Category: Poetry

Rhymed and unrhymed, form or free, this is where the poetry lives.

Old Brooms

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New brooms are awkward and stiff.
They haven’t had time to learn about corners
and where the cracks in the linoleum are.
They are still too vain, with their shiny red handle
and their tidy straw, all the same length, that
doesn’t like dust bunnies to cling.

Give me an old broom with split ends,
its handle scarred from one too many foray
under the bed. An old broom that doesn’t mind
having a bunny or two between its straw teeth.
One that knows its place and leans against the wall
on slightly curving bristles, only sliding down across
the path to trip unwanted visitors or bill collectors.

Old brooms sweep clean and so much more.
They thump the ceiling when the upstairs
neighbour gets too loud. They fish things out
from under sofas and off high shelves.
Old brooms are the stars of every limbo contest ever held.
Give me an old broom any day.

 

#294

Looking Over My Shoulder at Winter

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The wet stuff.
Lumpy rain.
The ‘S’ word.
Or, as I like to call it,
‘that white shit’
litters the parking lot.
The first warning shot of winter has been fired.

We pick our way
through slush.
Bow our heads
before sleet.
Refuse to wear
our winter boots.
‘This will be gone by the weekend’ we declare.

And it will be.
The sun will shine
and the snow will melt.
But the wooly gauntlet
has been thrown down
making it hard to enjoy
what is left of a Peace Country Autumn.

#292

Answers and Chocolate Easter Eggs

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Why Answers Are Like Chocolate Easter Eggs
There’s always more than one.
They hide in plain sight.
Someone else usually sees them first.
The ones you buy are never as satisfying as the ones you find.
The more you collect, the more you want.
The joy is often in the finding.

Why Answers Are Not Like Chocolate Easter Eggs
They won’t make you gain weight
They won’t rot your teeth.
You can share them with others and still have them.
You can find them all year round.

 

#290

Thank You

lindastudley2 Comments

Thank you
For never giving up on me.
You give a fool hope that a way will come.

Thank you
For the words you said that set me free
And the ones you didn’t when you bit your tongue.

Thank you
For always being there by my side
except when you turned to protect my back.

Thank you
For slowing down when I was tired
As we move on down life’s rutted track

Thank you

 

#289

Weather Diagnosed

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Weather is not a normal noun,
it’s a paranormal personification
of abnormal personalities.

Winter, the un-empathic; the anti-social bully
with his snow swirlies, daring you to venture out
to watch the northern lights. Passive aggressive,
freezing the world with a billion unique snowflakes.

Spring, hesitant, all PTSD over winter’s bullying,
constantly trying to start anew. All false
starts and flowers, chilly showers
and warm breezes. gumbo and promises.

Summer the narcissist, all sweetness and lightning,
sunshine and wasp nests. manipulative, deluded with
grandeur she floods on a whim then inundates
her victim with sunny smiles and bouquets.

Fall, depressed pessimist with bi-polar swings of
glorious sensory displays and frosty intolerance.
Identity crises, moody, paranoid, leaving countless
trails of leaves and still getting lost.

 

#287

Goldilocks and the Time Traveler

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Goldilocks’ housebreaking career finally
brought her to the time travellers little house.
There was no porridge, no chairs, no beds,
only a calendar.

She tried yesterday but it was way too soon.
She tried tomorrow but it was way too late.
Then she tried today and it was just right.

She wasn’t quite sure what it was right for,
but she knew she’d never give it back.
She’d been stealing minutes for years so
pilfering an entire day was just the next logical step.

 

#285