The Wolf Likes Red

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My take of Little Red Riding Hood, not so little nor is she not so sweet.


The Wolf Likes Red 11/18/2016

The wolf felt lack luster,

as the edges of his prime,

fell away like leaves in the fall,

Sought something to revitalize him,

To awake the primal beast,

That was locked away years ago,

Deep in the heart of the wood,

He ventured,

Along the twisted paths,

He stalked,

Tis not prey he was looking for,

He was unsure,

Just something fresh,

Something to make him feel alive again,

A stir of the blood,

A caress of the flesh,

There I stood on the river banks,

I watched him,

How he moved,

As if he danced in tune with the wind,

White was his fur,

The color of fresh fallen snow,

Eyes that were old blue,

Almost angelic,

Nearly ethereal,

Too pure for the likes of  me,

As my fangs gleamed,

I wonder if he could see me,

The silhouette of raven hair,

The cloak of scarlet red,

Lips of crimson,

Dimples that brought a devilish smirk,

He found me,

Caught my scent,

As our eyes locked marking each other as predator,

There was no Grandmother to save,

No Huntsmen to interrupt,

Our tale would have a better ending,

The wolf sought the solace of an angel,

but welcomed the embrace of a demon.

©2016 T.B Morte







Scheherazade’s Ending

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Its been a while since reading the  tales of Scheherazade, but what always fascinated me was that she used her wit to survive.  With this piece I wanted to use that same  aspect but the outcome to be much different indeed.

Scheherazade’s Ending 09/28/2016

I didn’t choose the harem life,

The harem life chose me,

From a young child,

Taken away,

Handed over,

I don’t remember,

For its all in the same,

I am entwined in the Caliphate,

To be sometimes cherished,

On occasion adored,

A face among many other flowers,

The wife of the Sultan,

Its privileges I am blessed with,

And its curses as well,

Devoted to one man till my dying breath,

Although my devotion will never be matched,

And often incurred is my husband’s wrath,

The flowers of the garden are often weeded out and replaced,

I did not chose the harem life don’t you see,

The harem life chose me,

I have learned it is better to be the rose,

Than the prickly thorn,

Lash after lash,

I learned it was not wise,

To speak out against the mighty Caliph,

My fellow flowers,

Who also felt the sting,

Did not agree,

So by under the Moon’s brightest beam,

I bore witness,

One by one,

They took their vengeance,

With  the sharpest of blades,

Piercing the Sultan’s skin,

Till there was nothing left of him,

My caste becoming a widow,

I did not chose the harem life,

The harem life chose me,

For it  is against the law,

To strike the skin of the Sultan,

For it is against the laws of the Harem,

to be without their Master,

The punishment is slow death,

Today I became a widow,

It is also the day that I shall die.


©2016 T.B.Morte











The Fallen Queen

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A follow-up to my recent alternate Snow -White fairy tale. From the POV of “The Sweet Prince”.  Enjoy ❤ Belleen


The Fallen Queen 09/13/2016

Dark was my heart,

pale was her skin,

she loved me still,

it echoed through me,

Would she love me still,

if she really understood,

that I was more monster than man,

Damned beyond forgiveness,


I am no longer the Prince,

But an aconite of lust,

The vassal of the Queen,

made of flesh and bone,

Her whim is my command,

No matter how perverse,

Its the only world I know,

This cascade of  exquisite darkness,


The Queen was captured,

My beloved made sure of that,

Her wrath swaddled in justice,

As my captor was made to dance in hot irons,

Her cries brought  a silent agony,

Our endgame  destroyed too soon,


She will slowly die,

And I along with her,

My sweet Princess,

Can she feel my secret pain?

Will she love me still,

If she knew the truth,

That I loved the woman,

who is dying in the fire,


The princess whose pale as snow,

Conquered the fallen queen,

But destroyed the heart of  what she claimed to have loved the most,

The Prince  the creature of the Queen.


©2016 T.B. Morte






The Villetry of Fae

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It seems we are clearly in the Alternate Fairy Tale phase again.  Please enjoy the following selection.

Spooky Regards,

Bone Mama Belleen


The Villetry of Fae 09/01/2016

There lies our dearest Beauty,
Deep in slumber,
Wrapped in gossamer,
Guarded by cobweb,
For an eternity,
Our beauty will slumber,

For there was no choice,
The spell had to be cast,
It was for the best,
Although many tears were shed,
To protect what we loved,
Against the others,
More importantly against Beauty herself,

This spell was cast before,
To salve Maleficent’s curse,
Beauty would receive true love’s kiss,
And things would begin anew,

There was another part of the curse,
No one knew save yet Maleficent,
It died with her as the prince destroyed her,
The kiss of the Prince carried the trace of Insanity,

As our Beauty awakened with life,
She could only see death,
So death she caused,
Her thirst for bloodlust could not be slaked,

Her Father the King battered and tortured,
Next was her mother the Queen burnt at the stake,
Quick work was made of the Prince with a beheading,
My sisters Flora and Fauna met a fate worse than death,
Their wings were ripped and torn asunder,
I being left the only survivor,

For what is a fairy without their wings?
Our beauty did this,
The princess we loved as a babe,
Guarded as a child,
Our Beauty in the end Maleficent’s gift,

So the spell was cast,
I muttered the incantation with a heavy heart,
As I became the villain,
Beauty fell into the deepest of slumbers,
This time no Prince to come with a rescuing kiss,
Only I the fairy Merriweather to watch over her,
Till the end of days,

My Briar Rose,
My darling Beauty,
My bane made of thorns.

