For the Month of April have been writing poem a day using the daily Prompts from


Another April month of poetry done!
Thank you to all that stopped in to enjoy.


Day 30 NaPoWriMo 2020

Our final prompt! -I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about something that returns. For, just as the swallows come back to Capistrano each year, NaPoWriMo and GloPoWriMo will ride again!
Happy writing!

Many Returns

Surge of tide,
Break of day,
Waves to ride,
lighting of grey.

Seeding plant,
revolving door,
Flowers to grant,
turns once more.

Returns again,
all things,
to pretend,
Forgetting, to start anew, without strings….

       - W.B. 

Daydreams in November

Slowly forgetfulness
Overcomes her
Days lumber on
Different patterns emerge
This way
Quiet silence fills
Heart & soul
Regarding him
Ahh ships that pass
Ahh hopes morass
Sliding always
Over, into
The horizon
But then
Somehow life is sparked
Once again
New green shoots
Blossom out of Earth
His name already
A song
On her lips
A flower
At fingertips
She smiles
Warmly into
This ever new day
Slowly forgetfulness
Overcomes her

   - k


Day 29 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today, write a paean to the stalwart hero of your household: your pet.
If you don’t have a pet, perhaps you know one or remember one who deserves to be immortalized in verse.
Happy writing!

Shades of Grey

Tiny but mighty!
Came in for warmth
One assumes
Noises, nightly
Room to room
Shreds of paper
Nibbled bits
Then I saw it
Almost had a fit
Not alone
In my house
Have a wee mouse!
Need a safe trap
Company I guess…
Until I have that!
Any company on lock down
Will do!
Hello little buddy!
I’ll call you
Least til I find out
If you a girl
Or boy!

   - k

Stony faced

There, still, unmoving
An unwavering focus
My Loyal Pet Rock

   - W.B.

Day 28 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s prompt -Describe a bedroom from your past in a series of descriptive paragraphs or a poem. It could be your childhood room, your grandmother’s room, a college dormitory or another significant space from your life.
Happy writing!


Facing Mount Baker
Looking down
Over r garden in backyard
Huge rental House
@ Vancouver BC
11th & Commercial
This backroom..
Glass portal
Wall to wall
Generous, deep
Always warm
Deep into nights
Small space
With a corner!
To head
Rows upon rows
Aloe Veras
One year
They flowered
Who knew!?
They do that
In very warm places!

   - k


There is a maze in my mind
Of rooms that are not mine

Window seats
of views that repeat

seldom seen
what meanings mean

potted plants
fabrics at a glance

Floral patterned lined shelf, Open closet with its dowel hanging bar, or Sliding door
Queen, king, or jester like single, perhaps a pair in a twin.
Muted single colour or patterned or floral coverings.

Each window opens to a self
dated inner expression, colour, carpet, items on a shelf

To each a person in kind
that that room reminds me of a time.

– W.B.

Day 27 NaPoWriMo 2020

Todays prompt- I’d like to challenge you to write a poem in the form of a review. But not a review of a book or a movie of a restaurant. Instead, I challenge you to write a poetic review of something that isn’t normally reviewed. For example, your mother-in-law, the moon, or the year 2020 (I think many of us have some thoughts on that one!)
Happy writing!



Bought a tin button
Pressing machine
It had always been
One of my dreams!
Price was fair
Would be fun art
To wear!
2.3/4 circle
Seemed just right
Lay the tin, paper
Hard push on handle
Boom…it disappears
Where did it go?
I always tell them!
Swing machine base
Set button back
Press other side
Amazing, just amazing
Because then
Out pops newly made
A wearable badge
All ages love it
We now wish to buy
A bigger circle size
Maybe blue this time
One for the guys!
10/10 I mark it as
Such fun
For me & my pals!

   - k

My Left sock

‘My Left Sock, an unriveting tale of footwear. To nothing else to compare’

Delving into weave, knit and patterns without reprieve
The question to tell, of why one size fits all, and why ‘One size fits all’, fits none well

Two embroidered stars, one hole
But a little hole they said
‘These things happen, they add character’ though they said it with a note of dread…

‘Riveting! you’ll put it on one leg at a time’ says the laundry reviewer

‘Argyles, athletics, and even a pull-up’, if anyone wears those anymore

Mysterious and dark, heal and toe, how could anything ever stand up to THIS foe
Washed, worn and pilled, from one hundred percent cotton, milled.
Well that is a stretch, two percent is elastic around an ankle to catch.

‘you may never wear sandals again’ at least so they would like to pretend.
Hours waiting for laundry to finish, leads to impromptu filming of make-believe mock documentaries.
filmed barefooted, of footage no-one could, in good taste, defend.

A sequel is planed ‘The Right sock’ (*Working title) Due out sometime next year. Bigger holes are expected by then.
The left sock is rumoured to make a cameo, (Spoiler alert!) unless done in by the drier, ahem, I mean ’Lost’ before then.

In this reviews humble opinion, stay home and do your laundry instead, this is one short film you don’t want stuck in your head. Who ever dreamed up this nightmare should go back to bed.
But only after being forced to fluff and fold,
for who ever came up of a protagonist of a left sock to be told.

– W.B.

Day 26 NaPoWriMo 2020

Our prompt – You will need to fill out, in five minutes or less, the following “Almanac Questionnaire”
Then, use your responses as to basis for a poem.
Happy writing!

Almanac Questionnaire
Childhood dream:
Found on the Street:
Hometown memory:
Notable person:
Outside your window, you find:
Today’s news headline:
Scrap from a letter:
Animal from a myth:
Story read to children at night:
You walk three minutes down an alley and you find:
You walk to the border and hear:
What you fear:
Picture on your city’s postcard:                

Whom sends picture postcards anymore…

The weather lies, flora wilts.
Created spaces to open air, architecture flies, Outside the window is just outside from where light spilt.
Road markings found on the street, to control, tries, today’s news headline, repeated 50,001 times, lilts

Customs has long lineups and asks lots of questions, and likes few of the answers. Spies and persons of note are not always notable persons of interest causing heads to tilt.

You fear your fears because they are unreal, unfounded or exaggerated. All very unwise. Yes, that includes childhood dreams and its inherent guilt.
Conspiracy, hometown memory, often relating to ones home town guise. Whom told you to say that…! paranoia up to the hilt.

Dress down for casual, up for formal, the hight of wearing ties. You walk to the border and hear a line up, to art openings of Graffiti, usually best if of Tahiti. Export, Import, keep the economy going, even if you must pilt.

You walk three minutes down an alley and you find you found something three minutes away, an interest in you that buys,
for like lovers, best under cover, and mammals, reptiles and fish that always need feeding. The world gets to seem gilt.

