Condescending Worm – Part 2

how is it that you even dare to teach
to me of things that I already know
you speak of things that far exceed your reach
and think there is no need for you to grow

I do not need to hear you condescend
that’s why I crushed you down beneath my feet
and ground my heel so that you could not mend
the silence that I hear from you is sweet

I never deigned to teach to you of slime
there was no need to speak of what you knew
for that is where you spent all of your time
in sun, in rain, in snow, in sleet, in dew

oh condescending worm you are a bore
and so I’ll hear you speak to me no more


note: this poem might not be about a worm.


sharing with dVerse for OLN.

and in case you are wondering, yes, there was a Part 1 – posted about a year ago

Chapel Rice

At dVerse, today, the prompt is to write a Pop Sonnet. That is…take a pop song and re-write it as a sonnet. I’ll leave it to my readers to guess which song I used.


A lass doth gather rice from chapel floor
And vainly dreams of her own wedded bliss
Her face is false when she steps out her door
And all her strivings surely go amiss

A vicar scribbles words to speak to none
For there are naught who care to hear his speech
He mendeth clothing at the set of sun
What careth he when hope’s beyond his reach?

Within the church that poor lass met her death
and Vicar spake his words to none but she
Perhaps he thought that he had wasted breath
The only one who heard him preach was he

Why are there those who find they’re all alone
and might they ever hope to find a home?

A Multitude from far across the sea

A multitude from far across the sea
is begging to be lent a helping hand
and asking if we’ll share with them this land
They claim that from their nations they must flee

“They pose a risk, they’re not like you and me,
so send them back into their desert sand
for with them, won’t this country be less grand?”
is what the leader says with pompous glee

with thoughts that they are safe, a nation sleeps
while those who live in torment have to wait
not knowing if they’ll ever have a home
or if their fate is to forever roam
on earth, it seems, that none care of their fate
above, though, heaven trembles as God weeps


a Petrarchan Sonnet for the Daily Post. Prompt word today is tremble

Also sharing this with dVerse OLN

Miss Sophie

Miss Sophie’s favourite colour was the softest springtime green
she loved the scent of flowers and the sounds of marshland frogs
she stayed away from critters, though, like kittens and like dogs
because she had a hate for things that might be less than clean

So daily by the mirror she would primp and she would preen
she never went on dates because she thought that boys were hogs
instead she spent her time perusing cleaning tips on blogs
and thought herself more pretty even than a beauty queen

one day, though, as she combed her hair she noticed she was sad
and realized that the source of this was that she was so vain
“I really must go out,” she thought, “and get myself a bud”
and so she went to find a friend, and though she tried real bad
each one she tried to talk to simply moved across the lane
it turns out, though she was quite clean, she might as well be mud


at dVerse, today, Frank Hubeny has prompted us to write poems in common meter (metrically, this would sound like iambic heptameter, but not necessarily all on one line). Frank chose to write his poem as an unrhymed fourteener.  I chose to follow his lead on writing a fourteener, but thought that, just for fun, I would try to do so within the framework of a petrarchan sonnet rhyme scheme.

This is also a response to the Daily Post, where the theme word today is clean.

A Sonnet for the dVerse Quadrille Challenge. Yes. I *am* crazy.

it dawned on me
tis hard to write
when sonnets be
wound up this tight
you cannot fit
much more than three
words and a bit
per line although
you’re trying hard
you’ll surely know
you must discard

perhaps you’ll fail?
bemoan bewail!


Although I love the quadrille challenges at dVerse, it does make it very challenging to write such forms as the sonnet…unless, of course, you’re willing to use dimeter instead of pentameter  🙂

The Poetic Sparring Dummy


a sparring dummy stands with grace
while boxers come to beat his face
but maybe somewhere deep beneath
that sparring dummy wants some peace

“oh would,” he wishes “someone fine
come tape upon my chest a sign
that begs, for me, a gent’ler touch
for really would that be too much?”

that sparring dummy’d have you know
that though he may look grim and slow
within his chest is not some hole
he truly has a poet’s soul

(except that, with an arm or two
he’d beat those boxers black and blue)


a bit of silly fun. I couldn’t help but snap this picture when I was walking through a sporting goods store and was amused by the sign. Sharing this with dVerse for Open Link Night

The Tale of Twisted Metal


Photo is of the Traffic Bridge (Victoria Street Bridge) in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (Canada).  Since I took this photo, the bridge has been mostly demolished (see linked article).  It was the oldest traffic bridge in this City of Bridges (built in 1907).  It was condemned due to corrosion in 2010.  A new bridge will be built in its place, and is supposed to have the same general look, but will be wider than the original.   I loved driving across this bridge (my wife hated it), because it was so narrow that there was barely enough room to pass on-coming traffic.


twisted metal, rusting in a scrap yard
will anyone stop to open their ears
to hear the stories you have of a hard
life that lasted over five score of years?

you spanned the river shore to shore with pride
the only place to cross for horse and cart
and thus were three communities now tied
becoming one small city filled with heart

within a year, while you were still brand new
steamboat: City of Medicine Hat sank
where she struck your pillar while passing through
but you saw each come safely to the bank

I wonder as I pass and my feet slow
what stories, twisted metal, do you know?


at dVerse today, we are writing poetry using the word “Bridge”.  I didn’t use the word in my poem, but the poem is about a bridge.  I hope that works  🙂