Lawnmower Man



folks are hunkered down
in bunkers ‘neath the earth
but one brave dude still mows his lawn
and whistles tunes with mirth
“storms won’t stop my chores”
he tells his friends, “becoz’
I really want to go and meet
that wizard guy in Oz”


a few days ago, a tornado passed near the town of Three Hills, Alberta (Canada).  One brave (insane?) guy decided to continue mowing his lawn, and his wife took this picture.  When asked about why he would continue doing yard work, he told reporters, “I was keeping an eye on it”.  As far as I know, he wasn’t really hoping for a free ride to Oz.

Sharing this with dVerse, where the Quadrille prompt this week is to use the word “storm”


group of scientists
unravel world’s mysteries –
lost in parking lot


Today, my 14 year old son had the amazing opportunity to go to Canada Light Source Synchrotron with his school science club to do some experiments.  On the way home, they got stuck in the parking lot…I haven’t heard (yet) all the details, but got to pondering the humour of a group of scientists getting lost in a parking lot…

cavemen in the kitchen

My kids are all neanderthals
you doubt me? Ask their mother!
if they’re not painting on the walls
they’re beating on each other

the other day they must have chased
a mammoth through the kitchen
for all the dishes are displaced
and the noise had me a twitchin’!

my youngest, wearing just a strip
of cloth tied on with wire
is holding sticks with quite a grip
and trying to make fire

they’re savages, it’s plain to see
and sometime they’re a trial
but I love them and they love me!
so I’ll keep them…(for a while)

Dryer Lint

dryer’s lint’s an echo of
stuff I like to wear
it’s little bits of thread and cloth
and ‘though there’s not much there:
the colour and the texture says
a bit about my stuff
but makes me wonder:
what’s bellybutton lint
an echo of?


“echo” is the word of the day for today’s quadrille prompt at dVerse

Autobiographical Limericks

In April I write poems each day
at least if I have it my way
though I’m striving for great
they turn out third rate
but still I won’t stop come what may


the guy with the blog “quest 4 peas”,
while ord’ring a burger said “please
let’s watch shows with not
even one ounce of plot
‘cuz I like eating burgers with cheese”


the worst thing ’bout being named ‘Bryan’
is it can be aw-ful-ly tryin’
to hear ev’ry ‘bard’
that enters my yard
spout lim’ricks that have me a’cryin’


sharing for the limerick prompt at dVerse, and also for NaPoWriMo (where I am off prompt today)

Temples of an Ancient Race – Archeological Findings from the year 12017

Today’s prompt at NaPoWriMo invites us to explore the following idea: What might happen if, sometime in the distant future, archaeologists were to unearth aspects of our culture today? Would they accurately piece together what life was like in 2017, or would they make some startling miscalculations? Here is a possible scenario:


Ten thousand years ago, it’s clear
that people worshipped shapes
and that should come as no surprise
for they were simple apes
some recent excavations show
some temples vast and grand
with spots to seat a mighty crowd
on massive tracts of land
we cannot guess the rituals
done on the field below
some sort of dance or sacrifice
but some things we can’t know
the temple with the diamond shape
intrigues us most today
did pilgrims walk those painted lines
to meditate and pray?
but now I set my work aside
to play games with my son
we’ll toss a small orb back and forth
this new sport’s so much fun!


here are a few examples of the types of “temples” unearthed…

Ode to a Travel Mug

Oh travel mug, my shiny cup
I love you when you are filled up
with coffee and a little cream
the flavour like a favourite dream
and when your space is filled with drink
I sip from you to help me think
and with your lid, if you should tip
you do not even spill one drip
but when I drink the last drop down
I look at you and with a frown
say “why can’t you be still full up
you’re empty, so I hate you, cup!”


this is a response to NaPoWriMo‘s prompt: The Poetics of Space – where we are invited to write about the emotional response to a small confined space that has meaning to us. This made me think of the inside of my travel mug and how I feel when it is either full or empty (my emotions might be exaggerated slightly…but not by much)

On Baseball

Perhaps you find the sport of ball most fair
But in that I would say you’re in left field
to find a sport more foul would be rare
and I will strike you down unless you yield

perhaps my comments seem off base to you
so let us eat a bunt cake and discuss
and we can share a water pitcher too
no need for you to walk off in a fuss

now if you wish a better sport to see
the sport of golf – that hits home runs with me!


OK…to be fair, I actually really enjoy watching baseball (go Blue Jays!),  …golf…not so much. Written for NaPoWriMo, where the prompt is to use sports terms in poetry.

Little Timmy Asked His Sis…

“Where do babies come from?” little Timmy asked his sis.
(he was 4 plus 2 months more, and Sue, his sis was six)

“Mommy says that Daddy came and put a seed in her,
but Timmy, just between us two, I think that sounds absurd,
‘cuz Mommy washes up real good, so where would he find dirt
and if he dug her up to plant, I think that that would hurt!
And if that seed is planted in the middle of her tummy
then Daddy’s not important, ‘cuz he doesn’t help feed mommy.
I heard our neighbour say to me that mommy has a bun
and that, I think, makes sense because I’m sure that she ate one
the day before she told us that a baby’s coming here
so I am off of eating those because I have a fear
that if I eat too many buns I’ll have a baby too
and I’m too young to be a mom. Whatever would I do?

“If I keep eating buns, oh Sue would I get peg-an-ant?”

“No, you’re OK, ‘cuz you’re a boy, and boys they simply can’t”


a “creation myth” for NaPoWriMo

Dear Future Me

Dear future me:

I understand that I’m to blame
for who you have become
that choices that I make today
contribute to the sum
of what and who I’ll someday be
a person good or bad
and so I’m sorry if my choices
somehow make you sad
but please don’t be too frustrated
it’s not my fault, you see
for who I am is all the fault
of that fool past tense me.


A letter poem for NaPoWriMo