Like old bed time stories, story read to young children at night just before turning out the light, ending in little surprise yes, yet childhood dreams still walk on stilts
Bookmarked of a scrap from a letter, do you scrap your letters? to be safe from prying eyes? Until tomorrows story of an animal from a myth. Mythical animals are just animals, if real, stalking from the silt

Lakes and back alleys plies, a question cries ‘What Picture is on your city’s postcard’ long ago found or built


Whispering Alder Tree

More like Van G Starry..
Swirly stars against
Blue black night
Ancient marine deposits
Deep underfoot
Remind us such
Ancient past/land mass
Stories in red ochre
Hand prints
Blue whales
Running mammoth
Dreams old- to fly
Pyramids call me
Bare feet
Warm sand
Distant relations
Beckon always
‘I love you forever
I love you for always’
Millions years old
Rocks tumbled
Mountain to sea
Paint them cheery
Bright acrylic colours
Leave gently
Dropped for another to find
Some just for my
Imaginary lover
Make him laugh
At least I hope that..
Long dresses-covered
Crawl into womb
Mother Earth
Sweat Lodge
Drumming singing
Loud & clear
Only sometimes,
I fear
To be alone, sick
For others….
The 5 G microchips
Crypto currency
Of our movements
No purchase unless tagged
No, Oh
Not war
No more war
And youth!
Being small
Kokisilah River
I swim there still
Always will be part of me
The day the eagle swooped
Lifted salmon
Talons strong wings
Rising, away
Strong proud bird
Like Cher
My musical icon
Grew up with her
Do you believe
In life after love?
A note in mail recently
A stranger wrote
‘You inspire me’
How I felt healed
Knowing others
Were cheered!
Take down all walls
That Earth could be divided so
Hopefully one day
Borders must go!
Love remains
The only answer
To everything.

   - k


Day 25 NaPoWriMo 2020

The prompt, which you can find in its entirety  here, was  developed by the poet and teacher Hoa Nguyen, asks you to use a long poem by James Schuyler as a guidepost for your poem. This is a prompt that allows you to sink deeply into another poet’s work, as well as your own.



Rainy day multitude of greys
Inside and out, wake ponder
Hear scratching, rise,look outside
Shiny black crows, tearing grass up
Like expert excavator operators they
Seek nutrition hunt down Chafer Grubs
Caw Caw Caw
Notes of the murder
Exposed,Slow my pc whirrs
Pending sign small blue circle
Blurs Ahh good I am patient!
Listen as clear wet drops
Hit my window 2020
Planet on lockdown
Curious eternally what
Will come next for us all
Curious I search your face
Your eyes
Plaintive call, white soft grey
Sea Gull flies by
Tired today
Think I shall rest
Small comforts matter

   - k

Season unread

Your letter arrives, softly drops, the postman walks away, his footsteps cover over in blowing seed husks of some tree down the street, over uneven sidewalks and the cracks, some falling between.
Squeaking lid closes, letter opener releases, the mailbox empty
contents unfold, unfurl, drawing out like the hours of the day
Snarls, turns into paragraphs and relays sentences imprisoned on the page. Converses of a world turning forward, persisting in every detail and want. Sputtering in idle moments, picking up, skipping over recollections in busy moments. A dirty silver car passes, turns, the next page, glances at the lines of traffic, the signs, the letters strung together into words, words follow one after another, Period, hexagonal stop to thoughts, as no one tickets run-on sentences, the weeds growing in the median, the unleashing of the word Go to grow, accelerating the thoughts and feelings into a journey, past the rows of houses, of all the people and their stories that will likely at some point intersect at a crossroads, one is to yield, will have to, but which?…

Your writing of seasons, the chill of the anticipation of Spring, cold shoulder of resentment to winters overstaying its welcome, harsh lettering, pens blue ink pressing too hard into the lightly textured surface of the giving paper taking down the emotions pleaded out in boxy forced letters drifting from the line of thought and text in distraction.
I leave the last page, for now at least, the turning of the point has not come, this is still the summer to read through, I have not prepared myself for winter in any sufficient way yet, not likely to, why turn the errant calendar before it is time. I shall content myself with the large butterfly longer, halting its migration by resistance, not to know yet what things might fill it’s space should I let next months image come, keeping the colours fresh.

The line echos in my mind “this young man in dun clothes who holds his hat so that the red lining shows and glows.” from this song line quoted through thoughts emoted of worn hat brims seasons shedding

The startling moment from the corner, startled by me, suddenly huge bulky a spider to see, darker than black, as my jaw goes slightly slack. One simply has to respond, or reread what will go on as actions become reactions that nothing can be done about.

The spider now trapped, glass ramekin, as it was the first thing I found, inverted beneath,.
glass prison holds it, the envelope that arrives to floor the prison, your stamp duly crossed out, dated, slips under to cary it away, release to the garden, off to follow the postman, footsteps lost now, only hints that seasons so still exist. Into the seasons of music calling out “the silence of a windless day’ to lead it away”.
I take the envelope inside for a second time.

There is more in this, I suspect on the last page, but who wants to go back into the cold slushy bogged down details of winter, rather shall I bring in flowers, keeping note of wayward spiders this time, branches of bud to open in the warmth of indoors, replaceable before the time they choose to drop leaves. Simple solutions to complexities of life.
And the reading of the ends of letters written in the midst of a storm.

– W.B.


Day 24 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s prompt is a fairly simple one: to write about a particular fruit – your choice. But I’d like you to describe this fruit as closely as possible.

Perhaps your poem could attempt to tell the reader some (or all!) of the following about your chosen fruit: What does it look like, how does it feel, how does it smell, what does it taste like, where did you find it, do you need to thump it to know if it’s ripe, how do you get into it (peeling, a knife, your teeth), do you need to spit out the seeds, should you bake it, can you make jam with it, do you have to fight the birds for it, when is it available, do you need a ladder to pick it, what is your favorite memory of eating it.
Happy writing!


Blue Berry

Well it’s dark blue when ripe
About 10 – 25 millimetres wide
The inside flesh is a light sickly green
And within that flesh are some very tiny seeds
Its overall shape is almost like a plump curling ball, with a crown of blue skin where the berry flower fell.
They are so delicious , sweet and sometimes tart.
I dream of days long passed where I used to pick them from rows of bushes in the sun
I picked to all day long, with a bucket around my waist
Those glorious days , all the berries I ate
One for the bucket, one to taste.

   - SDCRS

Natural Wonders

So tiny
Spot just a glint of red
Meadow wild strawberries
Alpine treasures
Forest delights
Remembering them
Never leaves my head
Small as thumbnail
Little beige cap
One bite bursts so sweet
Better then any other
Summer treats
I yearn for only a
Small wild berry
To eat

So neat!

      - k

Can do

What of the ever omnipresent ‘canned fruit’
shelved and ready
comparatively you’d think them terrible, pulpy and thready
but in the dead of winter who gives a hoot

To have halved peaches in the middle of a snow storm
sans hard indented pits, in a fit of hail
canned of a time when it was still warm
of over productive trees of summer, from fruits did sail

jared and saved
the popping top
now the sweet flavour raved
aroma, how does one, eating them, stop

the mould form from negative pit
dark pointy bit sticking in where it used to sit
Wedged and awash in juice

Yet not in a can, but a jar
Golden lid glints
vacuum sealed for date afar
on top someone the date canned prints

pealed and prepped for today
second to last, waiting its silky smooth texture to eat
The last jar of last year is set to stay
unless after the first jar I repeat…

Away from them I can not stay
my mind still feels the fuzz
even as I stroke the smooth glass of the jar
waiting for my sugary buzz

– W.B.

