Ode to my Son

you are a glass vessel filled to the brim
with the glow of liquid knowledge
that pulses within you in brilliant flashes
of amber and green and crimson and blue
and other colours too wondrous to name
you are not wood or steel or other substance
that would hide what is within
you are glass and I rejoice that your
inner beauty is exposed for all to see

What’s more, you are a vessel without a cover
and when you move you cannot help
but splash those around you with
the delicious warmth of your fragrant wisdom
while at the same time
you love to drink the refreshing rain
of new knowledge

you are a vessel made of glass
beautiful to behold as you scatter
rays of sunlight through
the prism of your personality

and every time that life
throws a rock at you
I feel as though
my own soul of glass
is shattered
into a million shards

Napowrimo 2018 – Day 16


I went into the library
And thought it just a room
Until I spied upon a shelf
A book

I picked the book off of the shelf
And though it just some words
Until I started reading and I found
A world

I started to explore the world
Forgetting it was merely words
And soon I did not even know
That I was sitting in a room

I went into the library
Again another day
But this time knew that I would find
The universe inside!

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)

These walls are metaphorical (an ode to the dVerse poets’ pub)

There are those times
when the one sitting close enough to touch
seems to be a world of away,
and then those times
when the one who is separated by a world of distance
seems to be in the adjacent chair
so it is within these walls

walls not of wood or brick or stone
nor walls to exclude
but walls made of friendship
to keep out only the dark and the cold
and to amplify the ambiance created
by laughter and smiles
and to extend the warmth of compassion
when hurt is felt and tears are real

and if these walls
(metaphoric though they be)
could talk
they would tell tales
of journeys and of love
of loss and of humour
of cowboys and beatniks
of polish and of raw emotion

and all in all
I don’t think there’s a one here
who wouldn’t say
“pull up a chair to my table
and grab a drink from the barkeep”
and nor would any mind
that the chairs and the drinks
like the walls themselves
are no more than metaphor
but the friendships,
I think,
are not metaphorical in the least


for the dVerse prompt:”If Walls Could Talk”

also…this is day one of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month)…the goal is to post at least one thing each day for the month of November.

Ode to a Stuck Drawer

Oh stuck-fast drawer what do you hold
your treasures are as yet untold
I wonder what you hide from me
but you are stuck I cannot see
if you hold junk or coins enrolled

how many owners bought and sold
this desk that is so very old
with you stuck shut securely
oh stuck-fast drawer

To force you would be far too bold
I’d rather I give up and fold
although you never will be free
to show your dust or filigree
your mystery, to me is gold
oh stuck-fast drawer


written for writing201:poetry. This poem is written in rondeau form.