fairy tales for maggie and david

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The Beginning Tale Your Fairy Tales, Stories, Fables

July 2003

Fairy Tales for Maggie and David

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Little children are so clever and precious.Taking little steps outside of their house,

Finding a new world of shapes and texturesThey want to see, enter and touch.

Here are the stories of Maggie and DavidAs they explore their dazzling world.

The world is as big as their back yard And as vast as their imaginations,

As bright as flowers and slippery as cards.

Here are tales, fables and wild stories.Put together even when they stumble,May look like historic tales of yore,That is put in a new twist of jumble.


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This Fun Book Belongs To:

Enjoy !

Be Happy !Be Nice To The

Penguin!


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This Penguin is Magical!April 2003

Most penguins love to be wet and in cold water.They love to frolic in the ice and snow all over.They are proud of their black and white coats,As they walk around stiffly and speak stronglyI don’t think they know how to bend gently.

Now this special penguin that Maggie obtainedFrom a family of friendly Chinese MandarinHas a yellow collar and a small knapsackThat hangs snug to his neck on his back,Which is really good when he visits a fishing wharfPicking up crab or sand dabs for an afternoon snack.

He can fly or walk as he travels around the big world.He has talks to many people, especially boys and girls.

So this is no ordinary penguin that just waddles as he walksNo, he has special gifts that allow him to even sing and talk.

He flies around China, hangs out in lotus treesDuring their festivals of light and new-year week.

He dashes off to his friends in Colorado in windyCold country, deep in snow that he could swim in.

He’s a special friend, but he loves to come home


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To be with Maggie, for he is her birth friend.

The Three Houses of FlowersJuly 2001

The first place the little children saw on their adventure Was the House of Straw with its yellow sheen,Surrounded by lamb’s ear, thyme, and geraniums.

“Look at the lovely flowers around the house,”Said Li’l David as he pointed at the straw.“Da!” said Maggie with the blond hair and round face.“Don’t pull on the house!” Li’l David shrieked.But Maggie brought the straw house flat on the grass.

The day was young; Mom hadn’t come out to check. The two little ones wandered to another part of the yard.David carried a limp piece of thyme, smelling the sprig.Near their back door they saw a House of Wood with bark.Hiding underneath the porch and old clothes,It was surrounded by irises, basil, and crocuses.

“My little bear isn’t scared,” said Li’l DavidAs he held his little blue bear near the wood.“Ma!” said Maggie as she squeezed her penguin.

It snuggled against her soft belly and shoulders.

Knocking on the wood Li’l David shook his head“No one is home. We aren’t welcomed. Let’s go on.”

The warmth of the morning bore down on the two youngstersAs they walked from under the shade of the porch and stairs.Maggie dragged the little yellow and black penguin behind herAs the two roamed the field of pine trees and birds.

By the side of their house they saw a House of BrickStanding strong and weathered but so large and thick!Touching its base were lilies, peonies, and mint. An old rose bush crept up the sunny side of the house.

“I’m tired,” sadly spoke Li’l David to Maggie.“Aye,” she replied, pulling her little penguin closer.


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“Let’s sit against this house of brick and rest.’“Mine,” Maggie squealed as she grabbed at the little blue

bear.Li’l David tugged the Band-Aid on his head, sitting in the

grass.Maggie put her penguin in a sitting position on the blades

of grass.

Out of the thick green carpet of blades they spied a red flutterFrom around the corner of their big yard, in the forbidden area.They were scarlet scarves, twirling in the wind on the mailbox.It looked like a House of Fire as the scarves danced in the breeze.Surrounded by pussy toes and red petunias, the house blazoned.

“It’s dangerous out there. Mom says we’re not supposed to go!”“Fire,” Maggie replied to her brother, holding up the penguin.“But if it’s on fire, maybe we should put it out.”“Play,” she laughed as her penguin fell on the blue bear.“Many people live here that write and draw,” said David.

“I see Mommy take out pictures and letters from that house.”

They walked quietly and solemnly toward the House of Fire.

