Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
day 21
I'm a little behind today,
Words have all gone astray,
Inspiration won't come
I'm sitting here feeling dumb
A poem a day is far too much
I promise soon, to be in touch.
Words have all gone astray,
Inspiration won't come
I'm sitting here feeling dumb
A poem a day is far too much
I promise soon, to be in touch.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
16.Lies
I’m happy with my body.
I hate
pizza pie.
I drive a red Camaro.
Can’t wait until I die.
I don’t like birds and sunshine.
I really hate good books.
I don’t crave morning coffee.
Can’t complain about my looks.
Dew worms make me queasy.
This poem was very easy,
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
day 15
It is eleven thirty-seven,
Twenty-three minutes left to goThe day is almost over,
And I have no poetry to show.
Monday, April 14, 2014
14.To Charlie
my lame attempt at a sonnet -
While sitting beside the blue rabbit hutch
With too much stubborn canine will power.
The spray bottle aimed for your nightly shower
You howl, a lovely added noisy touch
Until your throat we really want to clutch
We yell at you and you growl and cower.
Please come inside you silly little fool
Have a drink and also tasty kibble
Take a treat, you like the crunchy nibble
I kiss your nose and scratch your velvet ear
And I rub your naked tum, I shant be cruel
Care for you, loving friend, my pal, my dear.
Charlie you should be sleeping at this hour
Not barking like a fool at nothing muchWhile sitting beside the blue rabbit hutch
With too much stubborn canine will power.
The spray bottle aimed for your nightly shower
You howl, a lovely added noisy touch
Until your throat we really want to clutch
We yell at you and you growl and cower.
Please come inside you silly little fool
Have a drink and also tasty kibble
Take a treat, you like the crunchy nibble
I kiss your nose and scratch your velvet ear
And I rub your naked tum, I shant be cruel
Care for you, loving friend, my pal, my dear.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
day 12
Intoxication
Constable Sullivan needs a drink
sucks in, breath interrupts silence,
downs a beer, one gulp, half gone.
Tastes like more, much more.
Life’s meaning lost for now.
Blood pulses, temples throb
He flicks on favourite country music station
Base pounds in time with heartbeat
Fills his head too full
Of nothing permanent.
Or maybe robs him of it.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Remain unchanged
Unless tonight becomes the night
Everything changes.
Another beer beckons from the box.
In his car,
Wouldn’t contemplate the obscene act
Big Jack considers now.
“Barney did you ever feel so low?
What would Andy say if he could see you now?
And you were him?”
Like sand
tossed across glass
wind drives
rain against the windshield.Constable Sullivan needs a drink
sucks in, breath interrupts silence,
downs a beer, one gulp, half gone.
Tastes like more, much more.
Afternoon
shift ends,
a shoelace breaks,Life’s meaning lost for now.
Blood pulses, temples throb
He flicks on favourite country music station
Base pounds in time with heartbeat
Fills his head too full
Of nothing permanent.
Night fixes
everything.
Reason saves
his sanityOr maybe robs him of it.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Remain unchanged
Unless tonight becomes the night
Everything changes.
Another beer beckons from the box.
Barney Fife
from Mayberry
Didn’t drink
beer alone at nightIn his car,
Wouldn’t contemplate the obscene act
Big Jack considers now.
“Barney did you ever feel so low?
What would Andy say if he could see you now?
And you were him?”
Thursday, April 10, 2014
day 10
Feeling very tired
today ----
There once was a
woman retired.
Who found herself
in projects mired.She couldn’t say no.
Her life filled with woe,
Until one day she sadly expired.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Day 9.From a playlist
Taken from playlist on Apr.2/14 Definitely Not the Opera (CBC Radio) – Where did your ‘crash’ take you?
When She Rides,
The Destination
Is to Escape.The Destination
Listens to White Noise
On the DriveShares Afternoons and Coffee Spoons
My Silver Lining.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Day 7 poetry challenge
I am floundering - finding this project difficult. I missed yesterday, sorry. I would not be able to do this at all if I had to follow the prompts so I will just submit when I can, whatever comes to mind and Passes Through. My offering for today is based on the colour orange.