Day 23 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s prompt (optional, as always) asks you to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Doesn’t “S” look sneaky and snakelike? And “W” clearly doesn’t know where it’s going! Think about the shape of the letter(s), and use that as the take-off point for your poem.


Capital A

A pyramid – ancient energy and healing
A mountain – with a snowy peak on the horizon
A pencil tip – with the written word flowing
A for the air symbol – one of the elements
A scribe compass to draw sacred geometry
A letter of great symbology
A beginning
A part
An A

   - SDCRS


Silent much too
Or overpronounced
So carefully
But mistakenly
Adding S to Z
Causes trouble
At times
For me!
Surname from afar

Zigs this way
Then that
Hard to find
Being at the very
End of alphabet

Sounds like sleep
Or slithering snake
Fried electronics
Quick zzt zzt it makes
Lving with Zed
Keeps life
Now I have
Dancing Zebra’s
In my head

   - K



But I really don’t know that I trust a town that starts and ends with an O
For some reason it feels like it just falls out of seasonS
Perhaps it’s just me as an IndividuaL
as I am hardly an aficionadO


around in circles, same beginning to end, looping O! ‘O’ perhaps it is ok to be sO
but wavering undulations, ’S’curving streets, that steal away, turning back in indecisionS
and layers turn, hiding around corners of the ’L’, quite confrontationaL
repeating a being too close thereinto thereintO

Oh how I keep having Oslo circling round my mind
Steeping in my swerving, curving thoughts
Leaning through troubLing corners
Over and back again Oddly.

Oh Oslo, O
into, and out of, my mind flowS
Churning and turning a corner at a crawL
circling back yet again, just to say another helO

– W.B.


Day 22 NaPoWriMo 2020

Our prompt for the day asks you to engage with different languages and cultures through the lens of proverbs and idiomatic phrases.
Many different cultures have proverbs or phrases that have largely the same meaning, but are expressed in different ways.

Today, I’d like to challenge you to find an idiomatic phrase from a different language or culture, and use it as the jumping-off point for your poem.
Happy Writing!

Énêhpoése ma’eno.

The turtle is shrouded = it’s foggy.


Crawling ever slowly
Lumber, heave
Out of ocean,sea
Onto beach
Starting new life
Ancient ritual
So beautifully
Digs perfectly
Flippers that swim
Also make holes in sand
So deep
Eggs large
Her other children
See clearly now
Also live
Only by Her Grace

   - k

All my.

My connection to you
All that ever was
That ever will be
The song in the wind
The rain on the asphalt
All life , and every atom
Each animal and creature
Those that came before us
And guide us
and those that guide us now
Every being
Every soul
Every tree
Every spark

I give thanks

   - SDCRS

‘Even the rabbit dreams of the moon’

Even the rabbit dreams of the moon.
even, sure footed,
hopping crater to crater.
In fields of clover, burrowed in for the night,

Of flying high, rocket motors to blaze a rapid rabbit trail across the sky.
Past bushy tailed clouds,
where no hare has dare gone before.
Dreams of sciences and scenes beyond its means.
Awake, or as now as it does slumber and snore.
That soon, one small hop for a rabbit, will come, as at the door it preens
will come of perseverance, will power, over the planet to tower.
Imagination woken, by a moon that waxes, wanes and gleams
Still, leaning against the cage door, as the others in the corner cower,
Daydreams that illuminate big eyes, and do not sour.

Of proverbs, idioms, rabbit writings, found by them profound
the cultural utterings to me of a slightly different sound
yet all of us look up at the same sky as we lay across the ground
to what ever meaning we may have found.

Even the rabbit dreams of the moon
dreams and ambitions, that will stay not grounded, nor swoon.

Even the rabbit dreams of the moon…

   - W.B.

Day 21 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s optional prompt Find a poem in a language that you don’t know, and perform a “homophonic translation” on it. What does that mean? Well, it means to try to translate the poem simply based on how it sounds.


Energy interpret

O Wiraqochaya – oh weary soldier
teqse Wiraqochaya – tired soldier
wallparillaq – take rest
kamaq, churaq- eat drink
“Kay hurin pachapi – here There is res
mikhuchun uqyachun,” for the tired one
nispa.- be stoll
Churasqaykiqta-change is coming
kamasqaykiqta – on the horizon
mikhuynin yachachun papa sara – the great father
imaymaná mikhunqan – the great mother
nisqaykita kamachiq mirachiq-the quiet magic
mana muchunanpaq – life givers
mana muchuspa qanta ininanpaq – give life to eachother
ama qasachunchu -deep earth rumbles
ama chikchichunchu-as you sleep
qasilla waqaychamuy.- under a starry blanket.

   - SDCRS


le ciel est bleu; une
semaine; le ciel est bleu; un mois: le ciel est bleu; une année

Il regarda le ciel et le ciel était bleu.

Lay seal, established beautiful unity.
Sommelier, the seal establish, upmost: the seal establishes; unites

ill-regardless, the seal electrical effects, through .

   - W.B. 

All Through the Night
Welsh Lullaby

O mor siriol, gwena seren
Ar hyd y nos
I oleuo’i chwaer ddaearen
Ar hyd y nos.
Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd
Ond i harddu dyn a’i hwyrddydd
Rhown ein golau gwan i’n gilydd
Ar hyd y nos.
Oh more, Gwen was serene
Aye, past she looked
Deep into the night
Cold, she wore a sweater
Yet such hard dark fell
Never did she ask more
Only straightened her back
Rowing into gales
I am glad she is strong
Against the hard dark

   - k


Day 20 NaPoWriMo 2020

Todays prompt asks you to write a poem about a handmade or homemade gift that you have received.

And whatever gift you choose, we wish you happy writing!



Woven threads
spiral , star , life & death
sacred geometry
a delicate tapestry
hung in my door Sill
In memory
a reminder from creator
of balance




With movements nimble
Shining heart & soul
She weaves wire
Into magic
Sore from bending
Twisting, wending
Labour of love
Her only goal
Small cuts happen
She carries ever on
Knows all will heal
She doesn’t mind
Masterpiece in the making
Unique, astounding
What, when she is set to
I admire this woman
My daughter
Whose fingers
My love continues to grow
May she always know!

    - k


By Hand


Paper card
Raffia wrapped


by heart.

– W.B.


Day 19 NaPoWriMo 2020

Todays prompt challenges you to write a poem based on a “walking archive.” It’s when you go on a walk and gather up interesting thing – a flower, a strange piece of bark, a rock. This then becomes your “walking archive” – the physical instantiation of your walk. If you’re unable to get out of the house (as many of us now are), you can create a “walking archive” by wandering around your own home and gathering knick-knacks, family photos, maybe a strange spice or kitchen gadget you never use.

One you’ve finished your gathering, lay all your materials out on  a tray table, like museum specimens. Now, let your group of materials inspire your poem! You can write about just one of the things you’ve gathered, or how all of them are all linked, or even what they say about you, who chose them and brought them together.
Happy writing!


