Rebellion Incited

Listen up!
My words, like children,
need tending to, codling

I can’t just go all willy nilly and let them run amuck


they are liking the idea

and what’s that knocking at my door
strange ideas….

oh, this will never do –
I keep a tight ship here –
order and perfection
those are my mottos

the children are getting out of hand
best banish them to the basement
until they calm down, but wait…

there’s sawdust
and garbage down here
(how could I have been so reckless)

Really, I wasn’t expecting all this commotion

and there’s the door again –
Oh dear!  Just as I feared –
the church ladies are here
and any moment they’ll
start sermonizing
and I’ll feel guilty
for having
let the children
imperfect thoughts

What the hell!

I’m an artist not a babysitter!  Why am I worrying about judgment from a bunch of prudish old ideas about how poetry should be executed?  I’m in charge here, right?

Children, gather round
I’ve got some tidbits –
snack-sized morsels of ideas
for us to nibble on –

we need to start a rebellion.



(Today’s challenge is to rebel.)

6 Wheels

He drives; I sit
armrests down
blanket secured
seatback reclined.

We are trucker-high
panoramic witnesses
living a transformer life –
retractable walls, 6 wheels

bus-like we navigate
destination discovery
former stagnation distant –
we are nomads, defying roots.

He drives, and I sleep
two old people undertaking
a journey of impermanence
thriving in each given moment.


(Today’s challenge is to write a paragraph describing some aspect of life and then by erasing words to create a poem.)

Written Here

I need a sponge
all purpose
barely poetic
or a conduit to make sense of tunes
liberating articulation
warmed by night
untouched by honey

Locked images
accomplished phrases
written here


(Not sure this makes any sense but today’s challenge is to take a poem and respond to each line (separately and backwards) to create a new poem.  This poem arises from the work of David Stones, “Upon This Page”, found in his book of poems:  Infinite Sequels.

The Infamous Ice Storm

April, in Ontario, is as unpredictable
as my father’s temperament –
sometimes warm and encouraging,
sometimes icily treacherous

like that morning, in 1973, when
coaxed by the early appearance of buds
and the mildness of a morning breeze,
we donned confidence instead of coats.

By noon the winds has shifted direction –
rain rapidly turned to sleet then freezing,
and we children escaped school early,
sliding our way across yards, marvelling

at the force that had turned trees into
glass sculptures, imagined ourselves
arctic explorers returning home to
hot chocolate and mother’s worried brow.

Father had not been heard from in hours,
and the absence of traffic attested to
the impossibility of the roads, and we
felt the weight of helplessness descend

fearful for our father’s life,
fearful for his state of mind –
his storms no less frightening
than the one that raged outdoors.

A scratching on the front door
set us all on high alert, and in
stumbled father, a ringer for
the abominable snowman

his hair and brows dripping
icicles, his pallor wan despite
the blueness of lips, the reddish
chafing of cheeks and nose –

one hand clenched in an icy fist
the other clamped onto a box
hoisted upon his shoulder – and
before anyone could utter a word

the ludicrousness of the situation
hit me, and unfiltered, I cried:
“You could have died out there,
but you saved your case of beer?”

Our challenge to day is to write about a family anecdote.

Forgive Her Wickedness

I know my sister’s wicked,
have been witness to her acts,
but believe me when I say
the fault is not her own –

You see she had a tenuous start,
was fragile at her birth, and
well, the coddling that ensued
instilled her beastly ways –

tantrums, she found, effective,
threats quite useful too, in fact
I can’t ever remember a time
when ‘no’ meant no for her.

So now that she’s a real Queen
ruling with treachery and wrath,
well whose to blame but those
who set her on this path, and

this is not the full confession,
I’m ashamed to say, you see
the mirror to which she turns
for advice, well it’s another

one of our contrivances –
no magic actually involved –
holograph and distorted voice –
a sibling’s nasty parlour trick

So I hope you’ll understand
that when Snow White entered
our midst – all purity of heart
and youth’s radiant beauty

we saw the perfect opportunity
to make our sister writhe, plotted
to avenge the years condemned
to her shadow – the evil all ours.

(Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge is to demonstrate the human side of a classic villain.)


Rowboat Dreams

A rowboat is a useful thing,
to get from a to b, but should
you dream you are stranded
with only one oar,
in a cesspool of sharks,
then I’d say you are hardly
equipped to handle the situation,
but don’t bail –
all you can do is hang on
and wait for the cavalry
(or better yet, Coast Guard).

Remember, save the rowboat
for romantic sunset cruise –
along the shore is best –
or an afternoon of fishing;
better to travel in deeper waters
with a more fitting vessel.

(There, I think I am done.  The NaPoWriMo challenge today is to write a dream interpretation for one or more objects listed, which wades into my interest zone.  I’ll leave the audience alone now.)

Hammer As A Symbol

A hammer is a driving thing,
as in driving home a point –
a moniker my husband bear’s
to depict his tenacious fight.

There’s hammer hold, and
hitting the nail on the head,
and “If I had a hammer” –
testimony to its symbolism.

A hammer, much like character,
is innocuous on its own, requires
willingness to wield, and practice
to perfect, but can be very useful.

A tool – not in the derogatory sense,
unless a dream assailant carries on
a relentless pursuit – a part of self
intent on breaking through walls.

So, should you dream of hammer –
not the M.C. kind – then ask yourself
these questions:  Am I on point, or
are my efforts actually constructive?

(Kind of like me with this NaPoWriMo exercise, lol.)

Dream Interpretation: Teacup

A teacup is a social thing –
fits neatly in matching saucer,
requires raising of pinky finger,
prescribed by social etiquette.

Should it break or, heaven forbid,
spill – its fragile, china composure
spewing hot trails on white linens,
then disgrace could be the theme

which only matters if Victorian
protocols are the priority – perhaps
it’s time to question antiquated
expectations and purchase a mug.

(NaPoWriMo challenge today is to offer dream interpretation for a specific symbol.  I’m afraid I might overdo this exercise, as I find it quite fun – so just ignore further posts on the subject.)



Tomorrow, like yesterday
fell out of step with today –
any gifting involved must
have taken place while I was
not looking –

that which gives me birth
also weakens me, or
perhaps, I should say,
what is taken is beyond us

Oh, such gibberish
that falls from my pen –
it seems the devil cries
when we fail to plan,
or is it that misfortune
avoids the procrastinators?

Seems I’m having trouble
articulating what I mean,
but I’m sure you’ll understand
that failure owes itself
to talons and curses, and
whatever you do, be sure
to fixate on the ass who
dropped this nonsense
in the first place.

(Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge asks us to turn common expressions upside down to see what emerges.)