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-Z Reflections, year 4....

A-Z blogging challenge for 2014 has come and gone, seemingly without my realizing it. And, though I fell behind once or twice toward the end, I finished this year's challenge right on time. Really, I can't believe it's already over. I feel like I just finished my post for letter A... Year 4, for this blogger, was a far cry from the tortured state of despondency that was most of Year 3 -- I'll not mention the irony of this year's focus on death being easier to blog about than last year's foray into supernatural creatures, we'll leave that for my therapy sessions *ahem* As always, A-Z brought with it, not only 26 days of unbridled and far-reaching knowledge (disguised as entertaining and thought-provoking blog-posts), but a chance to connect with new faces while reconnecting with familiar faces--who had perhaps drifted away--from A-Z's past. I am always amazed by the ingenuity and inspiration that comes from lumping a couple thousand folk...

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.

Battle Storm...

Storm's coming, war's brewing, rolling clouds choke the light, Cannon's rumble, bodies tumble, exploding stars steal the night. The heavens clap, the battle's snap, sinking deep the wounded fall, The lightning's spark, the thunder's hawk, drinking in the warring pall. Soldiers crawl, the ranks sprawl, beneath the wall of death, Eyes clenched tight, in teeth-bared fight, bequeathed their final breath.

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

Search This Blog