Today iso dandy

Up stagger , plop
my couch spot
Up Reach blind a cup of water -vape + phone
Drop, slump ,zonked out
Head up stagger ,sore
Reach for blankets -snore
Awake , reach for glasses
Water, phone ,vape
Walk back to bed
Gaze at the parallel head
Awake-reach for embrace
A kiss
Glasses, my necklace, phone, vape
Coffee pot, tap , filter , freezer , coffee can
Phone vape
Mug, sugar , coffee ,milk
Satisfactory slug
Phone , vape
Back to bed , reach for blankets ,
Warm kiss embrace
2 mugs of coffee , phone, vape
Book , another, book
A crystal , a piece of jewelry I made
A cup of water, a jug of water
A song bowl , a framed artwork hung, crystals re re aranged
A cigarette , a lighter. Phone
A cup of coffee
An acorn cap
Super glue
My necklace
My love
A hug
See you later
Phone vape

   - SDCRS

Here To There

2 sets ceiling lights
Burnt out
House is dark
Carry candles for
I cannot change things
Up so high
Old lady plights

2 ply
No 3 ply
Happy to have any tp
At all to appply
New fancy shampoo
From my friend
Thank you!

Clean floors!
Mop buckets

Tree roots
Block drain pipes
In my yard
Kitchen sink plugs
I wait
Do work slowly

Boxes & bags
From community
Haphazardly stacked
Push them aside
Until a new day

I wander alone
Day after day
Waiting to end lock down
Visit friends
Go out about town
I muse

    - k


Pile of tiny rocks,
Handful of fanciful pebbles gathered.
The pile slides. leaving one side scarped.

A blade of grass, broad, from a reed bed,
towering over scene diorama-ic.

Lace of large skeletonize leaf
bridges gaps between wormwood stick ’logs’
sags, unable to suspend itself.

Billowing pink of a cherry blossom becomes shrubbery.

Micro nature pulled from pockets
Slides, finds its own form

To scarp and slowly dissipate back into the world
until pocketed by passers by,
caught by a walkers eye.


Day 18 NaPoWriMo

Our optional prompt for the day y challenges you to write an ode to life’s small pleasures. Perhaps it’s the first sip of your morning coffee. Or finding some money in the pockets of an old jacket. Discovering a bird’s nest in a lilac bush or just looking up at the sky and watching the clouds go by.

Ain’t no drought

Ode dilly dally
A song to be sung
bout that refreshing earth fragrance
after the first rain come.

Deep breaths through me nostrils
an o’er again
I love me the smell of dirt
after the first rain come.

I be lickin the air
an ‘ feelin em drops
be dancin starry naked if
me had me own land & props.

What a glorious feeling
a scent-uals d-light!
when the first rain come down
It lifts me troubles and plights.

   - SDCRS


One looks away
Eternities go by
Swivel gently
This way
Flowing train
Landscape ever shifting
Scenes close…down
Light up
We pass by
Blur’d neon
Set the stage
There it comes again!
Of the dream
Never ending

   - k

A Wayward Tulip

Oh wayward bud




Oh the small season of joy,
to bring flower, seed happiness bright,
that a wayward Tulip brings

Green form coy,
to colour in the light,
into one of the finer things.

Oh opulence, the joy
of a wayward tulip bright.
That singular finding of joy in wayward things.

– W.B.

Day 17 NaPoWriMo 2020

Our prompt Today, I challenge you to write a poem that features forgotten technology. Maybe it’s a VCR, or a rotary phone. A cassette player or even a radio.


Huge ever growing
Messy ball
Dreaded by all
Fear reigns
Cannot toss
For one will need
What was thrown away
The box is boss!
There sits unused
Cel phones
All old
But ever useful!
I tell myself
As I
Hide it
Under the shelf
Once again

    - k

Cathode ray tube

Our tiny tube TV
not higher than a ruler
fully equipped with a
built in VCR player
Screen high and wide
by 14 & 18 centimetres.
Our bookshelf is stacked
with with VHS cassette favourites
dreams and adventures and lessons within , come my love , I’ve got popcorn
It’s time to dive in.

   - SDCRS


in 1985 a universal electronic control device was created,
that responded equally to all.
But being a little too egalitarian a device, fated,
came of an increased scope to any whom did call
Soon, all too easily bated
from grace did fall.

Even added to, a model plus
had not the remotest of a chance
with any, but a very few of us
would give it a second glance.

For there was little applause,
as it just confused the poor things cause.

For few any longer, willing to ’Clap on’
There are few devices even left to ‘Clap off’.
Gone is the era of ‘The Clapper’

in tribute I shall flash my lamp off, and on
the best thing about the thing was the jingle, I do not scoff!
“Clap On! Clap Off! The Clapper!”…

 - W.B. 

Day 16 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today we challenge you to write a poem of over-the-top compliments. Pick a person, place, or thing you love, and praise it in the most effusive way you can. Go for broke with metaphors, similes, and more.

My love

Lost without you
Found within you ,within me
Unsurmountable depths & heights
I yearn for your healing , I reach for your wisdom ,I’m called to your service, to serve the greatest good.
You make a lover of me, and I love you with all my soul. Come to me , oh love, and spread over this earth.
You are my truth, without you I would be barren, the world a place of only death and despair.
You give me sight , and reason and knowledge
You give me integrity and choice and hope
My soul rejoices
My days are filled with meaning
I know my direction
And I walk steady with you
Still I may fall, but always shall I get up
As long as you my love
are in my life.

   - SDCRS

Top Drawer

Upper most shelf
You are so fabulous!
No-one better in any lands
I am left speechless
In my admiration
Shower of praises
Could not
Would never
Be enough
I mean totally amazing
You are
You are!

   - k

Ode to number 10

Of all the menu to defend
I have to say the best, by far, is dish number ten.
Its long luscious noddles, broad, thick and wide, leave it not even needing a side,
for all other dishes would pale, after number ten.
Mushrooms acme to perfection,
Pictured, plated, with the picture perfect reflection.
Glowing peppers, blazing like a perfect sunset,
dash of wonderment, of a seasoning unknown, but that you will never forget.
Probably loaded with MSG, but is that even a thing anymore, as it be.
Scintillating sauce flowing far as the eye can see,
over cubes of beautiful eggplant, rubbery amethyst, of taste buds to rant.
Floating slivers of silver onions, salivary, starts a quiver.
This unmatchable take away is quite a giver.

Foresight, ahead of their time, it comes around in a square brown paper bag,
sent out straight away without the slightest sight of a hint of lag.

Yet it says number ten, but it can’t even to that aspiration of perfection even pretend.
But then what is this thing they have sent me,
Could it possibly be…
that it was item nine they sent to thine, rather then the ten I loved so dear
had they skipped up a line, I started to fear.

It had not the texture divine, but rather tasted like an old vine
It was certainly not a ten, not even a nine
it would engender no love of mine.
Oh where was my perfect ten,
to be flowing around chopsticks, in sauce swimming, diving in without end

 - W.B. 

