And It Grew, And It Grew, And It Grew….. Poem by Richard Blanch

A New Jack, A New Beanstalk





Until things began to move in new and different ways
He had not noticed the groove worn in him
By time. Had not known that the trees that blew,
The ease that came with the morning, the pleasantness
Of dew on a flower stem, taste of spice, yellow and blue
Scraped off a palette onto fresh canvas- that all these good
Shades and nuances had been wrung out by the hands of years
And blended by some crude cook (himself, he knew) into
Glue- a soup of unmatchable blandness. Until. Then plunging
And rearing came on his stage without script, riotous views,
Wildness without warning. Vertigo struck him. A beanstalk grew
In the night and asked to be climbed. And he grasped
That, trembling and cowardly, this he must do. There was
Gold and an ogre above. A crazy idea
But no doubt it was true, All the fee fo fi fum.
And blood would be smelt before morning. And he would escape
And be chased…But- screw the tale, he was no Jack-
Would not hew it down when he came with the gold.
Dizzy with love of this bubbling new stew of a life –
He wanted the giant too...........………..