Grizzwaald’s Revenge

Magic Hour by Judith Clay

The kids and their parents

would be so impressed

when I pulled from my hat

what they thought in my vest


My mode of distraction

perfected to a tee

but my perfect execution

just wasn’t to be


I placed the other deck

with the utmost of care

while I had the crowd looking

at the dove on my chair


but something went wrong

I think ’twas a spring

the cards all flew out

the crowd’s laughter did ring


Oh clown how you laughed

when you blew up my hat

But I’ve stolen your giraffe

whatcha think about that?


Written for dVerse.  Artwork by Judith Clay

This is my second post for the same challenge, and is a direct sequel to my first poem

(since I was once again late for the deadline…I’m submitting for dVerse Open Link Night)

Grizzwaald The Great

I Follow the Wind by Judith Clay

“his slight of hand

was no match

for my carefully hidden booby trap

as he slipped the extra deck

into his top-hat

the cards fell








in a fountain of clubs spades hearts and diamonds”

(bragged the clown

as she fled the

angry magician

on her penny-farthing)


Artwork courtesy of Judith Clay.  Written for dVerse

My poem doesn’t exactly follow Ms. Clay’s art, but hopefully that’s OK



who was

a young lad

thought church was boring

and he wanted some excitement

so one Sunday morning he brought

a rather large bunch of fire crackers

to the cathedral and set them off during

the priest’s lengthy homily.  Of course much panic ensued

he was punished for using a weapon of Mass distraction.


Today’s dVerse challenge was to write a story (either prose or poetry) of exactly 55 words.  It was also suggested that we post to Friday Flash 55

Thorson Thorkelson The Thord – Part 37

Thorson was bored.  It had been 3 weeks since Bertha had gone home.  School was starting up again in just a few days.  Thorson would be starting Grade 11.  He wasn’t really excited about going back to school, but even education would be better than the boredom he faced right now.  He had picked up The Fellowship of the Ring earlier that day, but couldn’t get into it, even though The Lord of the Rings was his all-time favourite set of books.  He had already read through the whole thing half a dozen times, but this time it wasn’t doing anything for him.

He put a game into his 3DS, but after a few minutes, decided that this wasn’t what he wanted either.

Everything he did felt empty, and he knew why too.  He wanted to do something, anything with Bertha.  It really sucked that she lived so far away.

He decided, on a whim, to try skyping with Bertha, but as he suspected, she wasn’t by her computer.  She was probably out working or spending time with her friends, so he sent her a text:

“just met a girl named Ann.  She’s super cute, and I think she’s into me.”

It wasn’t even remotely true, and maybe a bit cruel, but he was just bored enough to try to get a reaction out of his girlfriend.

20 seconds later, there was a reply, “you kiss her yet?”

“Well…she started it…”

He suspected that Bertha knew he was just trying to string her along, and her next text to her proved it…

“As long as she started it, I guess that’s OK…especially since she’s cute.  luv u!”

Thorson replied, “luv u 2…miss u.  i’m so bored!!”

They texted back and forth for a while, and it helped Thorson’s mood, but he still desperately missed her.

When they were done texting, Thorson went to see what his dad was up to.  He found his dad in the back yard looking intently at the birch tree.  “What are you doing?”  His dad looked at his with a rather startled look and said, “trying to communicate, of course!”

“With the tree?”

“Yes.  I’m fairly certain that they can communicate telepathically.”

“Any success?”

“Some, but everything they say is rather sappy.”

Thorson groaned at his dad’s lame attempt at humour, but then said, “Dad, can I get a job?”

“Hmmm…school starts in a few days, rather late for a summer job isn’t it?”

“I was thinking I could work evenings and weekends.”

“I’ll talk it over with your mom, but if you can keep your grades up, maybe you could have a job.  What do you want a job for, anyway?”

Thorson figured that if he could save up a bit, then maybe he could afford to fly down to Washington once in a while instead of relying on Bertha’s acting income to fund all of their visits, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell his dad that…at least not yet, so he said, “I’d like to have a bit of spending cash without bugging you and mom all the time.”

“Good idea!”  his dad said, “especially since plane tickets are rather pricey.”