Day 15 NaPoWriMo 2020

Our prompt for the day Today, I’d like  to challenge you to write a poem inspired by your favorite kind of music. Try to recreate the sounds and timing of a pop ballad, a jazz improvisation, or a Bach fugue. That could mean incorporating refrains, neologisms and flights of whimsy, or repeating/inverting lines or ideas – whatever your chosen musical form would seem to require!

Boom Boom Boom

Moon Lodge
Medicine Wheel

Heart beat
Or drum?
I lay awake listening
In synch
In tune
High pitched Prayer
Low baritone rumble
Woman singer
All the Women
This time
Everyone together
Ancestors Respect
All living beings
I drift into the dream

    - k

Track of day


starts long… and slow…
too distracted to notice….

the day gains pace,.. FINDs rhythm in rushing
Rushing into the next half measure
TOO many things…. TOO many things to do,… TOO many THINGS to do BEFORE lunch…
The volume raises, intensity BUILDS

Running down stairs, up a flight, then dashing down again
BUILDING then falling
Pausing for breath on the landing

Sitting just for a moment,
The anticipation of the empty vase
Who has time for roses, either the smelling, or the buying of
Just because, JUST because

RUSHING through the kitchen, CLASHING cupboards and POTS
kettle, boiling DRUMS
Momentum rolling, full rolling BOIL
Crashing over the top, screaming clouds of steam PITCH
too soon, WEEK, too late a measure, tepid

Jutting change of pace,
into the middle of things, LUNCH does lace
RUTTING GROOVE cuts across the MIDDLE, pace, in place

Something on a sourdough, Wrapped in plastic wrap, fused at the corners
Imposible to open, imposible to rewrap
Hard to IDENTIFY, easy to MYSTIFY
A day half done, gets NO shorter..

Wrappings crumped up, cleaning crumbs, PUTTING out to trash
wiping counter, rinsing off, hanging up
mindless actions taken a thousand times.
repetitive refrains, repeats again
lulling, lulling, waiting next

Tranquil terror, a quiet triangle surrounds
note, soon to be lost to the next measure
Us, Them & ME…

Turning of sheet music
Oboes off, horns horning in
Elbows fly at the ends of bows
notes from desk fly like arrows

egress, egress, hovers somewhere ahead in anticipation
a weekend waits somewhere beyond
violin cases come out
somber realization that work will be done, another day

the furry of BUILDING an END
Away, comes the echo of notes
The last stands at the door, waiting for its opening
slowly dimming, DESK by DESK

Folding of sheet music…

The last sound of the closing door, the locking of the tumbler
FOOT STEEPS, trailing OFF, and OFF, & off, and off…

It’s the classical track of the day.

– W.B.

Day 14 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s prompt asks you to think about your own inspirations and forebears (whether literary or otherwise). Specifically, I challenge you today to write a poem that deals with the poems, poets, and other people who inspired you to write poems. These could be poems/poets/poepl that you strive to be like, or even poems, poets, and people that you strive not to be like. There are as many ways to go with this prompt as there are ways to be inspired.


Locked journals
Diaries keyed
Secrets of children
Small youth
Thro teens
Record of all,
All one has seen
Dates & times
To have them now!
What would we find?
Inner treasures
Such special finds..
Our earnest past
Hearts & Minds

   - K

Wordsmiths Timeless Chronicle

The chair is hard
Though comparatively, soft in comparison to the desk.
These are the only lines I can compare, across non-contemporaries, that I can draw.
Lines!, Illustrations seem so much more novel than cut & Paste clip art…
Even that only takes me back so far, perhaps the hard bench,
Soft blotter covered desk…
before even, out doors, turning page of notebook, no not that kind of notebook.
Spiral bound?… String…. There is a video of how to do that.
But I should be writing
Perhaps that is the only comparable thing,
So long as there be writers, there be writers block?…
I can think of nothing more to write on that at this moment.

Flickering thoughts of candle light,
as I write under Light Emitting Diodes.
They wrote of magic,
Love that lasts a lifetime when lifetimes were short.
Leather bound hardcover volumes soft, handy to prop up a hard leaning desk
Pulp, Paperback, three lovers by page 33.
Quill in hand, ink well dripping, Amateur Vs Professional
Short haiku or tome processional.

Writers of ages
lost in endless pages
Voices, voices, ringing out, the bell at the end of the line.
Editors.. Comment removed indeed, for that one line back I pine.

Sunset Sandy beach, or Tree lined drive
the perfect openings line derived, for strived.

The chair is hard, The screen cold
timeless act of words to mould.

‘Ode to a weed
as all the flowers long ago went to seed
Sitting, wooden edge rotten
the first things planted here, long forgotten
Rusting staples stain
the worn wooden grain
Nothing as noble as an oak
Through the nails poke.’

Poetry, words for strove
trailing off into the wooded Grove.
They awe, as timelessly as before
all the emotions of time into, that did pour.



Today, I challenge you to write a non-apology for the things you’ve stolen. Maybe it’s something as small as your sister’s hairbrush (or maybe it was your sister’s boyfriend!) Regardless, I hope this sly prompt generates some provocative verse for you.


(The alternative spelling — catsup — popped up in a Jonathon Swift poem in 1730)


Carefully carrying catsup
Tiny paper cups
Blocks to get back home
Both hands loaded
‘Work to fill our bottle’
Mom said
Ohh little
Peanut butter/jams
Yes we were childhood thieves
Full throttle
Vinegar packets
Honey mustard
Brown sugar
What a racket!
Tiny creamers
Bbq sauce
Sometimes a tp roll
It was all so messed!
Games of children
When parents get hard pressed

   - k

I shall stand by my last word, to impress.

I shall not, allegations and charges against say ,that they invest
I shall not recriminate or waste breath of mine chest.
I shall not at them, even jest.
I shall not rest.

I shall not confess.
I shall not confess,
I shall not confess,
I shall not, under any duress.

I shall not confess,
I shall not, no matter what state of dress.
I shall not redress,
I shall not confess.

I shall not do what’s best,
I shall not confess.
I shall not flee from the West,
I shall not guess.

I shall not, no matter the mess,
I shall not confess.
I shall not hold it close to my vest,
I shall not confess.

I shall not confess,
I shall know matters regressed .
I shall not confess,
I shall not repress.

I shall not confess,
I shall never a button press,
I shall not contest,
I shall never divest.

I shall not confess,
I shall not, no matter how it might test.
I shall not be as the rest,
I shall stay abreast.

I shall not confess,
I shall not confess,
I shall not confess,
I shall not apologize, I confess.

- W.B.


Day 12 NaPoWriMo 2020

For today’s prompt I’d like to challenge you to write a triolet. These eight-line poems involve repeating lines and a tight rhyme scheme.


We wake,breath,weep
Smile deep
Give ‘Thanks’
Each morning’s prayer
Are we awake?
Is this sleep?
Each breath weeps
Each joy
For we Pray
Good Morning
We wake
We wake
We wake

   - k

Still water holds me
Drowning my belief in waves
Still unknown is the sea
Still water holds me
To content to flee
Held by sandy staves
Still water holds me
Drowning my belief in waves.

‘The Lake’

   - W.B.


Day 11 NaPoWriMo 2020

For todays challenge – write a poem in which one or more flowers take on specific meanings.


