Graphic Poetry

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Anna challenged us for dVerse tonight to think outside the box (WHAT box? THERE’S a BOX?) and reflect on avant garde poetry. One of the interesting aspects of avant garde is typography and collage. helped me do both by utilizing blog links and watching the magic happen.  This is as random as poetry gets for me – choosing the poem based on the font, colors and word placement.  I hope you enjoy, and I hope you stop by dVerse and see what the other amazing poets contributed tonight.  Happy Halloween!

Buck Twenty



He’s a prickly sort. Not so warm and fuzzy.

He doesn’t weight but a buck twenty soaking

wet from the rain and add some mud to get

closer to it. His heart though, is bigger, best.


She stares at her reflection in the window .

She doesn’t have a buck twenty to her name

and with babes to feed she needs a miracle

to get through. Her heart though, is rich.


He looks down at the gas gauge, taps it

once for luck. No way he’s gonna make

another buck twenty down the road.

He’s gotta get home. His heart aches.


She reaches deep into her courage and

stops to help someone who is down.

Down further than her, lower than

a buck twenty in a 20 dollar world.


“Mister can you spare a 20?” he rasps.

“Sorry man I got is a buck twenty but

you can have it if you need it more.”

Being rich in spirit doesn’t mean cash.


One and twenty – weight, time, dollars.

Heart and soul weighed and measured.

Spirit flying on wings of paper and ink.

Buck twenty, buck twenty who’s got it?


1 Corinthians 1:20

Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?


It is week 120 for #OLN at dVerse Poets and for some reason I’m stuck on buck twenty, and variations on the theme of 120.  Enjoy. Stop by and visit other poets. Leave love. Repeat. 

you don’t scare me



It is a dark and stormy night.

I’m thinking I can sleep through this!

The moon flirts in and out of the clouds.

Be dark or be light – just be still I mutter!

The coyotes howl and moan restless.

Praying the dogs don’t start to answer back!

The owls call to one another.

They mate for life – sounds like nagging!

It’s cold enough to hear the house creak.

Is that a footstep? Was that a cough?

The dogs don’t bark, Don’t stir.

Am I hearing things? Can this be?

I roll over, punching the pillow.

The sound of silence echoes around me.

Drifting off, one foot out of the covers.

So you can escape if the clowns come out.

I hear a thump. A bump. A grunt.

And silence again. Nothing. Hmmmm…

Again. Thump. Bump. Grunt. Thump. Bump.

Grunt! Of course! Grunt. He’s hungry.

Dogs stay silent, under a sleep spell.

I lay still, faking sleep, maybe he won’t come in.

I hear dragging noises. Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Pulling covers tighter around my ears.

Closer. Thump. Bump. Grunt.

Mama. It whispers. Lips wet to my ear.

Caught! Caught!

What babe? Are you scared?

Shaking. Quivering. Laughing?

Nothing scares me, I have a tough Mama!

Covers pull back, and dogs tails wag.

Okay let’s get some sleep on this

Dark and stormy night.

I’m tending bar at dVerse tonight and we are having some fun with ghouls, haunts and spooks.  I saw a shirt one time of a non-morning person (like me) greeting a monster at her door, “You don’t scare me, I have kids!” and I laughed. I have a sound sleeping hubby and a night wandering son.  If the dogs don’t fuss I’m good. They are my early warning system – except for sounds on the TV that sound like a door bell. WHY do they BARK at them? We don’t even have one! 🙂

Find a haunt, have some fun! Join us at dVerse!

Sundown sound

Earl Sundown


Somehow I’ve learned how to listen

To the sound of the sun going down.

The quieting as night gathers round.

Animals and birds going to ground.

Harvest night’s golden crown.


Hearing clouds quiet gatherin’

As they echo the sunlight sound.

Somehow I’ve learned.


Dancing birds in flight huntin’

Engine ticks quietly cooling down.

Boots crunching stubbled ground.

Somehow I’ve learned.


A rough rondeau, as we take up the challenge from Tony at dVerse. Thinking of Flander’s Fields and the coming Remembrance Day I am reminded of those who were told to stay home and tend the farms so that there would be food for those left home and those far away in fields of war.  The image and quote is by my husband, and wonderful if shy, poet in his own right.




Top Rail Trainers

On My Back Meme


He sat back, leaned his chair onto two legs.

Spat a tobacco plug and started to drawl.

