The Thing That Was Missing


Art work: Light Seeking
Artist: Cheryl Kellar (image used with permission)


Dark.  In the beginning.
Void. Empty. Nothing.
God noticed this and thought, “it could be better”. And so he imagined.

He imagined sound:  he thought of music, and the tinkling tones of water spilling over stones.  The cries of birds and the laughter of children at play.

He imagined smells: the heady aroma of asiatic lilies and the scent of bread fresh from the oven…and that made him ponder taste!  And God’s mouth watered as he considered how that bread would excite his taste-buds.  But why stop there?  He went on to think of the succulence of a medium-rare steak, pared with a nice glass of wine…

He imagined touch:  the rough feel of wood and the smoothness of silk, the pleasure of a lover’s kiss… and this made him smile!  Ah, yes, touch would be the greatest of all!

He pondered and planned, not wanting to start anything too hastily, and as he considered his creation, he realized there was a flaw…something missing from his creation.   Slowly, it dawned on him, the one thing that was still lacking…the one thing that would bring everything together, and when he knew what it was, he realized he was ready to begin, and so he spoke:

Let There Be Light


At dVerse, Grace introduced us to the artwork of Cheryl Kellar, and invited us to write poetry inspired by her artwork.  The piece that I chose reminded me of the world (some of the shapes in the piece made me think of continents), but it also made me think of light conquering darkness, so my mind went to Creation.  I honestly don’t know what thought process God went through when he created the earth, so please don’t read too much into the above.  🙂


Spring – New Form poetry for dVerse

Slowly it melts.  I wait for the snow
to go completely. I want growing
to start! Mowing the lawn…hoeing…aren’t
much fun, but knowing produce will be
ripe before long…OH…I can almost
taste a ripe tomato bursting with
flavour! Though I must wait, owing to
the frozen soil, I will keep coping,
hoping…soon I can plant the first row


earlier this month at dVerse, Gay Reiser Cannon asked us to come up with our own form poetry. I had posted a poem at the time, but then, I came up with another idea, but didn’t have time to write a poem in time to post it for the link, so I have saved this poem for open link night.

Notes on the form:

Name: I haven’t quite decided between “X-Factor” or “Cross-Purpose”

  • pick any odd number of 5 or greater (I recommend between 5 and 11). That number is the total number of syllables in each line AND the total number of lines in the poem
  • the poem should be non-metrical in feel
  • 1st and last syllables of 1st and last line rhyme
  • 2nd and 2nd last syllable of  2nd line and 2nd last line rhyme with the rhyming syllables of 1st and last line
  • as the poem progresses towards the middle, the rhymed syllable moves progressively inward until the middle line.  The middle line has only one of the rhyming syllable, directly in the middle of the line.
  • In other words, the rhyming syllables form an “X” in the structure.
  • NOTE: the rhyming syllable does NOT have to be the last syllable of any given word.  For example, one of my words in the above poem is “tomato” where I’ve used the first and last syllable of the word as the rhyming syllables (so yes, you CAN use the same syllable more than once if necessary)
  • The poem doesn’t necessarily have to be true (for example, I hate gardening)  🙂


Gulliver Locke – Chapter Five

On Thursday, when Gull had taken one too many steps into The Woods, he never dreamed that he would walk, uninvited, into the home of a stranger.

To be fair, when Gulliver came upon the cabin, we was more famished than he had ever been in his life, he was dangerously dehydrated, and he was covered from head to toe in a nasty rash.  In short, he was desperate.  He knocked for quite some time before, being quite convinced that nobody was home, he tried the door-latch.  To his great surprise, the door opened with ease.  He tried to call out a loud “Hello?”, just in case somebody was in fact home, but found that his throat was too dry to produce more than a whisper.

Sometimes desperation wins out over courtesy, and Gulliver was at that point.  He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.  He found the kitchen and looked around until he found a large pitcher of water.  He guzzled the water greedily, but then almost immediately, it all came back up….so after his stomach was empty again, he paced himself.