Memory so young
Of weeds unsung
Picking Dandylions
Roots & flowers
Bag after bag
Day-dreams wild
Fields for hours
Yellow green fingers
Smell of sunshine
Shook off small bugs
Chased bees away!
Home we’d trudge
Root beer
Would be reward
We’d drink treasure
Each summer day

– k

Dear Flower Yellow

Mellow yellow
fellow flowers.

What things calm in a bower,
If meanings come to plants to shower,
yellow blooms, that terms cower.

-Regard – Daffodil
Thrill, on petard.

-Dandelion – Rustic oracle
Rhetorical bright yellow flash of charged pion.

-Sunflower, Dwarf – Adoration
Aberrations of hight, devourer of solar power.

-Sunflower, Tall – Haughtiness
Gaudiness, mirroring the sun, over all others to tower.

-Carnation, Yellow – Disdain
Refrain cowardly contentment at relation.

Bitter weeds,
to a root leads.
Body language that starts at a glower,
growing more open by each hour.

What meaning slander,
if just glanced at a gander.
We are more than just pretty yellow flowers to candour,
that through the garden meander,
we must leaf out and up our dander,
not to weeds to such needs to pander.

– W.B.

Day 10 NaPoWriMo 2020

Today’s prompt is the hay(na)ku). The hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku. A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can write just one, or chain several together into a longer poem.

Day sleeps
Look other side!

I refuse
Yes sanity hurts

Bridges connecting
Souls of earth

Finds everyone?
Check your lottery!

One ply
To the greedy

Not away
Ignorance is peril

Past lies
Build new lives

    - K

Kiln fired
Red, Square, stacked

Mortared, grey
In herringbone sometimes

Irregular sized
sharp pointed corners

Plane, wall
enclosing, by clay

soft, malleable
moulded, transformed, built

Brick House
Straw, Wood, BRICK

– W.B.


Day 09 – NaPoWriMo 2020

Our prompt for Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a “concrete” poem – a poem in which the lines and words are organized to take a shape that reflects in some way the theme of the poem.
Your poem can take a simple shape, like a box or ball, or maybe you’ll have fun trying something more elaborate, like a poem in the shape of a Christmas tree.



Day 08 -NaPoWriMo -2020

Our prompt for the day asks you to peruse the work of one or more twitter bots, and use a line or two, or a phrase or even a word that stands out to you, as the seed for your own poem.

Still I..

You may write me down
In history
But alive or dead
Echoes the
Poetry in my head
Life- greatest mystery
My truth
Your truth
We lived

With your bitter,twisted lies
We breathed
In synch
Heart to heart
Eye to eye
Lifting each other
Humanity denied
Watching souls

You may trod me in
The very dirt
From which we come
For to where we go
Even with my breaking self
My deeper path
Holds joy
All I ever claim
To know

But,still like dust,I’ll rise
For I see us all 
As family
Humans reaching
Greater goals
A life where we 
All stand beside
Honesty integrity
No longer had to hide
Thank you
One by one
We enter/exit
Earth’s amazing ride

   - k

To ripple the water

‘Suppose for a moment we are crowded around a pier, waiting for something to ripple the water.’

Shakes the Ground.
Ripples time, tears,
takes exaltations aside.
Intent follows actions,
The quiet stillness,
in dusty drops,
unremarkably, un-notable, un-satiable.
thin film, blends.

‘Suppose for a moment we are still crowded around a pier,


‘Still Waiting for something to ripple the still water.’

Dried out tear
Covered over footprints
forgetting our path,
tide of motivation.
unshadowed still water
planks underfoot onward.
brings to edge
clustered crowds confined,
reaching to ripples.

‘for a moment we are crowded around waiting for something, Suppose a pier,’


To ripple the water.

- W.B.


Day 07 NaPoWriMo -2020

Today our prompt is a poem based on a news article. Frankly, I understand why you might be avoiding the news lately, but this is a good opportunity to find some “weird” and poetical news stories for inspiration.


Woke in Strange Land

(life after death confirmed news article)

Overslept an eon
Woke A God/Goddess
No longer fleshed
No more a peon
Earth emeshed

All these
Around me
Stars for hearts
Wind of eyes
Truth a colour
Trust flowed
Streamed like electricity
Deepest love
‘Til I could see
New choices
Of universe
So I lifted up/in/off
Flew about the galaxy
Just to see
What one could be
Saw earth shining there
Made a vow
Return one millenia
To share
This dream unfolding
But will anyone
Beleive me?

   - K

The short of it

The news made me cry.
Tankers of trouble,
Normalcy downtime drain,

Why after all of it, this,
Double even what I have been though,
bane of it all,

my eyes had still stayed dry.
Till now, finally, had burst the bubble,
washing me away, taking my emotions on a journey down the lane.

Try as I might,
rubble of nagging thoughts tripping me up
grain, dark fleck of stone, highlighted by flow.

The short of it they say, is one must simply not cry over spilt milk

   - W.B. 

The news made me cry
As down the drain it did fly
Why over spilt milk?

Based on Article –> ‘Nowhere for it to go’: Dairy farmers dump their milk down the drain | CTV News


Day 06 NaPoWriMo -2020
Today’s (optional) prompt write a poem from the point of view of one person/animal/thing from Hieronymous Bosch’s famous (and famously bizarre) triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights. {} or you might write from the viewpoint of Bosch himself? Very little is known about him, so there’s plenty of room for invention, embroidery, and imagination.


I could be anything
But that H.Bosch!
Took me
Made me
Three panels of Gosh!
From nothing I became
Triptych of fame
Uncertain of name
Crass but never blamed
Curious without answers
Oddities of nature
Never seen
Actions of weird wonder
World set asunder
For all to see
Hopefully throughout
All of eternity

   - K


Tie on,
Knotted over boot.
Three holes, repeat the left.

Quivering cold,
stage, into the right boot,
quartet, feathered arrows.
Haunting hunting cold,
into I must go.

Following, exertions,
of pushing off to the sides, the icy white marks,
cloud of breath.

I fly across the sheet ice,
straight track of pursuit

Bright eyed, beak slightly agape in anticipation
The ice is perilous and brittle thin

I have dreams of prey within,
to shoulder,
Longbow, taught

To my torso winged arms wrapped tight, for warmth
streamlined, pursuit, closing in.
they wait to be caught

The heart rate quickens,
the Skate- the uncouth and disreputable man
Becomes alive, each moment he stays ahead
in honorable evasion

The chase endless…
The Pond, cluttered,
infinitely, we loop
Tomorrow, again must I strap on the skates

Tie on,
Knotted over boot.
Three holes, repeat the left.

Draw the long bow
take aim
The flight of arrows
too soon to fall short

For If I have nothing left to pursue
am I any longer the pursuer…
This chase gives us each life.

We must skate
Each to its own nature.

– W.B.


Day 05 NaPoWriMo -2020

Our prompt for today is to use/do all of the following in the same poem. Of course,  if you can’t fit all twenty projects into your poem, or a few of them get your poem going, that is just fine too!