“Ain’t no wisdom, girl to be found sitting

top the fence rail trying to break a horse

to ride.” And I nodded. Young. Not knowing.


His hands were curled, empty of reins.

His hat stained and worn shiny smooth.

“Never trust no man who says he can

do a job whilst a sitting on the porch.”

And I nodded. Older and not so wise yet.


His buckle was worn for so long the letters

engraved thirty years ago were smoothed.

“Don’t trust a six second cowboy to get

the job done. Don’t sell your saddle.”

The words echoed. My fingers traced.


His words, worn smooth by the years

carried the grooves of lessons learned.

“Always say yes if she asks you to dance,

even if you can’t dance, songs don’t last.”

The music brings tears. Memories.


His talk of horses, colts, saddles and spurs

made the young bucks laugh, and wonder.

“It ain’t about horses, ye dern fool pups!

Life ain’t gonna send ya a letter to ask in.”

It ain’t about horses. But sometimes it is.


For #OLN at dVerse. Thinking about horse wisdom, and sometimes how what a cowboy teaches has nothing to do with horses, or cows, or manure but everything to do with life.  A tip of the hat to my Husband, Grandpa, my western ancestors, our cowboy friends and family and to my Pastor and friends at SaveTheCowboy!

Poems for kids

Daddy Socks


Daddy socks, Daddy socks.

Living in boots all day long.

Daddy socks. Daddy socks.

PhEw! They smell STRONG!


Daddy socks, Daddy socks.

Mama put them on the lawn.

Daddy socks, daddy socks.

Ravens came, took them along.


Daddy socks. Daddy socks.

Dogs on them want to roll!

Daddy socks. Daddy socks.

Smelly! Put em in a bowl.


Daddy socks! Daddy socks!

They smell so bad, they reek!

Daddy socks! Daddy socks!

Change them once a week.


Bad Piggies


Bad Piggies.

Wanting all those eggies.

Angry Birdies.

Wanting all those piggies.

Build it up!

Tear it down!

Until King Piggie

comes to town!


At dVerse we are talking about poetry for children.  My little boy loves Seuss, Munsch, and so many others. With fun things like smelly socks and his favorite games – Bad Piggies and Angry Birds.  Go over and see what other magical poetry is being shared, and read some aloud. Have fun!

Burning drums



Burning police cars.

Protest gone bad.

Protest gone media?


Elders drumming.

God’s favorite sound.

Beating hearts no race.


Snipers. Tasers. Tear gas.

Burning drums for oil.

People in the way again.


Too many hurting people.

Lost in the crowd, bleeding.

Where can we find a voice?


If we don’t hear the hearts.

We don’t hear the beat.

Then our drums are silent.


Burning drums. Burnt.

Stopped hearts. Done.

And what are you going to do?


For dVerse. A loose tribute to Beat Poets, and expressing some feelings about the events in New Brunswick today. And thinking about all the heart break that doesn’t make the news. 

Surrounded Alone

Surrounded by people – yet alone.
Their chatter
a cloud of noise
around me.

Surrounded by people – yet alone.
Seeing wolves,
seeing sheep
seeing them.

Surrounded by people – still.
Their words

Surrounded by people – eyes moving.
Seeing so much.
Them – standing too close.
Her – leaning away.
There a harsh whisper, a flinch.
There a rolling eye, scorning.
Here a pinch, there a wink.

Surrounded by people – I smile.
Hollow, faking it well.
Nodding, “oh yes I see” said.
Inside I hear the stillness in me.
Inside I feel the watcher move.

Surrounded by people – can’t breathe.
The noise, the smells
Their energy.
Unknowing and sucking.
Thirsting and seeking.

Surrounded by people – I slip away.
Within me, the wiring is wrong.
I’m there but so not there.
Not so simple as
wolves and sheep.
It is something complex.

Surrounded by people – unseen.
Learning to be invisible
long ago
serves me well today.

They always look shocked
when I suddenly speak
and appear there.
In their midst – who knew?
Witty, fun, confident,
not like them, exotic.
I shake my head, within me,
Then I slip away again.

Bullying can make us invisible, it can cause us to slip away, sometimes forever.  When someone you know is bright, charming, witty, intelligent, caring and fun suddenly is quiet and seeking invisibility find out what is going on. Chances are they are dealing with pressure, with stress or someone who is acting in a bullying way.  Be there for them! Speak up!

