Day 23: Counting Knots

Counting Knots

There are thirteen
knots on the wall.
I know that’s not
all – I know there’s

probably more than
thirteen knots on the wall,
hundreds I’ve seen
but that’s where I

stop counting them,
falling asleep at
thirteen knots on the wall.
Heavy my eyes,

drifts of deep mists
and tangy pine
timbers, and dreams –
thirteen knots on the wall.



Written for Mis Quickly’s AprPAD prompt #23 A Repeating Poem 
This poem is not a ‘pure’ poetic form. I took liberties. I do that sort of thing from time to time, not because I’m a rebel – because sometimes I’m just damned lazy.


AprPAD Day: 22 The Earthiness of It All

The Earthiness of It All

Worms never scared me
never turned me into
a girlie-girl.
I loved them –
their twisty curly bits
that swirled J shaped
hooks off the end
of my finger. I loved
that they lingered
and lounged
wrapped around
my thumb.
Earthy jewellery.
Nature’s ornaments.
And they were also
damned useful for fishing.


Miz Quickly’s Prompt; Day 22 – Earth Day

AprPAD: Day 19, Strung Out on a Guitar


Mama thought everything changed
after he was hit by lightning. He swore
off the weed, dismantled the still,
turned away his fleshy needs,
and steeled his will. Now he wiggles
his fingers and flexes his arms,
and drapes himself around the neck
of this favourite guitar – Daddy’s
entangled and strung out in love
with its song. But he says a vice
by any other name is still
just a vice, but he reckons there’s
no harm in being drunk on a song.

Written for Miz Quickly’s Prompt Day: 19 “Wish you were here”

Poem In Your Pocket


18 April is Poem in Your Pocket Day, and I’d like to share one of my favourite poems with you. It’s an engrossing tale by Charles Dickens called “The Song of the Wreck”. For more info, pop over to Miz Quickly’s April Prompt blog.

THE SONG OF THE WRECK By Charles Dickens

The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
A hundred human creatures saved
Kneel’d down upon the sand.
Three-score were drown’d, three-score were thrown
Upon the black rocks wild,
And thus among them, left alone,
They found one helpless child.
A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
Stood out from all the rest,
And gently laid the lonely head
Upon his honest breast.
And travelling o’er the desert wide
It was a solemn joy,
To see them, ever side by side,
The sailor and the boy.
In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst,
The two were still but one,
Until the strong man droop’d the first
And felt his labours done.
Then to a trusty friend he spake,
“Across the desert wide,
O take this poor boy for my sake!”
And kiss’d the child and died.
Toiling along in weary plight
Through heavy jungle, mire,
These two came later every night
To warm them at the fire.
Until the captain said one day,
“O seaman good and kind,
To save thyself now come away,
And leave the boy behind!”
The child was slumbering near the blaze:
“O captain, let him rest
Until it sinks, when God’s own ways
Shall teach us what is best!”
They watch’d the whiten’d ashy heap,
They touch’d the child in vain;
They did not leave him there asleep,
He never woke again.

AprPAD Day 16: Selma Siri

Selma Siri (version two)

There was this brass bull
that I once rubbed for luck. Just the once though.
The right horn only, as rubbing the left
emptied your heart of love, as if,
but the right one was polished to flashes
of stroked affection.
And there was this girl who waited tables
nearby. Selma Siri was her name.
That girl, my-my, she was no polished bull –
she was rock hard and gave nothing away
when you rubbed her
the right way. She had a throaty sewing
machine kinda laugh that needled a bit
but we loved Selma Siri’s pretty name.

Written for Miz Quickly’s prompt Day: 16
Originally written as poetic form: Dodoitsu x4 stanzas, and reworked. My original poem is at

Scarlet Passion

clip_image002SCARLET PASSION

We played hopscotch
on the cobbled lanes of Seville;
old worn stones still echo
a tapping touch of steel heeled shoes,
sounds that pound hearts
to a fluttering flamenco spin. There
we danced scarlet passion for our
daily bread, broad Picasso splashes
from evening’s butterscotch sky,
and we sought life’s delights
on the cobbled lanes of Seville.

Miz Quickly’s prompt Day 15: Listen to a short piece of instrumental music. Listen to it several times, and then write a poem. I listened to Carmen. All of it. I love it.
Photo is from Wikipedia, Seville.

Life’s Dusty Junctions


A long slow cry filled the air with thick grey soot, the train
still many miles away, soft bosomed terrain
carrying its call through hills and vales, a plain
clear note carried on the wind. Hear its long complaint

at another junction, another dusty lane
where journeys ramble through fields of yellow grain,
red dust and sky-high stalks of corn. Our ears strain
to the tune of the Burlington Northern. So strange

that our childlike hearts jump; we’re unrestrained
by the shrill of the engineer’s call, his sweet refrain
to our adventurous want to travel this strange
lineal sound through summer sun and winter rain.

We’ll follow a life, unconstrained, and we will reign,
a freer life beside the tracks – riding the trains.

Written for both Poetic Asides Day 14: Sonnet and Miz Quickly’s Prompts

AprPAD Day 13, Lucky Rabbits


Over there
 . . . . . . there is a dragon
And there
 . . . . . . a tiger and a monkey
But here I sit
 . . . . . . a rabbit
 . . . . . . oozing luck –
Such a lucky rabbit –
Rub my foot to see!

Written for Miz Quickly’s Prompt for Day 13