1   Begin the poem with a metaphor.
2   Say something specific but utterly preposterous.
3   Use at least one image for each of the five senses, either in succession or scattered randomly throughout the poem.
4   Use one example of synesthesia (mixing the senses).
5   Use the proper name of a person and the proper name of a place.
6   Contradict something you said earlier in the poem.
7   Change direction or digress from the last thing you said.
8   Use a word (slang?) you’ve never seen in a poem.
9   Use an example of false cause-effect logic.
10  Use a piece of talk you’ve actually heard (preferably in dialect and/or which you don’t understand).
11  Create a metaphor using the following construction: “The (adjective) (concrete noun) of (abstract noun) . . .”
12  Use an image in such a way as to reverse its usual associative qualities.
13  Make the persona or character in the poem do something he or she could not do in “real life.”
14  Refer to yourself by nickname and in the third person.
15  Write in the future tense, such that part of the poem seems to be a prediction.
16  Modify a noun with an unlikely adjective.
17  Make a declarative assertion that sounds convincing but that finally makes no sense.
18  Use a phrase from a language other than English.
19  Make a non-human object say or do something human (personification).
20  Close the poem with a vivid image that makes no statement, but that “echoes” an image from earlier in the poem.

Happy writing!


Her smile broke ground like an emerging flower
Our whole planet knew peace that day
I smelled purple & just knew you were close by
Great Mystery I give Thanks
Here in Heaven
The tears that dropped watered the roots
But the salt needed filtering slowly
Existence was always micromillesecondal
They loved deeply but still all was not well
Blue, his eyes spoke to me
Stay where your’e at I will come where your’e to!
The airways birthed life of the heart
The days light brought only darkness
Humbled they flew, jumping mountains
He said ‘Then how they knew the wrath of Kath’
I saw clear skies, heard new babies sighing happily
All would be well, very well
Today the crows mewed like cats
What’s up with that?
Reached out, caressed the air & was comforted
Living forever, still we all died
My delicious pillow called my name-Shhh I told it!

उन पर ध्यान मत दीजिये जो आपकी पीठ पीछे बात करते है,
इसका सीधा सा अर्थ है आप उनसे दो कदम आगे है!

Hindi quote-‘Do not pay attention to those who talk behind your back,
It simply means that you are two steps ahead of them!

In beautiful technicolours we rise while remain stationary

   - K

Insanity, but whom was keeping score of this bore?

The Grass sauntered off the field
The game all but long over, the people having exercised their rights to exit via three lefts.
Looking back ,the scent of red in the red banners, with its bright texture was a bitter sight to hear about, It almost left one staggered or, reeled.
Its grid of floorboard joints exposed, The bare field sat banner-less.

One gets tiered of being underfoot, trodden upon.
The Liquid door faithfully yielded, solidly slamming without a sound
as the Grass stormed on until the calm anger was gone,
Tender windows passed partially reflected acrimony from all around.

Crowded after game dressing room, Turning on the lights brought darkness,
‘Ayy, ye Bark, ney net no matter moor then yoor overbite, er bit, ney goood ta mention bed orthodontics. Cause in as indelance as soo nootch afair of you know no naciance matter of little importance en too find too much cracker matter of do think, know what Im meaning?’ …. … .. . . . . .
. . .. … …. ……. Dumfounded at the starkness
Unable to weed out understanding of words un-banding, unfounded and un-gleaning

Turning away
From, or back to, loyalties, impartialities, and blind loyalties
leaving to not stay
staying for the mindlessness, at the end of the day, escalating royalties

There was no home team in deep space, it was just a metaphysical argument that saturated the stands, along with the usual ‘how do you know the gravity is the same as at home’ and Whoms home would you set it to’?
‘Yo, Rhyme that!’
Half time, Locker room, the same old, same old, half the galaxy through
Rivalry, competition, ego and the usual unending spat

If the shoe fits, It’s not you, and maybe one really should go find a pair of boots
Cleats perhaps, steal toe?
For the salesmen are all old coots
What about deep space sport can they really know!

Of Jasper Okra, From Jupiter
Lead charger
They say he cheated on his exams, as in no way could he be worldly stupider
only his ego was, than his points tally, larger

Grassy was going to go insane
why did he stay
if there wasn’t anything more here for him to gain
it was all to do, just for the rest of the game there for him to lay.

The Whole game was pointless! There was simply not point in coming to watch these two teams play,
well other that the entertainment, challenge and need to try ands second-guess the outcome and micromanage things you had no control over or held of no clout
This was what filled the bleachers at then end of the day
and it could hardly be claimed pointless, as it was scored by points for the bout

Tomorrow coming an hour late right now,
In twenty minutes would be the second quarter,
Five after that will be the opening somehow
Thirty three later the awards ceremony, 5-3 for the Blues, in standard order

twenty two after that the end would start.
This all assumes that we will hold warp factor Y
Why, the real X factor would be where we managed the Zed threshold at heart.
We had to hold power as no one would ever settle for a tie!

The sight of the ebony bounded green lit scoreboard again starting up
Drew down the smell of rectangular trays hawked foods synthetic,
hearing the droll monotone calls from the players bench shouting, hands cupped
in bad bitter taste, just another forceful touch of the pathetic.

Crossing through space, motivation turfed, Grassy lay there in mirth
At this crazy game, flying through space, all but worthless
one team fighting the other, Egos Vs
The empty shadows of the arena, fading smell of red, in vivid textures, another fifty thousand lightyears into space, waiting for the fifth of four intermissions, turf-less.

– W.B.


Day 04 -NaPoWriMo -2020 

Our prompt for the day asks you to write a poem based on an image from a dream. We don’t always remember our dreams, but images or ideas from them often stick with us for a very long time.


Drummers In The Sky

This sleep I had
Woke me deep
I felt
Whole planet panicked,
Our global combined stress
Seeped, weeped
Build this huge glob
Of our souls
Collected aura
That then
Broke off from the Earth
Formed itself into spirit
Of us all
Our human hearts
Joined a circle
Spirit Elders
In @ dusky sky
BOOM The loudest sound
Uttered forth
In a flash
More then lightning
All was transformed
Was it

– K


The canyon, jagged angles, smoothed off, yet still rough,
Angles jutting out, running down the length.  
sitting there in the shade, as away mid day sun fell
cold walls tower in strength 
carved into stone tough

I can’t say if I am coming or going
it just goes on, into the distance
Lines come together, lines diverge
but never seem to merge
the walls go on in resistance
with no end showing

the strip of sky flies overhead
The world lies, out of sight, beyond
this liner maze
inside a calmness lays
Where cool air sinks to pond
To where ever it is I am to be lead

The flow of thought
river of subconsciousness
worn into my mind
into dreams, its way to find.
Tunnelling through dry heated deserts of maliciousness 
To bring needed escape, sought.

   – W.B.


Day 03 Prompt NaPoWriMo -2020

Today’s prompt asks you to make use of our resource for the day (Rhymezone Web site ).

First, make a list of ten words. You can generate this list however you’d like – pull a book off the shelf and find ten words you like, name ten things you can see from where you’re sitting, etc.

Now, for each word, use Rhymezone to identify two to four similar-sounding or rhyming words. For example, if my word is “salt,” my similar words might be “belt,” “silt,” “sailed,” and “sell-out.”