©2016 T.B.Morte

The Snow Garden (New Fairy Tale Poem)

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Here is a second helping preview of “When Once Upon A Dream”.  This is another poem.  The particular piece is indeed based off of Snow White.  It’s a POV from the Evil Queen when Snow White is still a child.  Its supposed to be poem that gives you chills as  you read.  Lets hope I was successful 🙂



Bone Mama Belle


The Snow Garden 08/10/2014

I see you playing in the garden,

full of innocence,

beaming the radiance,

of a perfect child,


Lips red as the rose,

Hair black as ebony,

Skin white as snow,


You are a beauty,

As far as looks would go,


Should I be jealous?


That one day your beauty,

could one day overpower mine?


The day will come,

when the populace will no longer speak of the Queen,

but boast of Snow White,


Or should I school you now,

in the price you will pay,

For the vanity you will inherit,


Shall I be cruel?

Or should I be most kind?


Neither choice will earn your love,

Not that I want your affections,


I crave your fear,

as well as your despair,

And ultimately your beauty,


Lips red as the rose,

Hair black as ebony,

Skin white as snow,


So I will watch you play in the garden,

As a wolf watches a doe,

Waiting for the moment to strike,

which will be years to come,


Then everyone will see,

Who really is the fairest of them all. © T.B. Morte 


From the Collection : “When Once Upon A Dream ” ©  T.B. Morte 2014

Snow becomes Red (The Snow In the Garden) ***New Fairy Tale Poem***

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This is a preview piece of my new WIP (tenatively titled “When Once Upon A Dream”)  It is going to be a fairy tale anthology of poetry, short stories, and nursery rhymes told from a “dark” perspective.


The selection below is my version of “Snow White & Rose Red”  originally written by the Brothers Grimm.



Bone Mama Belle



The Snow in the Garden 08/10/2014

“What one has she must share with the other.”


It was a line our Mother often said.


She spoke it when we were children,

small and petite when we really

did love one another,


She reminded us when we grew older,

when we were no longer small but

sprouts that grew taller,

And our affection towards one another had

diminished some,


She demanded this of us,

when we became young women,

And our hearts were subject to the whims of men,

The love between two sisters faded into memory,


As the years have gone by,

seasons change,

as has my perspective,


I no longer love the person,

whose hand I held so dear,


I will break the vow,

I swore,


I promised to never leave you,

Never so long as we live,

My sweet sister,

Rose Red,


I leave you in the garden,

along with Mother,

Dead and buried,

both done by my own hand,


For I could not share with you,

The Kingdom,

The Crown,

Or The Glory,


There can only be one Queen,

Her name is Snow White,

And not Rose Red.

© T.BMorte 


From the Anthology Collection:  “When Once Upon A Dream” © T.B. Morte 2014




Gender Bender FairyTale (In Poem Form) “Perdita”

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So the latest assignment in my writing group involved “Gender Bender” Fairy Tales(i.e. Cinderella becomes Cinderello) and also an added twist.   The written piece must also include an alternate ending.  E.g.  If the Fairy tale had a happy ending then it must be sad, or if the Fairy tale had a sad ending it must now be written as something happy.

So for my contribution:  I took on “Pinocchio” in the form of a poem.  Or should I say “Perdita” 🙂  Feedback as usual welcomed!


Bone Mama Belleen



Perdita’s Tears 05/24/2014



That is what I was named after,

It was as if my creator did it on purpose,

A cruel jest on his part,

For I am always to be forever lost,


A failed experiment,

His desire for a child overcame his sound reason,

If he could not spill his seed inside a woman,

to create flesh and bone,

Then he would create one made from splintered wood,

and pigments called paint,


Day after day,

My master chiseled,

To create my perfection,

Wood so polished,

Appeared to be ivory from afar,

Blonde hair stolen from barbers leftovers,

Red ruby lips were added by aid of paintbrush,

Blue eyes he painted so that I could see the world.


After cladding me in dresses made of discarded gossamer,

I was compared to cherubs due to my visage,

His greatest creation he would roar to all his patrons,

I was to be loved above all things,

Just as he would a real daughter.



There were things that I could not do,

That a real child could,

I could not embrace my parent without the aid of strings,

I could not speak my devotion,

Nor could I speak my defiance,


Night after night my Pater would pray,

That I could be made real,

Yet his prayers went unanswered,

No fairy came with a spell to transform me,

I remained this wooden puppet,



What my Father did not understand,

That there were benefits to my current condition,

I would never age,

With proper care I would never fall apart,

I could forever be his perfect little girl,


For years he would look at me,

His joy became true sorrow,

And with that sadness,

brought forth my exit,

I had outgrown his supposed



Now I am alone,

The darkness being my only companion,

As I remember my Inventor,

And  what he would often whisper,

Mi dolce Perdita.”



That was my name,

He gave me the wrong name,

And now I am the one who is lost,

Simply a forgotten doll,


If only he could see me now,

He would remember how he once loved me,

And would see how much I still love him,

Knowing that after all these years,

Finally his prayers have been answered,

Because he would be able to see that the tears are real,

If only he would open the closet door.

©2014 T.B. Morte