The Tale of Karla Kidd

Karla Kidd the Kangaroo
liked coffee mixed with cream
and if she missed her morning fix
oh how you’d hear her scream

Ken and Keith, the Koala twins
said, “Karla’s such a creep”
’cause every time we go to bed
she shrieks us from our sleep!”

The kookaburra in her tree
and other critters too
were all annoyed with Karla’s shrieks
and said, “what shall we do?”

A Cobra King from India
who’d come to visit kin
said, I can help you out my friends:
one bite will end this din!”

The moral of my crazy tale
is “don’t annoy your friend”
for screaming ’cause you’ve missed your fix
might cause your life to end.


really, the moral is: check your fridge and pantry – and if you’re running low on coffee and/or cream, be sure to go buy some!


written for NaPoWriMo – the prompt today is to use alliteration and/or assonance

The Tale of Knight’s Search for Treasure

The sun arose on Sunday morn
the first day of the week
and on this day a knight set out
a treasure for to seek

The sun arose on Monday morn
and this tale finds our knight
in battle with a scaly beast
a long and glorious fight

The sun arose on Tuesday morn
and by an ocean shore
our Good Sir Knight keeps on his search
what things might he explore?

The sun arose on Wednesday morn
no treasures yet were found
but our Sir Knight does not give up
he knows that they’re around

The sun arose on Thursday morn
our knight is searching caves
but finds that they are empty ones
and quite as still as graves

The sun arose on Friday morn
The Knight will not give up
Perhaps today’s the day he’ll find
a jewel crusted cup

The sun arose on Saturday
and cross the sky it crept
but our poor knight was tuckered out
and on he slept and slept


At, for day Eight we are encouraged to write a poem utilizing repetition.

No Room

along a dusty road they trod,
a woman, donkey, man
they longed to rest their weary bones
when they reached Bethlehem

the man on foot held on the rope
to lead the laden beast
he hoped that soon, they could sit down
to sup upon a feast

the donkey plodded steady on
in hopes that soon the day
would come to end and he could rest
upon a bit of hay

the woman, on the donkey’s back
was gasping, for she knew
that they would barely reach the inn
before her babe was due

and when they fin’ly reached the place
where they would spend the night,
the trio, man, and woman, beast
were shown a dismal sight:

the inn was full, no room to spare
no matter how they plead
for not one guest was willing now
to give up of their bed

the keeper of the inn looked at
the couple, weary, worn
and said, “I have not room for you
except, there is the barn…”

and Joseph said they’d try next door
but Mary said, “we’ll stay,”
and then to Joseph said the words
“The baby’s on the way”

and so it came to pass, that night
that in a barn of sod
the King of all the world was born
the precious Son of God

Lumpkin’s Day


[Sketch title: Lumpkin in the Tall Grass.  Artwork by PMu.  Image used with the gracious permission of the artist.  Please visit her site at and click on “doodles” to see her absolutely fantastic sketches!]


Lumpkin scratches whines and begs
while sitting by the door
there’s flowers, trees and bugs outside
oh so much to explore!

and when he fin’ly gets his wish
he races to and fro
with so much world for him to see
where should that poor pup go?

he chases dragonflies and then
digs for a bit in mud
and then he romps and wrestles
with another puppy bud

too soon the sun bids day adieu
the pup heads back indoor
there’s still so much to see and do
tomorrow there’ll be more!

and soon he’ll need to go to bed
another time of joy
for though he may not get to run
he’ll snuggle with his boy…
…but only after a bath, of course!


A note about the artwork:  I recently discovered the website, and I was blown away by the artist’s unique style of sketching.  All of her sketches/doodles are beautifully done, but this puppy really made me happy…primarily because I have a 6 year old son who is absolutely in LOVE with dogs…and this sketch shows a dog who clearly loves to get in a bit of mischief…much like my son!

The artist asked that if I make any money from this poem, that I make a donation to The Clock Tower Sanctuary from the proceeds.  As this blog is public, and I have as yet to make any money from any of my poems, I would like to invite you, my readers, to make donations directly.  You can find them on the internet here.  The Clock Tower Sanctuary is a UK based organization that helps homeless youth.


NaBloPoMo Day 16

How many roads?

I’ve walked along my share of roads
I’d count ’em, but no longer can
and even though all of those miles have passed
I still don’t know if I’m a man

Some days when I look at the good that I’ve done
I feel that the answer is “yes”
but then all my vices and sins rear their heads
and then I’m a boy, still, I guess

There’s sand in my eyes and there’s dirt in my teeth
from the storm blowing in from the east
but no answers are found in the wind, oh my friend
no answers are found in the least

so how many roads must I still walk upon
before I am truly a man?
I s’pose til I’ve walked til the ‘boy’s’ left behind
but I don’t really know if I can


Bob Dylan has mumbled his way to a Nobel Prize for Literature. I can’t really say that I’ve every been a Dylan fan, but he certainly was a prolific songwriter/poet. Because of his Nobel prize, we are writing poetry at dVerse that is inspired by, or is reaction against Mr. Dylan.