Once again, his dad had read him like a book, but it was good to have parents who understood him so well.

~~to be continued~~

How could she tell them?

Although this story is fictitious, it is based on facts.  My story may be upsetting for some readers…when I first heard some of the details that went into this story, I had a few sleepless nights.  I give this story a PG-13 rating.


Sandra subconsciously fingered one of the small round scars on her arm as she addressed the group of teenage girls.  Each cigarette burn was a tiny brand that reminded her daily of who she had been.

She was here to tell the girls about her life, and how she had escaped the life that she had led.

Sandra had been 8 years old when she had decided to run away from home.  It wasn’t the first time she’d run off, but this time was different.  A man in a Monte Carlo SS had pulled up and asked if he could help her.  Oh how she wished, in hind-sight, that she had said “no.”

How could she tell these girls how she had been strapped down to a bed for 2 weeks…how she had been systematically raped and injected with drugs…until all she could think about was the next high…the next escape…until she was willing to sell herself on the streets, just so her pimp would give her the drugs that now controlled her life?

She thanked God daily for the handful of people who had been willing to help her see that she could be so much more…who had been willing to stick with her through the horrors of withdrawal, who encouraged her as she left behind the hell that had been prostitution.

Perhaps the only thing that could be better than escaping her past life would be to keep someone else from ever experiencing it.

“Hi girls,” she began, “my name is Sandra, and I hope your story never resembles mine…”


Written for the Trifecta Writing Challenge.  Dedicated to all those who have been trapped in prostition, and especially to those who have escaped that life and are dedicating their lives to freeing others and helping others to never experience it.

An Ode to Pie (to 23 decimal places)

A few days ago on dVerse, we were encouraged to write a poem where each line had words, syllables, or metrical feet corresponding to numbers in a numerical sequence.  I eventually thought of the mathematical constant known as “pi”.  I wasn’t sure if this would count as a numerical sequence per se, so I decided to save this poem for open link night.  Each line in this poem corresponds to digits in pi up to 23 decimal places  (3.14159265358979323846264).  Of course, a poem based on pi would have to be about pie.  Hope you enjoy!

I like pie


It is simply wonderful


My favourite is probably rhubarb

But I will still gladly eat almost any flavour

Except raisin

Some go well with ice cream

Such as chocolate or apple

Some do not

Take lemon merangue for example

Any meal is better with pie for dessert

Of course pie is not necessarily just for dessert

Shepherd’s pie makes for a great meal

Potatoes, ground beef and vegetables baked in a crust

Although usually round,

Mathematicians say

They are square

But have they ever cut squares into wedges?

But whatever their shape

Pies are really good to eat.

This poem,

Like my insatiable love of pie

Could likely last forever.

Distractions – 333 Syllables for Trifecta

I decided to write a poem

of three hundred thirty three beats

I sat down on my couch at home

but got sidetracked by reading tweets

I stopped looked at twitter feeds

(three hours of my time it took)

started to think of my poem’s needs

but then I logged into facebook

I fin’ly forced myself to stop

concluding that my enemy

was things I saw on my lap-top

and so instead I watched TV

When I had watched a dozen shows

(not one word of my poem yet writ)

my groggy eyes began to close

I figured I’d nap for a bit

I while later when I awoke

I thought that I might fin’ly start

But I was thirsty for some Coke

So off I drove to the food mart

When I got back ’twas nearly noon

And I needed something to munch

I ate up my soup with a spoon

(my poem could wait til after lunch)

But when I was completely full

My eye was caught by something green

It was a periodical

And so I read the magazine

Lower and lower my heart sank

as afternoon came by and went

The page in front of me still blank

I couldn’t seem to make a dent

It took a while to grasp the fact

Procrastination was my foe

So I made with myself a pact:

Distractions simply had to go

So then I fin’ly buckled down

And wrote some lines about my day

The words I penned removed my frown

At last my poem was underway

Distractions?  A ton

Yet it was fun!

(And now it’s done!)


For the Trifecta weekly challenge, we are given a word and asked to write between 33 and 333 words using the the 3rd definition of that prompt word.  This week I decided to try counting syllables instead of words.  Hope you enjoyed my poem!

(By the way, the word this week is “grasp”)