In the portrait of me my daughter drew
Purple hair, asymmetrical.
She draws everyone blissful
Happy
And one hundred rainbows.
She is going through her Rainbow Period.
My son's more conceptual eye
Dreamed a flower
Less its petals.
Colourful geometry.
A stick figure dances
On construction paper.

good morning, morning
so new and faultless
with blue sky promise
and all your stories
not yet told

good morning, morning
let's get this right now
with coffee cups full,
and kiss him proper
'fore he goes

good morning, morning
sunshine soliloquies
delivered to a drowsy audience
but we're trying,
we promise.

( Read more... )

More of this absurdity I am throwing together that is inspired by The Lamplighters, my delightful and talented trivia team.

part iii - the minstrel

The minstrel plucks notes
From the crowd-cluttered air
Remembered music
Eliciting sometimes smiles
And occasional groans.
And
when roused
we the rabble sing along.

I wrote this about my neighbourhood. I hope to do a more positive one about it in the future.

from here I see the wooden fence
waving hello
and wonder if it sways in time
with the gate that creaks
across the street
like a line in a horror film.
come on in,
no one's home.
only the mice like to linger.

This feels unfinished and a little jumbled, but somehow that seems appropriate today. I may edit or add to it later ( Read more... )

Today's is a corny sappy thing, and I ain't even sorry.

That was the night I attempted to dance
A sort of pseudo-Charleston
on a buggered foot
How unlikely that I should find you
In that gin haze
You in your suit against the dusty brick

How unlikely that I should find you
When I didn't know I was looking,
But there you were,
And thank goodness.

I miss your bright eyes
And the way we used to talk

in full sentences.

Drink your coffee, love.

I have been working on a play based on the Doves Press story, but, for whatever reason, it has been coming along at a glacial pace. I think I feel unworthy of the story. Oftentimes I'll talk myself out of writing something even before I have thought up the first paragraph. Nevertheless, I wrote this today, and I had fun with it, and it rhymes. How ( Read more... )

Here a field
Where chocolate grows
Amongst the scilla
And almost-tulips
And bubbles can be caught and kept
If only one is fast enough.

(But! it's haiku-ish.)

Written as a result of my 7 AM outing to Zehrs today.

The Supermarket Blues

Dead-eyed denizens
Hunched over full shopping carts
Take in tabloid views.