After allaying his thirst, he noticed that there was a pot, hanging from a hook in the fireplace.  There was no fire, but it was obvious that it had only been recently extinguished.  He looked in the pot, hoping that there might be some food.  Sure enough, the pot was full of oatmeal!  Gull had heard somewhere that oatmeal was soothing on rashes, so after scooping some of the oatmeal out of the pot, he placed it on part of his rash, and immediately yelped in pain, and learned the hard way that oatmeal soothes the best when it’s not hot!  After letting it cool for a while, he found that the oatmeal was just what he needed for both his rash and his stomach.

Now that his most urgent needs had been addressed, Gulliver found that he was exhausted.  Sure, he had slept in The Woods on each of the two nights that he had been lost, but never deep enough or long enough to rejuvenate him.  Still covered in oatmeal, he found a place on the floor (he was polite enough that he didn’t want to make a mess), and lay down for a nap.  As he drifted off, he briefly worried that the home-owners might return and be upset by his presence, but he was too tired to care, and soon drifted off into a deep sleep.


If you live in Saskatoon
then you already know
that if you watch for long enough
you’ll see a pothole grow
their population’s booming
on cars they take their toll
I just wish that the city
would teach them birth control


I based the above poem on an article in the local paper that makes reference to “Saskatoon’s pothole population”.  I’ve never heard of potholes having a population, but it makes sense, considering they seem to be reproducing at an alarming rate this year.

Written for dVerse where we were asked to write dagsvers.  Dagsvers (or Daily Verse) is a primarily Nordic style of light-hearted journalistic poetry.  It is often combined with a drawing, but I have almost no artistic talent, so I’m going to pass on that aspect of the challenge.


Politicians always lie
and so I have to wonder why
we even bother listening
for they just make our poor ears ring
and even when they disagree
the truth you’ll find is never free
for when they’re from opposing sides
they just take us on diff’rent rides
veracity’s left in the dust
how do they think that we could trust
a single thing they have to say
when we are naught to them but prey

A Walk May Be A Risky Thing

Today at dVerse, Shanyn is having us write poems about the “rhythm of the road”.

I immediately thought of “The Old Walking Song” by J.R.R. Tolkien (in the Fellowship of the Ring).  If you are not familiar with this poem, check it out.  I can’t read/hear this poem without wanting to set out on a walking adventure of my own.  Family, work, etc. keep me from going on too long of walking expeditions, but maybe one day…

I wanted to write something in the style of Tolkien’s poem, and so here is my attempt…

A walk may be a risky thing
For it could take me anywhere
To places that will make me sing
Or have me quaking in great fear
And yet I find my feet have need
To tread upon a path brand new
So I’ll succumb and let them lead
The risk is surely worth the view

So I will step out of my door
And leave the comforts of my home
There are new places to explore
I’m not content unless I roam
Who knows what wonders I will see
Or who I’ll meet upon my way
The walking life’s the life for me
And shall be til I’m old and grey

Gulliver Locke – Chapter 4

Jadith Boyer and her parents were out on their regular Saturday Morning hike, and were completely unaware that there was a boy from the town who was lost in The Woods, and had been since Thursday.  Had they known, they would have gone to visit the other folk who lived in The Woods and put a search party together.  As much as the townsfolk might worry about the missing boy, their superstitions were severe enough that venturing into The Woods was completely out of the question.  No, townsfolk would never venture into The Woods.  They’d rather wring their hands in worry in the safety and comfort of their homes.  Folk from The Woods had no such fears, but without knowledge of the townsfolks’ worries, no search party was organized.

Jadith’s mom and dad were always teaching her about one thing or another, and on this walk, her dad was teaching her about various roots, berries, and fungi that could be used as food or medicine, and teaching her how to differentiate between the beneficial ones and the ones that were harmful.  Of course, Jadith already knew a fair bit of this…knowing what is safe to eat in The Woods is a matter of life and death, but it was a lesson that her dad knew was important enough to bear repeating numerous times, and each time, Jadith learned a bit more.

