Delectable Dickensian Drama: Artful Dodger, Pocket-picker and Slayer of Dragons......

.... (if Dickens were a fantasy writer, that is)

D is for Discombobulation....

What if Dickens' most infamous pickpocket had been cast as the reluctant squire of Fagin the dubious knight? If his calling card to Oliver had been Hic Sunt Dracones instead of Consider Yourself ?

Instead of picking the pockets of the wealthy, the Artful Dodger and his ragamuffin troupe would have lined their pockets with the gold kept in the dragon larder.....though slipping in and out of a dragon's cave wouldn't be nearly as easy as sliding the greased wallet from the breast pocket of an aristocrat.

Not so sure how well he would fare going fisticuffs with a fire-breather..... or what other diabolical plan ol' Fagin would cook up for Dodger and crew....

Now, if the dragon was 'pocket-size', perhaps Dodger would feel quite at home.....

Though Dickens, as a strong supporter of Realism in Literature, would probably spin circles in his grave if anyone so much as breathed the notion of dragons in his direction.

Mea Culpa, my dear sir, I mean no disrespect.....

Comments

A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered

A million lives, beneath a single sky.....

Though our feet leave different prints,our tongues sound different words, there's a mirrored rhythm in the beating of our hearts. Though born in different worlds, our eyes sharpened 'neath different moons, there's an unspoken truth in the warmth of our touch. We may walk in different strides and dream different dreams, we may speak in different voices, maybe swim in different streams. It's plain to see, when dark night falls, as all the stars shine through, that underneath it all, there's no difference 'tween me and you.

Bitter Honey

Weaving dreams of beguiling gold, a future's price for happiness. What secrets do you, determined, hold? asks the summer wind's soft caress. A guarded name, a hidden hope. Spinning wheels clutching time, grasping straw that falls away, What dreams may come, we soon may find, won't recall at end of day. A cherished life, a memory lost.

From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

Search This Blog