Contemplating Orange
Picked orange peels, orange crush cans, broken plastic pylons
Put debris in orange utility garbage bags,
And drank Gatorade.
Reflect orange on dark wet streets
As 1974 orange Volkswagon Wesfalia hippy van
Speeds through orange light,
Hits Florida orange truck,
Valencia, Mandarin, Sunkist, Tangerine, Kumquat
Roll aimlessly into gutter filled with orange autumn leaves.
To sell with peppers, carrots, peaches, papaya, lobsters
As orange flashing tow truck lights approach
On the scene, police officers
Put on orange safety vests and direct traffic,
Orange tip on flashlights making zig-zag lines of orange in the darkness.
Marigolds, poppies, tiger lilies and crates of pumpkins,
Waiting to become pumpkin pie or Jack-o-lanterns
Eerily glowing from orange candle flame inside.
To be set on porch railings against a harvest moon
But should be mixed with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg
To make Christmas pomanders, flavour orange tea,
And mix with cranberries in favourite muffins for dessert
After winter meals of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches,
Or toast with apricot preserves.
Before the cozy fire in the hearth
No orange sherbet, coconut shrimp or mimosa this time of year.
On my way once
more I ponder orange
An orange
tabby cat called Marmalade
Three hundred pound pumpkin its owner nicknamed Shrek
Sunrise, sunset, orange canaries singing happy orange notes
And why are goldfish not called orange fish?
Bright orange frogs are highly poisonous.
Did you know that eating only carrots turns your skin orange?
Or that ladies of a certain age mustn’t wear orange tinted lipstick
Because it makes their teeth look dull?
Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I wrote this poem.
How can that be
Nothing in the English language rhymes with orange.
Throw me a life-jacket please.
Contemplating Orange
Driving in
darkness, past Balzac gas flare
Along highway
where earlier, convicts in orange coverallsPicked orange peels, orange crush cans, broken plastic pylons
Put debris in orange utility garbage bags,
And drank Gatorade.
Eerie orange
halo glows above distant city.
Soon long rows
of streetlights – who called this shade of orange “amber”?Reflect orange on dark wet streets
As 1974 orange Volkswagon Wesfalia hippy van
Speeds through orange light,
Hits Florida orange truck,
Valencia, Mandarin, Sunkist, Tangerine, Kumquat
Roll aimlessly into gutter filled with orange autumn leaves.
Young man with
orange hair – is that on purpose or dye job gone wrong?
From nearby
market behind orange brick wall runs to gather spills,To sell with peppers, carrots, peaches, papaya, lobsters
As orange flashing tow truck lights approach
On the scene, police officers
Put on orange safety vests and direct traffic,
Orange tip on flashlights making zig-zag lines of orange in the darkness.
Beside the market,
near the smashed Westfalia
Rows of terra
cotta pots, overflow with nasturtiums,Marigolds, poppies, tiger lilies and crates of pumpkins,
Waiting to become pumpkin pie or Jack-o-lanterns
Eerily glowing from orange candle flame inside.
To be set on porch railings against a harvest moon
This is wrong.
Oranges should
not litter streetsBut should be mixed with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg
To make Christmas pomanders, flavour orange tea,
And mix with cranberries in favourite muffins for dessert
After winter meals of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches,
Or toast with apricot preserves.
Before the cozy fire in the hearth
No orange sherbet, coconut shrimp or mimosa this time of year.
Three hundred pound pumpkin its owner nicknamed Shrek
Sunrise, sunset, orange canaries singing happy orange notes
And why are goldfish not called orange fish?
Bright orange frogs are highly poisonous.
Did you know that eating only carrots turns your skin orange?
Or that ladies of a certain age mustn’t wear orange tinted lipstick
Because it makes their teeth look dull?
Knock knock
Who’s there?Orange.
Orange who?
Orange you glad I wrote this poem.
How can that be
Nothing in the English language rhymes with orange.
Throw me a life-jacket please.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Perfect Green Tee Shirt
You know, when you go to a store
And everything is on sale (almost)
You find a perfect green tee shirt
That matches your eyes
And fits like a dream
But it’s not on sale, so you leave it
Because it’s expensive for a tee shirt
And you don’t really need it
But when you get to the door, you go back
And buy it, because it’s the perfect green tee shirt.
