60’s Vibes

Sixties’ doctrine was all about love –
long-haired hippies espousing
anti-establishment, warriors sitting
for peace, getting their groove on.

Too young to grasp the concepts
of love not war, reduced to accomplice,
I eagerly followed along in borrowed
fringe, sporting obligatory peace signs.

Observed that hugs, and smiles, are free
and that mind-altering drugs are cool,
and guessed the establishment meant rules,
and that even in protest there was uniformity.

(Inspired by today’s daily prompts:  Fandango, accomplice; Ragtag Community, groove;  and Daily Addictions, doctrine. Photo from personal collection.)



How delicate
these threads
that bind us –
frail filaments,
whispery darts
of affection –

How willfully
we ignore connection,
ignore ensuing pain…
individuality usurping
love’s needs –
a harsh lesson.

(Inspired by the featured image and written for the daily prompts:
Fandango: lesson; Ragtag Community: dart; Daily Addictions: frail.)

Excuse Me?!

Insults and mockery
and off the cuff remarks
all marks of authenticity
merely plain talking larks

so says the republican
in the president’s defence –
we are just oversensitive
those who take offence.

When was it disclosed,
I ask the figure on the screen,
that authenticity is ascribed
to spewing things obscene?

Now I am not American,
so neither right nor left,
still I cannot help but object
when justification is so bereft.

Authenticity, I cry out
implies honesty and trust,
building a self that is hospitable –
openness and compassion a must.

To equate such a concept
with this poor excuse of a man
has really pushed the boundaries;
I’m ready for a Trumpian ban.

(Today’s prompts are as follows:  Fandango’s word of the day:  object; Ragtag Community: hospitable; and Daily Addictions is disclose.  I am not usually political but hearing Trump’s recent comments described as authentic got me going – apparently. Photo is from my personal collection – reminds me of an angry forest spirit.)


More black than red,
blood gathers in the tube
puncturing the crux
of left elbow –

a drip, drip of saline
curtails effects of dehydration,
while the newly infused
Gravol spreads – a calm
settling nausea; I sigh

Tests indicate an invader –
infection toppling an already
fragile system, cannot afford
the onslaught..

Hours later, I lie watching
as a storm rages outside –
the sweltering heat
having peaked,
now clashing with
cooler air advancing

Partner tracks the weather
patterns on apps, alerts
me of approaching systems

but I don’t need technology
am feeling resonance with
nature’s thunderous fracas.

(Today’s prompts are as follows:  Fandango’s One Word Challenge is curtail,
Ragtag Community’s offering is trace, and Daily Addictions is afford.)

Photo is from personal collection.  With the help of wonder drugs, I am at home recuperating.)

Fizzled Out

Let’s resurrect the fireworks
pretend we’re young again

we laugh to hide the sorrow
the ludicrousness of it all

reliability applicable only
to sentiments, little else

post surgeries, chronic
illness and radiation’s turn

fireworks are for the young,
we agree returning to our screens.

(We’ll blame this poem on the prompts of the day:  Fandango’s: fireworks, Ragtag Communities: resurrect, and Daily Addictions: reliable.)

Fisherman’s Wharf

Viewed from the shelter
of Fog Harbour’s luxury,
Pier 39, a serene snapshot

vessels tethered silently
waiting, a single gull
bobbing nonchalantly by

sea-inspired dishes satiate
appetites, as we ponder
the legacy of Alcatraz

watch the ferries line up,
load up and slip away –
robotic whale-like rhythm

on a far dock, a gigantic
mass of darkened bodies
indiscernible from this height

the pungency of their odour
and discordant bray of roars
unavailable from our perch

afterwards, we will join
the serried rank of onlookers
attempt to determine who

is gawking at whom –
the oily swarm of lazy flesh
or the camera-toting fans

fulfilling our contract
as tourists, memorializing
San Francisco’s wonder.