After the lesson was over, Jadith’s mom suggested that Jadith use some of her knowledge to choose some berries to add flavour to the oatmeal porridge that was cooling back at the cabin.  Jadith’s stomach began rumbling as she thought about it.  Their custom was to go for their hike before breakfast, and so the first meal of Saturday always seemed to taste better than their breakfasts any other day of the week.  After another half hour of gathering berries, they began to head home.

My Sisters Sure Were Lucky!

A while back, over at dVerse, we were asked to write Character Sketches.  Today we have been invited to write poetic self-portraits.  One of the poems that I wrote for the character sketch prompt happened to be a self portrait.  You can find it here if you’re interested.

Today, though, I want to write a different self portrait. I wanted to do something slightly egotistical (hopefully that’s not how people see me in real life, but hey…this is my poem, so I’ll do with it what I want! If any of my sisters read this, please feel free to agree with me, or at least don’t be too mean in the comments…


back in 1973
there were 3 girls. sisters.
daughters of one couple.
they didn’t realize it then,
but their lives were incomplete.
but then
in april
of that very year,
something happened…
something wonderful!
that would give
their lives
greater meaning.
they were presented
with a new sibling.
there was something
different about this sibling, though.
up until then
they always assumed
that sibling equaled girl
but to their shock
and to their horror
they were told
that the little bundle
held by their mother
…a boy!
and when they
got over their shock
they finally understood
that now, their lives
would be much better

that poor boy, though,
grew up without
every experiencing the joys
that his sisters knew…
…the sheer joy…
of having…
a brother

Gulliver Locke – Chapter Three

It had been a Thursday afternoon when Gull had found himself lost in The Woods.  A Thursday afternoon that became a Thursday evening, and then a Thursday night.  Still, Gull could not find his way home.  He knew that his parents would be getting worried, but Gull…well, Gull was made of sterner stuff.  Sure, he was a little bit worried, but he knew that his best bet would be to find a place to sleep and resume his search for home the next morning.  As far as he had heard, there were no dangerous animals in The Woods, so he found a spot that seemed a little bit softer than the rest, and he lay down to sleep.

The following morning, he woke up stiff and sore.  More importantly, he realized that there were dangerous creatures in The Woods.  He was covered from head to toe with all sorts of insect bites.  Maybe they weren’t fatally dangerous creatures, but boy did he ever itch!

Gull was smart enough to know that some types of roots and berries were perfectly safe to eat, while others could make him extremely sick.  Some could even kill him!  Unfortunately, he wasn’t smart enough to know which were which, and so he continued searching on an empty stomach, hoping that he’d find his way home soon.

As he continued walking, though, the sun continued in its ever westward march, and the day wore on.  Gull began to panic as the sun set for the second time, while he remained lost.  With nothing but a growling stomach to keep him company, he was forced to once again lie down and provide his skin as a living feast for the myriad of ants and mosquitoes.  Normally an emotionally strong lad, that night Gulliver cried himself to sleep.

On Saturday morning, his itches had turned to rashes, he was so hungry that he hurt, and his mouth was so dry… Gull knew that he was in trouble.  If nothing else, he needed to find water.  He was desperate enough that he would be willing to drink from any stream or creek…if only he could find one.  But he was also so exhausted, he was just about to lie down and give up…

But then he saw a cabin.

And We Vow…


We’ve all heard the phrase
“don’t judge a book by its cover”
and we vow that we’ll never judge
a book…or a person…
by mere outward appearances
and then we all go around
patting ourselves on the backs
for how we don’t judge
while all the time, looking down
at those around us, assuming
that they are not as good as us
because they ARE judging books
by their covers
(or so we assume)

and all too often
we don’t recognize
our own hypocrisy




Anthony Desmond (over at dVerse) has invited us to write poetry based on selected photographs of Phyllis Galembo.  Her photographs reminded me that we often fail to see what is really there…the truth of who a person is is often hidden beneath the surface, and no matter how hard we strive to not pre-judge others, I think that all of us fail far too often.