“Paint,” cried Maggie, as she opened the letterbox flap. “This is the strongest and safest house for little people,”Smiled David as he wagged his finger, pulled on her fingers.The penguin and blue bear guided the children home.


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The Magic BeanstalkJuly 2001

Once in the afternoon,Once on a summer day,When the rain came at night,And the sun sat in the blue sky,Two children, David and Maggie,Lived with two wonderful parentsWho worked hard and very long days.They had nothing in their yard but dirt and rocks.There was no grass, not even weeds or dead stalks.

A safari man was pushing his loaded cart on their road.Singing happily on top of a very full cart called Toad.Singing a happy song, the safari man’s canary voice said,

“Look into a happy dog’s eye,Scratch behind his floppy ears.You can make him very happy.A wagging tail says he has no fear.”

The curious children climbed on the lumpy Toad


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To hear more of the small brown man’s words:“Listen to the silly old safari man singTo his lovely yellow and black penguin.”

“There is no penguin,” shouted David.“Black?” questioned little Maggie.“Ah, you are very smart children,” chirped the safari man.“Let me help you get to a land where there are penguins.The rain tonight will be gentle and grow some magic beans.You’ll have an unusual backyard when you rise from sleep.But you have to pay me for the magic beans before sunset.”“What?” said Maggie critically, biting her lower lip.David nodded, “We have nothing but our wonderful parents.” “Yes. Well you could give them to me during the day,” he gasped.Nodding fast, David cried, “We can’t do that! But we could ask.”So the deal was made and the safari man moved his load.And found the small brown magic beans in a bag on Toad.“Now my children, do you need this penguin or magic beans?”The little brown man clapped his hands and made a grin.“Magic beans? What makes them magic?” asked David shyly.“Oh, nothing special. They grow into magic plants in the blue sky.” Maggie took the penguin from David and held it above her head.“Grow to sky,” she cried not knowing what was said.“Silly,” replied David, knocking little Maggie down.“Magic beans for the backyard. I want them to climb on.”

After a night of gentle rain the beans were refreshedAnd started to burrow into the soft brown dirt.David and Maggie thought a bird ate the beans.Said David, “Maybe the ducks from the pond.”

Maggie nodded, wondering where they had gone. But during the warm day the beans broke Out of their thin shells and started to root.That night the stalk pushed nervously from the grainAnd drank in that evening’s nourishing gentle rain.The beanstalk wrapped itself around the backyard fence.


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By morning it had created a small green and yellow trellis.The penguin was not in sight as he wandered around the block.“We’ll find the yellow and black penguin,” cried David excited.But Maggie wasn’t convinced as she studied the beanstalk That lay against the backyard’s wooden split-rail fence.“Come on!” shouted David excitedly panting As he climbed the green and yellow plant.The soft leaves were slippery with ease,The yellow flowers wiggled in the breeze.

“Safari man and penguin,” reminded MaggieAs she pulled herself up on the soft green leaves.

“Yeah, the Safari man and the penguin.Maybe they are down by the pond,”David said over his shoulder as heHeaded for the brown, still water.

The penguin had left the area on a small motorcyclePlaying with peacock feathers and singing about pickles.

The safari man was on the side of the road with Toad.He remembered the bargain that he would have their parentsBut Maggie and David forgot their words and didn’t act bold.


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The RomanFebruary 2003

He stood strong in his gold armorAlong the old, grey marble corridor.The Roman soldier was dressedIn full uniform of red skirt, laced boots,Gold pleats, silver helmet, white feathers.The sun made him sweat as he stood In front of the Coliseum.“I have a friend that lived long ago,”The little penguin said. "If I whisper belowMy breath his name and city?"

“Ah, an old friend?” said the soldier.“Yes, a special friend from Boulder.”The roman soldier wanted to please the bird“I can take you to the Roman lost and found.He may be there or inside the Coliseum.”“A wonderful idea,” thought the penguinAs the soldier carried him through Rome.


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Bed of CattailsJune 2001

It happened when princess didn’t expect it.It was a brilliant million-of-stars night.This bed was made of crushed cattails,The grey moon above was soft and frail,The winds lulled around the trees and shrubs,The air carried the smell of fresh cut hay.The night was too nice and so she continued.

