Tag Archives: #creativewriting

What Is Soup?

The following is written in response to Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest. The challenge asks that we channel our inner Shakespeare and write a terrible sonnet about everybody’s favourite one-pot food, soup.

What Is Soup?

The sorcerer’s mirepoix, the witches roux,
with bone and water forge a mystic blend,
add salt and spice, merely a pinch or two,
elements together, combine, transcend.

Cast iron cauldron yields to fiery kiss,
stir and simmer, cooking slowly in time,
bubbling, boiling, with wisps of steaming bliss,
filling the fragrant air with spells sublime.

Chick’n noodle, chowder, gazpacho on ice,
mullugatawny, bisque and gumbo too,
potatoes, pasta, or a spot of rice,
some so thick they’re more akin to stew.

What is soup? You’ll find you have to conclude,
soup is the liquid version of solid food.1

Citation: Definition of soup taken from the Terrible Poetry Contest blog post for this contest at Chel Owen’s blog, A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing.

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Been a Long Time…

Been a Long Time…

A hypothetical conversation between old Rockers in rockers; a typical day at the Association of Retired Rock and Rollers (ARRR) Seniors’ Center.

“The business has changed so much” Plant lamented. “Back in the day, we needed to record start to finish.”

“Could you imagine all the spliced tape if we recorded like they do today?” Jimmy shot back laughing.

“I know, we laid down tracks and layered them on top of each other. The new artist builds loops and mixes it all together in segments on a computer.” John Paul continued, “Shit for some tracks I could pound out six notes on my bass and be done. Let the mixer do the rest.”

“The nuance of a song is lost because every drum beat, every riff, every hook, and every chorus is recorded once and used again and again, reuseable and replaceable across multiple tracks on the same record. Identical in every way. The human element is lost.” Page postulated. “Not to mention the shit that stolen, I mean sampled from other people’s works.”

“What’s worse, auto-tune makes any pretty-faced Frankenstein sound like Fitzgerald. Imagine how pitch-perfect I could have sounded on Stairway. 🎶And she’s buying a…” Plant finished by singing the final line badly out of tune.

“You know what I miss the most, besides John smashing away on drums, jamming together in the studio. Now we can record the parts in our basement studios and email it in. I guess there is one positive though, I never have to see any of your ugly faces!”

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Shameful Desires

Shameful Desires

There are times in our lives we do shameful things for which we feel no remorse. Slinking around in the shadows seeking instant gratification without caring who our actions hurt or the consequences that follow.

This week Jim at A Unique Title for Me asks us to explore the primary emotions of Disgust, Embarrassment, Guilt, Regret, Remorse, and Shame for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday. The song I have chosen is much more literal than last week’s entry and deals with shame or lack thereof for our actions.

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Darkness Falls

Darkness Falls

darkness falls
inside my head
shades the world
in thoughts of dread
light obscures
then fades away
with no escape
my nerve ends fray

the things I put
into my vein
suppressing demons
masking pain
could only yield
a brief respite
return the beast
the endless night

at the edge
of ever more
to find release
to quell the roar
please don’t mourn
my final deed
from the darkness
for which I’m freed

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Tea Time Secrets

Tea Time Secrets

“This cake is exceptional.” Ana gushed while taking another bite. “The citrus balances perfectly with the blueberries and rich creamy icing. How do you get it to shine through the sweetness?”

“A tablespoon of lemon zest.” I replied sipping my tea.

I must admit I do love me some lemon blueberry anything. What could go any better with a cup of Murchie’s Afternoon blend (formerly the Empress blend served exclusively during tea time at the iconic Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.) The recipe for the absolutely delicious Blueberry Lemon Cake pictured in this post can be found on The Preppy Kitchen blog.

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Did I Not Matter?

Sitting in my classroom
youthful and future bright.
It did not matter.

I did not cure cancer,
I did not achieve carbon neutrality,
I did not feed the hungry,
but I might have.

I carried within me,
a chance to change the world.

In a blinding instant, I lay bleeding
helpless beneath my desk.

Why was there no outcry for me?
Did I not matter?

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What a Day

What A Day!

What a day! It started with an anticipatory fervor. The agenda was set as I headed out with the best of intentions. First stop, the dog groomers then Starbucks to create content for the blog. Unfortunately, the plan would die a quick death.

It was a beautiful but hot day in the Tri-Cities. The kind of day where the temperature climbs north of 30 before the day has even started and the humidity kicks the shit out of you like the shockwave from a blast furnace.

I arrived at the groomers at 8:50, a few minutes before opening. With the oil barons putting the boots to the global economy I took the opportunity to stick it back at them by shutting the machine off. After removing the keys from the ignition, I tossed them into the center console and opened the door.

A few minutes later the grooming shop unlocked the front door, so I climbed out of the car, the dog crawling across the console right behind me. Once he had jumped out I closed the door behind us and headed in. I was in the shop for approximately 45 seconds to a minute then returned to the vehicle.

I reached for the unlocked door and it doesn’t open; I try again with the same result. The noise in my head is screaming, WTF, I did not lock these doors. A twinge of panic pulsed through my body as I attempted to locate my keys in my pockets. The only problem is today’s shorts don’t have any pockets. Next, I look through the window to see my keys, wallet, and phone all stacked on the console.

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One Monstrous Bite

One Monstrous Bite

The woman has one monstrous bite,
Her acrimonious air recondite.
Once caught in her noise,
You’d best keep your poise,
Or it’s good morning, good day, ‘n goodnight.

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The Omphalos

The Omphalos

Bram didn’t fully comprehend the significance of his discovery. To him they were nothing more than aimless notions scrawled on scraps of paper. A whim to fill the empty spaces between the real work.

His mind could be relentless as it hummed along from one thought to the next without pause. Just another moment of noise when all he ever sought was silence.

Yet, the concept now existed, hurtling in all directions like an earthquake rippling outward from its epicenter. He was the Omphalos and they would be coming for him.

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Stomping My Woods on My Round This Morning

The following is in response to Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest where we were asked to take the first line of a famous poem and then rewrite the rest as [the poet] see(s) fit. Bonus points if [you] use the original meter and rhyming scheme. My poem is a (terrible) golfer take on Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” except on the golf course in the morning. Hope you enjoy.

Stomping My Woods on My Round This Morning

Whose woods these are I think I know
Their place is on the golf course though
He Rory‘s up a Tiger tail
In anger bent and gave a throw

My little cart may think it Strange
To watch him stomp around insane
Swearing, cursing and Spiething nails
Please end this round and end the Payne

My caddy’s head begins to shake
As if to say it’s a mistake
Rolled up cuff, the language Fowler
As he wades right into the lake…

At the next tee, I’m Jacked to see
If I can hit the green in three
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree

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