Or stretch, or fade, or do other weird things with its shape
You wear it so much that people refer to you
As that woman, you know the one,
The one in the green tee shirt.
And it doesn’t look so good.
It’s gotten old and worn, baggy and faded
But you still love it and wear it around the house
Until there’s a hole, or a seam comes apart.
You sigh and add it to the dog’s bed
Hoping that because it smells like you
The dog will love the green tee shirt too
With a picture of a perfect green tee shirt
In your mind.
And everything is on sale (almost)
You find a perfect green tee shirt
That matches your eyes
And fits like a dream
But it’s not on sale, so you leave it
Because it’s expensive for a tee shirt
And you don’t really need it
But when you get to the door, you go back
And buy it, because it’s the perfect green tee shirt.
You wear
it and love it
And when
you wash it, it doesn’t shrinkOr stretch, or fade, or do other weird things with its shape
You wear it so much that people refer to you
As that woman, you know the one,
The one in the green tee shirt.
Then, one
day you see a picture of yourself
In your
green tee shirtAnd it doesn’t look so good.
It’s gotten old and worn, baggy and faded
But you still love it and wear it around the house
Until there’s a hole, or a seam comes apart.
You sigh and add it to the dog’s bed
Hoping that because it smells like you
The dog will love the green tee shirt too
Then you
go to a store
Where
everything is on sale (almost)With a picture of a perfect green tee shirt
In your mind.
Friday, April 4, 2014
small boy
Small boy,
aged four, and Mr. Potato Head
Share quality time together in cyberspace.
How is it that a boy so small
Knows about download, click and play
As though some alien collective consciousness
Bestowed computer literacy in the womb?
He manoeuvres his game
Paints Tater Head different colours
Breaks him into virtual pieces,
Virtually puts him together again.
Share quality time together in cyberspace.
How is it that a boy so small
Knows about download, click and play
As though some alien collective consciousness
Bestowed computer literacy in the womb?
Quick bright
eyes glued to the screen,
Tip of tiny
tongue protrudes between baby teethHe manoeuvres his game
Paints Tater Head different colours
Breaks him into virtual pieces,
Virtually puts him together again.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
agh, no time.
There
was a young lady named Daisy
Who
liked all her underwear lacyHer bras and her panties
Nighties and scanties
Were flimsy, erotic and racy.
already a day late!
I know nothing
About quantum physicsHieroglyphics
Bolsheviks
Iambic pentameter.
Political queries
Lobotomies
Dreary couplets.
Army tanks
Sheepshanks
Blank verse.
I know nothing
About Kung Fu fightingMedieval knighting
UFO sighting
Writing poetry.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
thanks to Billy Collins
One of
my favourite poems by my favourite poet.
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But
all they want to do
is tie
the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They
begin beating it with a hose
to
find out what it really means.
Introduction to Poetry
By Billy Collins
I ask
them to take a poem
and
hold it up to the light like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say
drop a mouse into a poem
and
watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want
them to waterski
across
the surface of a poem waving at the author’s name on the shore.
and torture a confession out of it.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Poetry????
NaPoWriMo – a poem a day for the month of April. My online writers
group suggested this and a couple of the members are participating.
Check it out at http://www.napowrimo.net/about
I’m not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought it
sounded like fun. I have no backlog of poetry to my credit. You can count my
poems on your fingers and have digits left over but I’m glad I’ve committing to
project nevertheless. It is mid-March so maybe I can write some offerings in
advance in case I get bogged down.
One of the suggestions on the NaPoWriMo site is to register your blog
and keep your poetry there so others can read it. I thought this blog might be
a way to keep me going, to keep me inspired. Unless I am committed to
something, even if it’s only a blog post a day, I tend to give up rather
quickly.
There likely won’t be much poetry worth reading on my blog but I’ll do
it anyway. We’ll see how it goes.
My other blog deals with more serious stuff – mostly rants – but I
promise not to rant here, just sit quietly and see what
passes through.
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. ...Leonard Cohen
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. ...Leonard Cohen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)