The sky was thickly star strewnAs the clouds raced against Orion,Hid the Dipper and glazed over the Sisters.This bed was made of dry straw and barley.The moon highlighted the beige clouds But was embarrassed to appear completely.A storm approached and the wind brought cold.The air brought moisture that smelled like sweat And felt like the dampness of a child’s kiss

The night was too rough and she searched for another.

It became a dark night with the tree-covered canopyBlocking out all signs of light and romantic chivalry.This bed was made of dry moss from the fallen trees.Chirps did not even betray the stillness of the night, Or animal foot steps of night intruders into the glen.The air sat on the round corners and flat surfaces,In the background, waiting patiently for movement.She shivered when bracing the leaves. Could she be lulled any gentler by warmer air?The night was just right to stop thinking.This was her final destination until the sun gently tapping.She fell asleep and dreamed of thoughts that were blurry.

In her deep princess dreams: The grass was greener,The sky a little bluer,The ground a little softer,The water a bit sweeter.In the relaxation of her sleepHe was always in her thoughts.


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The Mouse and the PenguinJanuary 2002

One time, on the other side of the children’s street,Lived a grey mouse in a straw house by the creek.Mr. Mouse was mischievous, it was the nature of mice.He left his house for adventure. The day was so nice.The Penguin was standing by the creekGetting ready to float lazily complete.“Help me cross the water,” said the little grey thing.“I'll teach you on the other side to dance and sing.”

Mr. Mouse scurried and ran around the Penguin.

“But you are always pulling things apart.”

“Not this time. Cross my heart. You can count on it.”So Penguin agreed to let the little mouse crawl on his neck.“You pull on my cloth and we could both sink.”“It is a great loss for me, life is over in a wink,” said Mr. Mouse.He felt the Penguin’s breath and nestled onto his neck.Touching the water, Penguin’s skin rippled as a temperature check."It's nice water for the Fall."

"I don't want to look at all."And they started to float across the stream.

A loose string caught Mr. Mouse's attention,It wriggled as Penguin rippled his skin.My, my, my, the mouse casually thought,As he followed the string down the streamHis head said please don't touch,But his heart said it's too much.The dilemma ended as Mr. Mouse grabbed


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With his teeth the thread and pulled.Yikes!

They dropped in the water to the bottom of the bed.And the two furry animals lay together in the mud.“Why? You promised,” bubbled a sad Penguin, lost.“It's in my nature,” sighed a defeated Mr. Mouse.

The next day Maggie and David walked by the small stream.They noticed the yellow and black Penguin stuck in the mud.“Lost,” cried Maggie.David stepped into the waters and pulled out the animal“It’s just wet. It’s just like a real penguin,” he followed.Holding it as high as possible Maggie watched the steady drip“I suppose,” she said staring intently at the fuzzy animal.

They put the little wet Penguin on the wall to dry quicklyAll good Penguins dry so nicely, becoming soft and fuzzy.


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The QueenDecember 2002

The Queen is the Queen,If you know what I mean.

The Queen is the British QueenAnd she’s not close to seventeen.

I’ve fancied myself with Penguin,We, riding next to the Royal Queen.

I’ve never seen her ride in a black taxi by the royal gate,Her royal husband would never get her in the queue to wait.

I’d like to drive her around in one really cool,In my own black taxi in London or Liverpool.

She lives in London, in her own big house,Surrounded by statues and guards on horse.

Yeah, someday, I’d treat the queen just fabOnce I get a license for my black London cab.


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The Poison AppleJuly 2002

The aging prince arrived home late tired one night.He came from another country of midnight lights.Maggie and David laughed at his stories of midgets.They both enjoyed his spicy candies and wooden toys.Especially the jeweled wiggle fish and long monkeysThen the old prince went to bed, tired from the long trek.

“But I must have something in my tummyBefore I fall into bed with my bear, Teddy.”So he went for a sweet in the kitchen cupboard,He didn’t eat that pie as it was made with Macintosh.Not realizing it was poison-laced by the ugly duchess.