My Grandma’s friend Delia



My grandma was Ukrainian.

She had a best friend I remember

her name was Delia or Adelia.

She was Italian. Or as my

Grandma said Eyetalun.

The people who lived

in their own part of

town, by their

own choice.

Big houses.



Delia, or Adelia, and her hubby Tony.

I remember her cookies. The snacks.

I remember going to water her

flowers when they went away

for part of the summer.

There were SO MANY.

Their yard full and

steep. And bright.

I remember

her smile.


In the valleys of BC they seemed very far.

Farm from the sunny hills of their homeland.

Their accents not so different, to me,

from my own Grandma’s sound.

They were brazen, Catholic, but

Grandma loved them anyway

her prejudices put aside for

her one dear friend.  It

was a different time.

When outside of

the culture or

church could

mean a NO

to being

a friend.


I remember them playing cards.  Drinking rum

and coke. Laughing in low voices at grown up jokes.

I’m sure some were quite dirty, but not SO

dirty as to be a sin. Just a little bit on the

side of naughty. By today’s standards

they would be quite tame, even PG.

But back then – WOW! And it was

a time when you dressed up

to go out. And did they

love to dress up.

And there was

music too!


Delia, or Adelia, and her husband Tony,  moved.

Once maybe, or twice, and the yard rivalry went wild.

Grandma and her had to out-do each other.

Blooms and greens, planters and white

plastic animals. Each yard louder.

Like a visual polka dancing

across town to a singular

floral beat, blending

both cultures,



For dVerse we travel to all things Italian. Which brought me to my Grandma. While serving treats to the card players tonight I remembered being her helper serving at her card parties as a child. I felt so grown up. So important. Keeping the plates full and hearing the laughter. The best thing was, of course, that they forgot to send me to bed!  I stayed up until I was too tired and made my own bedtime.  I hope you enjoyed this, and I hope you stop by and enjoy the other poets and their poetry.

Take off the cape


Romans 15:13

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Sometimes Mama needs to take off the cape.
The wonder(ful) woman doesn’t need it to
be loved and beloved. The length and breadth
of her to-do and is-done list won’t add a single
solitary day to her life at the end. There is no
‘bonus score’ or ‘credit balance’ just a question
“Did you see the small things in your rush to
do the big? Did you fly over the memories
and do you miss their comfort now? Have
you any idea how I longed for you to just
lean on Me?” I think God will ask these of
us when we stand before Him. Our pile of
shiny busy deeds fading away against His
scrapbook of memories and moments
lost in the rush, the hurry the no time for
punctuation world that we are rushing
through…[pause here to catch your breath]
Slow down. Breathe. Seeds can be rushed.
They grow. Through hard and dark. And
sometimes too wet or too dry. And they
don’t make any sense until they are up
and don’t many any money (ask a farmer)
until they are clear of the field and in the
bin. There to wait the market. The last go.
Slow down. Take off the cape. Relax.
Play games. Finger paint. Bake a cake.
Take photos with the good camera.
Let a child take some of you. See how
you look through their eyes. It will
be a surprise. Read a goofy book.
Miss a call. Miss two. Send silly texts.
Celebrate little things in a big way.
If hindsight is 20/20 then I don’t want to look back.
I can’t handle seeing all that I missed in my rush
to be busy, to ‘git er dun’ and be done. I want to
love these days, these moments, easy and hard
the dusty and dirty, the clean and ‘date night’.
I want to dance while baking cookies. And let
it be to my 80’s bands that my country boy
doesn’t really get. Or want to admit to getting!
When we are looking for someone to lean on,
it is easy to seeking a friend. And we should.
But we can’t forget that there is someone
so much closer, waiting, and ready. He is
always available. He is always there. And
He is the one who makes us strong in our
weakness.  I forget that. I get mad. I get my
knots all knickered up.  Then I breathe. My
son reminds me smiles give me ‘pretty
wrinkles’ and frowns are not a happy thing.
My husband hugs me and gives me THAT
smile. The little things that make the world
go round are the ones we need to look for.
The ones we need to enjoy. The ones that
are easy to miss and can mean the world.
Brian is tending bar at dVerse tonight for Open Link Night.  He talked about doing the right thing and missing something else equally or more important. He waxed very poetic actually.  It was inspiring.  Stop by, read it and then journey over to see what our other amazing poets have contributed.  If you are new, join us! Post something, I’ll come to visit.

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