Once you’ve assembled your complete list, work on writing a poem using your new “word bank.” You don’t have to use every word, of course, but try to play as much with sound as possible, repeating sounds and echoing back to others using your rhyming and similar words.


Sans Souvenir

A lucky plucky Albatross came across a ducky Caravan,
from the ocean gloss, just a span and a toss.
All mucky and covered in green putty sea moss.

Sitting on tan sand,
In long refuge from Deluge,
and to the collective breeze
subjective to decrees, yet no pleas.
Would refuse to churn a cloud,
to form from astern, a rain to dilute,
only to see, to high mountain screes, every raindrop always flees.

Prairie’s tarries snares, to green squares, morning dew on chairs,
but over the seas beach only a hot sun flares, rays descending by stairs
to dually delude and denude, that any moisture might ever extrude or exude.
Next to ferries to skerries,
Like little UV fairies, to scan and burn flan flesh, to the colour of ripe Strawberries

Effective of directive perspective to yearn,
how of holes in sky to durn, to be able to learn to retard,
to be on the vanguard of how, of unwanted things, to discard.
Able to return to picturesque unflappable card of verdant image of the picture postcard
taken, once, in its prime, from high above on the Boulevard.

   - W.B.
Word bank --->

	-across -gloss -toss -sea moss
	-mucky -plucky -putty -ducky 
	-card -discard -vanguard -postcard
	-collective -directive -subjective -perspective
	-yearn -durn -churn -stern
	-breeze -screes -pleas -flees
	-prairie's -tarries -skerries -ferries -fairies
	-chairs -flares -snares -squares
	-refuge -refuse -dilute -delude -dually
	-scan -span -tan -flan



Mimosa trees with rosaries
We bowed, we vowed
Paid notaries
Meanwhile sphinx blinks
Together we weather
Following moot routes
Heading somewhere?
Eyes seek a spare
Any variation
Ah vexation 
No train at station
Even after I’d paid
A reading of palmistry
Her finger doodled
Feudal across my hand
Searching my inner nation
Climbing high branches
So high up
One cannot see

   - k


Day 02 NaPoWriMo-2020

Our prompt for the day asks you to write a poem about a specific place —  a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details, like street names, distances (“three and a half blocks from the post office”), the types of trees or flowers, the colour of the shirts on the people you remember there. Little details like this can really help the reader imagine not only the place, but its mood – and can take your poem to weird and wild places.


Remember 9

Meadow straw
Berries, tiny
Bursting such
Each more treasure
Then gold
Flash of red tint
Among short grasses
A cherished afternoon
When country
Youth’s diamonds

We’d walk so carefully
Sun drenched
Eyes happily scanning
Mother earth’s colours
Of summer
Above & beneath us
Gently drinking
Softest of fresh Alpine air
My little Sister
Memory forever
Her hand in mine.
Tell me…

What childhood
Great memory
Do you find?

       – K



Tin Corners, at the folded standing seams, just rusting here and there, 
where scratched, dented.
Or at the dimpled meeting of the occasional Philips screw cross crossing. 
The vertical streak of rust running down.

The horizontal stripe, 
to add interest to the otherwise faded dull siding of a dull building.

The flat roof, of a tin utilitarian box, 
Sided, bottom third white, 
middle third an off white freight,
 a sort of cream, the top again white, 
this time less faded and so a little more bright, 
a colour scheme of which no one ever would dream.

The glass sliding door to save space. 
Opening only occasionally in the sea air to let pass, 
White shirt, dated collar, the old logo, dark slacks of someone with no one, for to pump gas. 

Circling now the centred tin sided building, 
sweeping the barge deck of the floating station,
just jutting out from the building by a meter and a half,
around the edge, 
swept over the edge and into the still waters today. 

Cleaning of two square shaped old pumps, that at no one in the last few hours stopped to pay.
Before returning through the sliding door
to await more boats, fuel to pour.

We watch the station, as it sits across Mosquito Creak,
in all its lack of presence, meek. 

From a park, short walk down from Bewicke Avenue, 
past the fenced off parking lot of the Burrard Yacht club, 
with its ugly chain link fence,
Holding back dark green, olive leaved hedges.
Down the other side, the beauty of the Cedar split rail fence framing the water.  
Next to the three cold metal, power-coated bright red Adarandock chairs, and one bench 
lays the view, wedged between two marinas
off the end of the breakwaters,
rows of boats flank.
But in the center floats the station, barely labelled,
nudged by old messy, abandoned dockwork un-fabled,
some half submerged, yet not looking too unstable.
Tethered to docks lining back up to breakwater, 
running to shore.
It blends in there, too easy to ignore.
Connected, unevenly by narrow planking
Floating in the distance 
blending into the background with little resistance 

In the time it has take to eat a lunch,
clean the sandwich crumbs of sourdough,
All the little nothing details,
so often overlooked,
have come alive in my mind
into a story I find. 
Telling, of an old boat station, 
into an odd space, oddly crooked 
I find myself to it, an oddly strange relation. 

       – W.B. 


Day 01 Prompt NaPoWriMo -2020

Todays prompt, which deals with metaphors!
Today I’d like to challenge you to write a self-portrait poem in which you make a specific action a metaphor for your life – one that typically isn’t done all that often, or only in specific circumstances. For example, bowling, or shopping for socks, or shoveling snow, or teaching a child to tie its shoes.

Happy writing!


Kindling the Fire

Springs murmurs wake moist soil
Where Sophia’s seed laid sleeping
White roots break brown wrapper shell
As her responding belly begins to swell
I wonder as I observe her unfurl,
Was she afraid as she entered the yawning dark?
Did she interrogate the lingering night?
Resent the bitter wintertime cold?
And was she comforted, obtaining refuge in the earth
Dreaming all the while, of a verdant and fecund rebirth.

       – Tree


Taken for granted
Ownership convoluted
Need solutions
Not rantings
A better way
To grow
Mono crop plantings
We come to see now
More precious then gold
Wars fought
To buy it-be sold
Moves undergound
Can be 10,000
Years oldMen learn not
It has memory
We only now see
Much more respect
For H2O
I plead
We need new laws
Re-think it
No life least 
We drink it

– K

The Lanyard

Within a loop is to pull.
Pulling against itself,
Binding within.
Caught on its own conflicts,
but first, a needle to be thread.
The fine eye blinks every time,
the opening unseen, the opportunity missed.
A premature pulling, closing off,
the conflict of push verses pull,
The secure connection of solid webbing, waiting on this tiny thread.
The whole, waiting on a start,
the end, unfinish-able until.
Loops around again,
the knotting of nerves, frustrations at the unbound.
The infinite loop, needing to be never-endingly caught
The simple act of turning it into itself
and pulling through.

   - W.B. 

Day 00 Prompt
Early-bird prompt, I’d like to invite you to write a poem about your favourite bird.

Beached on branches, but moment
Bleached white breast, capped black
eyes dart
Branch to branch
Plump form follows
calls from perch to window
Pauses a moment
Gone before the echo fades
Chickadee, dee, dee…..

   - W.B. 



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