore.
And luck was with him
for
Hero had been a toad
and could remember still
the defiant powerless shout
and grew to love the toad:
fiercely,
intensely,
and persistently.
And broke the skin
to find the soft boy prince inside.

Enfolded him in friendship.

And
the other knew
at last,
he was not
just
and ugly, angry toad.

And because
the time and place were right,
and toad was ready
and was ripe,
his eyes opened
perceived with new clarity
another
who'd been around so long,
and smiled to see,
and be
with him.

Her name was EARTH.
And now
her soft, sad, knowing eyes
no longer frightened him away
and he could bear her steady gaze
just
a
little.

Slowly,
day by day
wove a loving brightly colored
cloak around the toad,
resisted the poisoned stings
he sent to drive her away
(and truly his poison had no strength!)
and liked him,
truly liked him,
for no good reason
but,
that he was he
and she was she.
She saw toad had depths he did not know
he possessed.

His gaping mouth,
his whine,
his smear,
his mess
his slime,
reminded her
of
the toad inside who'd only late
become her friend.

As toad
found courage to accept
the love and care
the old spells lost their tyranny
and,
by some wondrous magic
the spirits of new friends
invaded his scaly skin
and mingled
with his
froggy soul.

Within the toad
a bloody fight
to the death
of frog
or
prince.
Win or lose,
a mighty restless
to and fro . . . ing.

Problem was
the boy had grown quite fond of toad,
that unlovely
scaly part of him.
So much a part of him he did not know what
or why, or how to live
(as without an arm or foot)
without his toad.

And yet,
it wore him down
and threatened to destroy
the charming style
(which so appealed,
and brought nice new friends
from good neighborhoods)
of the Prince who
struggled to emerge.

When kissed,
the fight was intensified.
no toad
can survive the kiss

All seems lost.
This pour tormented soul
seems fated to lose
one way
or
the
other,
toad or prince.

But now, what's this we see,
Hero likes toad and has him on his knee.
And Earth
finds joy
in both the toad and prince
that form the boy.

And perhaps therein the secret lies,
that having birthed
the prince within,
the riddle now
is how
to make a friend of both Prince and toad
and,
looking in the mirror
see
looking back at him,
one 'he',
and come to peace at last
with whom he is
and know his endless possibilities
for becoming
and creating
his
own
destiny.

. . . the beginning.

(I wonder how you understand this poem? The backstory is that when I worked as a social worker in a Children's Home, I had responsibility for a troubled teenager.  He was difficult and rebellious, and disgruntled with his lot in life.  He also had extensive learning difficulties and, by his teenage years, had not made significant progress in his education.  Despite all this, he crept into my heart, and I formed a deep bond with him.  We also had a psychologist who cared about him.  It took many years, but slowly, we gained the boy's trust, and formed a 'family unit' with him.  I like to think that this experience gave him new strength and purpose, which allowed him to shed many of his 'froggy' ways.  Eventually, he grew up to become a fine person, married, and created a beautiful family.  He became, in every sense of the word, a Prince! This is the story behind the poem.  Please leave a comment sharing your reaction before and after reading my explanation.  I'd love to hear from you. )