But he was just a little hungry And grabbed an apple granny.It had been sprinkled with witches’ poison,That slipped onto the prince’s lips moistened.He quickly fell into a deep sleep where he did not snore.

That night the wind did not move, nor the owl soar.

In the morning the children found the still prince of old, Laying flat on top of the blankets.What was wrong with their wonderful prince who told Them far away stories they delighted in?“Something is not right,” said David with a smile worrying.“Kiss,” said Maggie as she watched the prince’s breathing.

David tried to make the gray-haired prince smile with a little dance.Maggie examined his nail-bitten fingers under the circumstance.“Kiss is what he needs,” said David as he examined his face.Exclaimed Maggie, “Cheek!” as she pointed to his fingertips.David said sadly as he saw the dust “Yes, not his lips.”Maggie sighed as she put her fingers to her kiss,And then touched the old man’s wrinkled face.David bravely leaned over and kissed the other cheek.The Old Prince fluttered his eyes, looked around and smiled.


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“Hello brave children, I’m here for another day, still alive.”He was very happy that the children cared so much for his life.


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The Penguin with Black Hair November 2001

It happened last night.It was a starry, starry night.The bed was made of cut, crushed cattails.The black-haired penguin was soft and frail.The winds lulled and danced around the trees.The air smelled of fresh cut hay on a sunny day.The night was too nice and he searched for another place.

It was a camouflaged star nightAs the clouds raced against OrionHid the Dipper, and glazed the Sisters.The moon highlighted the beige clouds,But the stars were embarrassed to appear.A storm approached as the wind brought colder air, The leaves shivered. The shrubs bent to the ground.That air brought moisture and dampness like a child’s kiss.

The night was rough. He pulled onHis black locks and searched on.

He came upon a midnight clear.There was a brilliant star shower, The Leonid cluster sparked and sailedIn the sky with many long dust trails.The shooting stars came from all directionsThey seem to be coming directly upon him,As they grazed the black atmosphereWith long tails of light curving toward earth.“Ah,” he said calmly, stroking his black hair,“This is the place to lie down without a care.”

The grass was greener,The sky a little bluer,The ground a little softer,The water a bit sweeter,Because, regardless if he sleptShe was always in his thoughts.


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The Not So Pretty Penguin March 2003

“What can you do? You are so ugly,” asked the pretty swan.The peacock fanned her feathers, nodded her bright plume. “I agree. Too small and pudgy,” she chirped on.The shiny black raven laughed at the sight of the penguin.“Such an ugly, not-able-to-fly bird,” she crowed sanguin.

“I may not be so pretty,” smiled the black and white bird, With a small strip of yellow for a collar. “But I can sing and that makes me feel special.”All of the birds just laughed at such a mouth.“How can penguins sing when they live south?”“But I can,” said the little penguin with no doubt.It bothered him that his cousins were mean and vicious.He did not hide when they laughed in their raspy voices.

Sitting down on the damp ground, she snuggled in, Resting on her bottom, she lifted her small black wings.Tilting her head, her beak into the air, she closed her eyes.Her voice soared as she sang a sonnet from Don Giovanni.It was so beautiful that the dogs and cats cried tears of joy.

But the birds smugly turned their heads away.Seeing the people coming to the bird sanctuary,They perched themselves, cleaning their feathers.This was the time for their daytime feeding, And their wonderful moment of chirping.

But the people walked by, not saying a word.They didn’t admire them or their bright colors.They headed for that little penguin that was singing opera.A sweet sonnet that was a rarified melody for the zookeeper.


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Penguin, my FriendFebruary 2003

Our old faithful PenguinHas been a long time Friend.

Penguin grew up in the southern snow landBut prefers living in the warm Mediterranean,

Or the southern countries like Thailand.Like a close friend where ever we send him We can expect him to be just as he was when we began.

Through our travels and drinking in exotic barsHe is a friend in the beginning and endOne you can count on even in the sand.


fairy tales for maggie and david

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