(Daily Addictions prompt is gigantic, Fandango’s word of the day: contract , Ragtag Community has offered serried.  Image is from personal collection:  Pier 39, Fisherman’s Wharf, SF)

Speak No Evil

these sentiments,
gnarled and ungrateful,
only serve to tip the scale
in favour of cynicism

have, therefore,
decided on self-
imposed quarantine;
will be keeping thoughts
to myself, thank you.

Suffice to say
that having confronted
multiple betrayals,
and insurmountable
heartache, all pointing

vile accusations
at a lack of discernment,
and questionable self-worth,
I am currently not imbibing
romantic dribble –

Oh, dear! I’ve said too much.

(Inspired by the daily promptings of: Fandango (suspect), Ragtag Community (scale), Daily Addictions (intimidate), and Sammi Cox’ Weekend Writing Prompt (quarantine).

Image produced by yours truly.)


Crumbs seductively line
Corian countertops –
abundance for flies,
I understand

It’s a trap!
I’d warn, but
buzz is not a language
familiar to my tongue

temper unsuited
to accommodating pests –
we navigate an end
to the ensuing discomfort

fly doomed,
my senses rattled
effort now exerted
to vanquish crumbs.

(Inspired by the daily prompts of Fandango (temper), Daily Addictions (Abundant), and Ragtag (navigate). Thanks for stopping by.)

The Boy in 3C

He like to walk across desktops,
bright eyes filled with challenge,
a shock of unkempt blond tuffs
lending a distinctly menacing air.

Had him for three classes a day,
and plentiful as my patience could be,
I must say, I was stretched –
searching for a suitable approach

He was all brawn, you see,
and I, nearing fifty, body frail,
was ill-equipped to deal with blows,
and besides, his ostentatious behaviour

netted me plenty of sympathy,
his classmate no more impressed
than I, my colleagues deeming him
incorrigible – surely, a lost cause.

And yet, I saw in him a wayward self,
glimpses of such anger and pain
as I had known in youth, and I
appealed to my own longing

assigned him helping tasks,
befriended the notorious lad,
inviting another side, appealing
to a scarred vulnerability

Stellar progress we made –
he passing every class, aiming
to remedy his days, and then
we let our guards down

Neither of us prepared for
the downside of success –
he, mired in unworthiness
slipped back into old ways

drank himself into a stupor,
arrived at school wielding
a pellet gun, waving his weapon
at unsuspecting peers, stirring

mass mayhem, and as they
took him away in handcuffs,
he called my name, “I love you”
echoing through the stunned halls.

(Written for Fandango’s Word of the Day: ostentatious, Ragtag Communities: stellar, and Daily Addictions: plentiful.

The boy depicted did manage to complete his school year, with the help of school administration and lessons provided by yours truly.  After high school, he went into social work, a field I think he will thrive in, given his background.  There is always more to the story, and there is always hope.)

Rain, Like a Typewriter

Rain tap, tap, taps
on our tin box roof,
like a typewriter

rhythmically transcribing
today’s lesson

“Erect postures,
elbows at ninety degrees,
fingers poised, ready,
and go…fff…ggg…”

the old machines
weighing heavily on my soul
disrupting my sense of self –
aspirations more esteemed
than stenographer, or secretary –
mother’s answer to securing a suitable man

“Target 125 words/minute,
accuracy counts”
keys tangle
ribbon collapsing
whiteout highlighting
my fallibility
I seethe

rail against learning
a skill redundant for a scholar –
math and psychiatry in sight –

Tap, tap, tap
the rain pummels now
thunderous applause
as two crows cackle
hysterical mockery
such shortsightedness

as if teenage minds
can conceive of the future
as if I might have foreseen
the emergence of computers
machinery insinuating
itself into the crux
of human existence

Had to lie, in the end
post-secondary life
demanding accurate skills –
faked it till I made it.

(Inspiration by:
Weekend Writing Prompt #59: typewriter (149 words)
Daily Addiction:  accurate
Ragtag Community’s daily prompt:  target.)