creativity · Family · Grandparenting · Love · poetry · writing

A Child Glows

delightful youth,
my heart’s jewel,
you are light-bearer,
hope for the future –

antics haphazard,
laughter contagious,
spreading joy,
sparking imagination –

I pray that your spirit
remains joyously vibrant,
that reality dawns gently –
does not spoil the radiance
of your glow.

(Written in honour of my granddaughters, for dVerse pub, where Lillian is hosting and a quadrille based on the prompt spoil is called for.  Also linking up with Ragtag Community – jewel, Fandango’s- haphazard, and Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt – heart. )

creativity · Love · poetry · relationships · writing

Epic Love

She, deadly beautiful,
innocent as Ophelia

He, toxic ash –
turmoil and fury

Together, love soared,
then, like a tempest

Twisted out of control,
sanity sliding, fate

so cruel, as to be
legendary, epic

Like any other teenage
Shakespearean love story.

(Written for the generous prompts of Manic Mondays 3 Way, deadly; Ragtag Community’s slide; Fandago’s, toxic; and Daily Addictions, soar. Image provided by Laura at All the Shoes I Wear.)

blogging · creativity · culture · poetry · writing

Sticks And Stones

Intuition and compassion
combined with knowledge
an effective healer make,

yet, historically, women
applying such skills – labelled
witches – burnt at the stake.

The injustice of such trials
now commonly accepted – still
the title reeks of something sinister.

And if a man raises his voice
in ire, driven to protest, he
is righteous – to be heeded,

but let a woman speak out
against lack of fairness – she
is a witch by another name.

I say we banish the verbal putdowns,
condemn the ignorance inspired by fear,
listen to one another, and invite progress.

(Written for Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt: witch, witchy, bewitched.)


blogging · creativity · poetry · writing

Parents Beware! (A Hallowe’en Tale)

Warily watching innocents
parading on the edge of darkness,
portraits of miniature monsters,
haunting deserted streets.

Howls from a  local asylum,
like sirens, scream of wizards,
devious deviners hovering
over fresh young blood.

Heart beating irrationally,
I pause to calm my breath –
turn to find my charge gone
disappeared into the haze.

I retrace my steps – No!
She’s evaporated, snatched –
vomit rises in my throat,
while goblins stalk shadows.

Frantically, I hunt, search
stashes, grasping for clues,
night closing in; I shiver
at the ominous laughter.

Curiosity caught her –
twilight’s call, visions
enticing – unaware of
vulnerability, eager-eyed

as any student of fright –
hissing cackles circle
the unsuspecting morsel
of flesh, drooling fangs

connive – bumping into
evil, she tries to run, is
swallowed up, lost, stench
of morbidity closing in –

find her, crumpled –
a broken bird – princess
dreams dishevelled, streaks
of tears on muddied face.

Tend to her in the shadowy
hours, dissuading fears –
All imaginary, I persuade,
just costumes like yours..

Yet, even I feel the lingering
snarl of beasts, the undeniable
chill in the air; I snuggle her
tight, and say an extra prayer

as Night wraps her in his
ebony cloak and feverish and
afraid, she is whisked away
to another mortifying realm.

(A ghoulish tale, written a few years back and submitted here for Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt:  ominous.)

mental-health · poetry · writing


Emotions don wheels,
tear about, burn rubber,
congest – psychic traffic jam.

Alone, there is no outlet,
no scapegoat for this tirade,
just a damned discomfort.

No worries – I will pace
from distraction to distraction,
until sanity makes a comeback.

(Thanks to all the prompters for providing the words to describe today’s state of mind: Ragtag Community (comeback), Fandango (traffic), Manic Mondays 3 Way (damned), and Daily Addictions (tirade).)

blogging · creativity · Family · poetry · relationships

Youngest Child

The Boondocks,
my sisters told me,
was not a desirable
place to be –

‘cool’ being the theme
of our generation –
the line between
what was ‘in’
and what was not,
seemed fragile

to my imagination,
mind climbing
to copious possibilities

constantly slammed
by uptight, in-the-know
older siblings

Is it any wonder
that I never belonged,
the line of inclusion
always just out of reach?

Grew fond of
tucked away
spaces –

Adapted to
the “boonies” –
more refuge
than exile.

(Poem is brought to you by the inspirational prompting of Ragtag Community (copious), Daily Addictions (theme), Fandango’s (fragile), and Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt (Boondocks).

blogging · change · poetry · travel · writing


He is the planner,
planning routes and stops,
measuring distances, researching
particulars, focused on specifics

I am the organizer,
organizing a mass cull,
distribution of worldly possessions
to kids, goodwill, or garage sales

He is the scheduler,
scheduling maintenance,
pre-departure inspections,
double-checking mechanical

I am the communicator,
communicating itineraries
answering emails, phone calls
reassuring family left behind

We lose each other
in the preparation scramble,
absorbed as we are in personal
agendas, anxious for departure.

The future is unknown,
we have committed to the leap,
replaced obligations with openness,
are setting sail on a new adventure.

We are questers,
questing after discovery,
retreating from a weighty past
leaving judgment in our dust.

We are travellers,
traveling off the beaten track,
chasing vibrant panoramas,
a close proximity to nature’s best.

(This poem appeared last November, as my husband and I, having sold our house and possessions, headed for the great beyond in our motor home.  The experience surpassed any of our expectations.  Not sure when or where the wind will blow us this year, but Manic Mondays 3 way prompt, departing, has sparked the memories and itch to hit the road.)