Trains Roll By

The following is written for dVerse, where we were asked to write poems that are “singable”.  I followed Bjorn’s lead and went with a ballad.  This story is in no way autobiographical.  It is fiction from engine to caboose.


I was born in the town where dreams come to die
and “hope” meant the rails heading out
and the gang that I hung with, we were all so sure
we’d escape, we had no doubt

When we were just a gang of boys
we’d watch the trains roll by
and talk ’bout how when we grew up
we’d bid this town goodbye

Bill Williamson was the first to leave
when he finally lost all hope
the boxcar he left in had all the doors closed
to hide the marks of the rope

When we were just a gang of boys
we’d watch the trains roll by
and talk ’bout how when we grew up
we’d bid this town goodbye

Before too much longer Jeff Jacobs went too
departed this town without charm
but the only tracks that led him out
were the ones found in his arm

When we were just a gang of boys
we’d watch the trains roll by
and talk ’bout how when we grew up
we’d bid this town goodbye

Yes one then the next one left this town for good
a few actually fled with their life
I heard though that Arthur (my best bud of all)
is in jail now for beating his wife

When we were just a gang of boys
we’d watch the trains roll by
and talk ’bout how when we grew up
we’d bid this town goodbye

Somehow though I find that I’ve been left behind
in this small town where dreams come to die
I guess, though, I’ve ended up better than most
but I find myself wondering why?

I never left this little town
I’ve bid the gang goodbye
I think about my boyhood friends
as I watch those trains roll by

I think about my boyhood friends
as I watch those trains roll by

I think about my boyhood friends
as a tear rolls from my eye


I knew a girl named Jacqueline
she was the love of my life
and I was certain that one day
Jackie would be my wife.
Every day was wonderful
we did each thing together
as if we were connected with
with some sort of unseen tether
but then one day she moved away
in secret did her partin’
such are the trials of the heart
when you’re in kindergarten.


sharing this with NaPoWriMo.

The Ballad of the Toyota Camry

I was finished my shift at the place where I worked
and was heading for home in my car
a straight stretch of pavement, ’bout half hour long
I was thankful it wasn’t too far
This section of highway was quiet most nights
and I’d be all alone with my thoughts
but a game had just ended not far off the road
so on that night the traffic was lots.
As I travelled north-west at about 100 k*
I was certain cross-traffic would wait
but a gal in a truck didn’t bother to stop
and she didn’t see me til too late
I T-bone her truck with a sickening crunch
and I watched as the hood of my ride
buckled up in an instant that seemed far too long
and I heard the glass break at my side
my tale’s not too tragic, for nobody died
the Reaper was elsewhere that night
so save from some bruises and joints that were sore
you might say things ended all right
I was finished my shift at the place where I worked
and was heading for home, not too far
but a gal in a pickup truck got in my way
the wreck of my very first car.

*100 kilometers per hour, or roughly 60 miles per hour


This poem is a true story, and took place roughly 2 decades ago. A hockey game had just finished at an arena situated just off the highway, and cars were crossing the west-bound lane to head east into the city. Although cross-traffic had a stop sign, it was being largely ignored that evening. I was very thankful when traffic lights were finally put up at that intersection about a year ago.  This is written for dVerse where we are writing folk poetry.  I hope that this fits the bill

NaPoWriMo Day 4 – The Cruelest Month

If April is the cruelest month
as T.S. Eliot claimed
I think that I can fairly say
that dentists must be blamed.
according to their calendar
It’s “dental health month”, (so they say)
and if they could they’d fill or yank
my teeth then take my cash away
They serve a purpose, I’ll admit
but I won’t say it with much grace
for there’s more metal than enamel
in the mouth part of my face

each yankèd tooth creates a ditch
that somehow makes the dentists rich


The NaPoWriMo prompt today is “the cruel(l)est month. We get to pick which month, but I decided to follow T.S.Eliot’s lead and keep April…and through in my dislike of dentists. For whatever reason, I seem to be gravitating to “ballad sonnets” for most of these prompts.

NaPoWriMo Day 3 – An un-fan letter to Donald Trump

You stand there with your fake orange skin
and what is that upon your head?
some road-killed beast? but how it flops
I’m not entirely sure it’s dead

you change your views from day to day
but always spout some vitriol
instead of peace, you’re preaching hate
you even want to build a wall

you have disciples, that is clear
though what they see in you is not
I think your popularity
is nothing but some evil plot

I fear the shape this world is in
especially if you actually win


I’m not even an American, and I’m still terrified about what will happen if Trump actually manages to move into the White House.


The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write fan letters. I did the opposite.