Peace Mother Vs. The Orange Menace

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads  “If You Meet The Hero On The Road . . . (Posted by Brendan)

“Why are heroes popular, well, usually that’s us in there, wearing the mask of Hero, besting and wresting, clubbing and lugging our way to Victory. Not bad, eh? Psychology has long identified the hero fantasy with ego development, a nascent consciousness growing from Prince to Knight to King on a road of trials.

But if it sounds a tad testosteroney, it is. Dudes have been flashing that sword a long time. We have a hard time getting around the stereotypical imagery; we slight female heroes; all that swashbuckling smoke gets in the eyes. (And when we try, too often she looks like something out of the Marvel superheroine list—pouty lips, lightning-fast moves and a slight turn away so the rump’s on display. (Heroic glutes.)”

For this weekend challenge, pick a hero/ine and write about him/her/it. Tell a story, muse what is best and most memorable. Please don’t feel you have to make this about myth; sometimes those masks hang back of the tale and require no naming. The story is the myth; history is mystery. Tend an altar, sing a hero—and come share it here.

Rainbow-colored skin,  a snowdrift
ribboning down her back. Peace
Mother was a splendid sight
to jaded inhabitants of Orangeville.

Under tyranny of The Orange Menace–
limbs of yellow jello, eyes a beady
puce, hair and face, a matching
shade of Kool-aid orange–people (or
peasants as he referred to them)
were miserable. Six wars raged,
plague was feared, and those left
at home worked four jobs.

Peace Mother landed at Orange
Castle, wings fluttering, shaking
silver sparkles across the moat.
The Orange Menace laughed
at the sight of her, belching
out fumes osf coal. “She better
be very, very afraid of me,
because I am a very, very power
-ful man.” Then, face-off time.

Peace Mother waved her wings,
and rainbowed people all around
her, except The Orange Menace,
who remained unchanged. People’s
eyes opened, they smiled at each
other, and the war roar ceased.
The Orange Menace was in a fire
alarm fury. His castle emptied
of everyone, including bodyguards
who tossed aside their weapons.
The Orange Menace bellowed. No
words came out. His limbs melted,
his beady eyes stared, and all his
skin and hair turned into bouncing
balls, which it is said, children
still play with to this day.  According
to legend, every Peace Mother Eve,
the balls are handed down to new children.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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10 Responses to Peace Mother Vs. The Orange Menace

  1. Rommy says:

    Woot! Go Peace Mother, Go!


  2. Brendan says:

    I was wondering if anyone was going to do a mythic matchup. Usually the gender’s reversed, but we’re so overdue for this! Turns out the Orange Menace was empty threat—a bawling crib of indulgence. Nice details in the tale, the snowdrift back and rainbow texture, neither of which Mr Orange Crush can bully or abide. Thanks so for joining in!


  3. Love the story in this… perfect.


  4. annell4 says:

    A wonderful tale!!


  5. Sherry says:

    Oh, i wish, i wish, i wish………..but i wouldnt touch the balls, lol.


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