Writing falls down the hill of priorities.
Life, Write, Life
Family, jobs, house, pets
Sleep, read … write
And hope that life somehow works out
If not for life and all its business
There’d be more time to write
But, if not for life and all its business
There be nothing much to write about
When I start something, I like to finish. Articles, plays, musicals, poems, love letters to myself… can take forever. So, to satiate cravings, I pop Fifties: 50 word pieces; short sweet and (sometimes) easy to complete.
It’s nice to write
But writing takes time, which is tight
So, rarely does paper meet pen
That’s the reason
That’s the rhyme
In my mind, at least
I write all the time
Sometimes, to get my kicks
A hit of Bliss
I’ll do a 50
I love to write about things I love.
I’m in love again
For the very first time
We’re a perfect poem of rhythm and rhyme
Walking on sunshine and feeling nothing but fine
I’m completely enraptured; my spirit’s been captured
Who’s stolen my heart, like a thieving thug?
Not a woman this time, but my new dog, Doug
Doug is ten, now, and we love him more than ever.
I wrote an homage to dandelions, thinking they were innocuous, little miracles, subjected to gratuitous poisoning and character smears. Then, my friend, Mr. Trott, told me they’re an invasive species. I’ve been thinking about it, for a year, and I stand by my Fifty.
Dandy lions are the pride of the pride
Dandelions, however, we cannot abide
Why? Mother Earth cried, horrified, mortified
Each beautiful, edible prize should be glorified
Not denied, vilified and plied with pesticide
Dandelions provide fresh, free fare, far and wide
Rather than genocide
Why not love what I provide?
Sometimes, I write about justice, equity… Other than make me feel better, it doesn’t do much.
I ensure the poor overcome their plight
I find the blind and give them sight
I take wrongs and make them right
I challenge evil and win the fight
I help the one who gave us light
I save the day every night
I’m a one-man army when I write
I’ve written Fifties about my mighty girls, naturally. I wanted each piece to look like the tip of a mighty sword or a mightier pen.
Be the best you can be
Look beyond what you can see
Remember, the truth will set you free
If necessary, go for an eye, nuts, or knee
Look up to the sky, splash in the sea
Smell the flowers, hug a tree
I love the girl you call me
Be nice, sit up straight
Stay outside, play until late
Don’t be afraid of love or of hate
Celebrate, create, date, debate, fascinate
If required: deflate, berate, annihilate, obliterate
Shoot real straight, pull your own weight
Turn off the lights, lock up the gate
You my girl are truly great
Fearlessness is a quality I admire. I like bees, as well, so they got a Fifty.
Bee! Why are you trying to fly?
Your wings are too tiny for flight, I’m afraid
Came the cry
Are you talking to me?
I ain’t afraid
Said the bee
And he took to the sky
Boy, could she fly
Now, the bee feeds the world
I have a friend, who writes, but is afraid to share her work because of, “What people might say.” She’s not the one who should be afraid.
What you fail to comprehend
My conspicuously critical friend
Certainly, victory is sweet
But so is defeat
At least we’re trying
Dying on our feet
You lack the courage to go deep
A shallow grave ye shall reap
And you’ll never ever rest in peace
Never know an artist’s sleep
Perseverance is another quality I admire.
Easy Steps To Success
Get back in the saddle
Reload and re-aim
Return to the battle
Get back in the game
Have another crack
Take another swing
Try a new tack
Climb back in the ring
Quick, quick, lickety split
Get back on your feet
Don’t think of retreat
And never, ever, ever quit
I got into regenerative writing for about 50 seconds. It was ridiculous, but I got a 50 out of it.
Regenerative Writing And A Great Blind Date
If you’re writing to regenerate
Recall the evening you tempted fate
And with eyes wide open and back real straight
You bravely embarked upon yet another blind date
Although it was something you expected to hate
To your delight it was wonderfully great
Now write to create a similar state
I’ve always been hyper. To me, it’s normal, but…
If I Were A Boy Today
Experts would say, He’s ADD, OCD, ADHD
He’s a monkey in a tree
He’s destined for a killing spree
Look, he can’t sit still
Prescribe another pill
There’s something in there we must kill
There’d be white collar thugs
Preaching kisses, prescribing hugs
And pushing piles of white collar drugs
Who doesn’t love sports? Kyle Lowry, Bobby Ryan and Josh Donaldson were on highlight clips, recently. All had poor father figures, but have turned out well, breaking a cycle.
Kyle Lowry, Bobby Ryan, Josh Donaldson, Woody Harrelson…
The apple falls close to the tree, it’s true
But, sometimes, as falling apples do
They hit a bump or rock
As if on a stroll
To the edge of a knoll
Then spill down the hill
And come to rest
At a place where trees grow best
Life has one rule; it’s two words, but I used 50 to explain it.
Be good at night
Be good all day
Be good at work
Be good at play
Be good when they’re watching
Be good when they’re not
Be good while doing
Be good when you plot
Simply too simple to be misunderstood
Two little words:
Be good, be good, be good
In a recent conversation with a colleague, we agreed, Toronto is losing its allure, for one reason.
I’m afraid you’re stuck
Lanes and lanes of cars and trucks
Parked on highways and byways
Hog Town is snarled, snarling, crawling, stopped, blocked
Thoroughfares are parking lots
From sunup to slumber
Toronto is bumper and bumper
Subways, buses, LRTs
Tolls, taxes, HOVs…
Toronto, fix your transit
Or don’t. I prefer walking The Bruce Trail, through Hamilton, anyway.
Sunlight’s shining between trees
Or casting shadows on fallen leaves
I see and hear beautiful birds
While in my head, I play with words
Sometimes, it feels a little queer
As if my God is very near
Little else is quite as good
As being alone out in the wood
Henry David Thoreau made a good point about the pursuit of happiness, so I wrote a pointed Fifty about it.
If you desire a natural high
A springy step and twinkling eye
Stop chasing a pie that is up in the sky
Stop dreaming of things you’d like to buy
Take your device and wish it goodbye
It may not be easy, but give it a try
Simplify, simplify, simplify
Indeed, less is more.
Prune your plants and they’ll grow well
Prune your urges to kiss or tell
Prune your friends if you’ve got too many
Prune your rude if you haven’t any
Prune your appetites for things and food
Prune your desires whatever the mood
Prune to be stronger
Prune to live longer
I misplace my wallet, keys, glasses, phone, mind…regularly.
Technically, Not A Handicap
Already late, but still scuttling around
Looking for something, which can’t be found
Where did it go?
It was just here ten seconds ago
Mother has it and gave it to me
It runs, alas, in the family
Things, of course, could be worse
But absentmindedness is a curse
Pessimistically, I’m hopeful.
I hope I live for another day
I hope my girls are always OK
I hope I’ve something worthy to say
I hope the world sees things my way
I hope I’ll hope until my dying day
I hope, I really hope, I hope I don’t hope life away
I know what I like.
I like coffee and herbal teas
I like toast with stinky old cheese
I like parks with beautiful trees
I like birds, I like bees
I like mountains, I like plains
I like sunshine, when it rains
Cars are fine, but I like trains
I like people with kindly brains
I like to rhyme, too. It started early. As a wee one, my mother read me Dr. Seuss and I can’t enough.
I’m in too deep, I suppose
I very rarely think in prose
I’m addicted to rhyme and rhyme all the time
Every word heard
Claims my brain
Here we go again
Perhaps not an addiction
More an affliction
Or peculiar condition
Regardless, it’s free, it’s fun
And hurts no one
That’s all, for now. I’ve got a million things to do. Right, life?