Tag Archives: #writing

Bears and Bulls

Where has it gone
Where did it go
Run the bulls
Dead bears blow

We got your back
A can’t lose plan
Your retirement
Now in the can

Stocks and bonds
Crypto too
Bought it high
Now I’m through

The economy
In freefall dive
At this rate
I won’t survive

GICs and
Bars of gold
Are all that’s left
To buy and hold

War and oil
What a mess
Inflation soaring
Do more with less

Hanging on
For it to turn
’cause I don’t got
The dough to burn

If this don’t end
I just might
Climb to the top
Jump into the night


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Drums and Trumpets

I bring you a double shot for this week’s Song Lyric Sunday. In 1985 the Waterboys released their third studio album “This Is the Sea” marking the end of what was known as ‘the big music’ era in the band’s history. The first two tracks “Don’t Bang the Drum” and “The Whole of the Moon” both make mention of musical instruments in their lyrics. The first one is obvious as it appears in the title and the second mentions trumpets later in the song.

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Watercolours

Ally looked confused sifting through the course catalog. “How in the name of God do I pick a future right here and now?”

Her Grandfather chimed in, “Think of your future as a blank canvas. It may start with some timid strokes but if you are deliberately thoughtful in making your choices and you let your heart lead you to the things that are important an image will begin to take shape. There may be obstacles to overcome and course corrections to be made along the way but as long as you remain true to yourself those early strokes will begin to bristle with confidence; the watercolours replaced with a more permanent layer. By the time you get to my age, your story will be filled with many chapters and the masterpiece you will be remembered for will have taken shape; it will be your portrait immortal.”

Firtlin’ about in her seat she rolled her eyes at him and replied, “Always with the life advice Grandpa, thanks I just need to decide between the Arts or Sciences.”


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Mask Mandate

As masking mandates come to an end in Ontario and many other jurisdictions there are many businesses and other venues that will still require clients and employees to wear masks. Trying to explain to people that this is not an affront to their freedom is an uphill battle. They seem to forget businesses can run their operation as they see fit. The goods and services they provide are at their leisure, they have no obligation to serve you. It is no different than the adage “no shoes, no shirt, no service.” Your rights and freedoms are not being infringed upon, you have the choice to comply or go elsewhere.
In my experience, the majority of individuals who raise a stink almost universally carry a mask and after making a jackass of themselves put it on and go about their business. If you are one of those people, remember that the sixteen-year-old working behind the counter did not set the policy. They have an absolute right to not be subjected to your opinions, frustration or abuse. If a mask is that big a deal go elsewhere otherwise shut up and put the damned thing on!

I was standing behind the counter when he walked in, mask in his hand.

“Sir, masks are mandatory,”

“Jesus, you people and your masks,” he shot back, “Government’s got you twisted up over the bloody flu.”

“In light of overwhelming science, I don’t purport to understand your position but without a mask you’ll have to leave.”

With a grumble, he put the mask on.


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Pocket Lint

This poem was inspired by Joanne Fisher and her “What’s In Your Pocket?” prompt for Chel Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest. The poem was to be written as a Tanka and you can find my official entry here. I also wrote this little ditty that strayed way too far from the rules and really should never have seen the light of day. I admit, I thought about burying it forever for just the briefest of moments and then said bleep it and published it anyway. Sorry in advance…

I know it’s here someplace,
Where, oh where did it go,
‘neath lint covered bubble gum
That’s long lost its blow.

That feels like a skittle,
Or a raisin left to grow,
If entered in the science fair,
It’s guaranteed best in show.

Bottomless it seems,
My T in up to the sleeve,
Dear Lord, a used rubber,
Sans baby batter, I beg, please.

Is that the telly remote,
I’d wondered where it had gone,
Of course, the dang replacement,
Just arrived from Amazon.

Down deeper I dig,
how much further, O-M-Gee,
a fusty festering tissue,
may hold a cure for SARS CoVee.

An apple that’s sprouted,
And the hamster I’d set free,
One thing’s for damned certain,
There’s no sign of my key.


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Hand In My Pocket

Hand in my pocket,
Looking to steal my spare change.
I’ve left a surprise,
Cold, moist, just a hint of slime.
“A used handkerchief, you swine!”


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Safe Passage

Bombs rained down around the village, now a target in a tyrant’s senseless war. Heorhiy thumb the cracked screens on the electronic gadgets in his hands hoping the screens and circuitry survived the concussive force of nearby explosions.

He was a farmer, not a fighter but she knew he would defend his homeland to the end. First worked to secure safe passage for his family. Lesya did not want to leave him but he insisted. She understood and accepted his need to see them safe. She watched him frantic, harried, as he searched for a signal from anywhere. Seeking information on the safest corridor, ensuring they safely fled to refugee centers across the border.

As they joined the convoy of millions moving north she could see he was torn, tempted to stay. She begged him to abandon this foolish fight and stay with them. The losses inflicted were enormous. She knew staying was a death sentence.

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The Voyager

Like a comet wandering across the heavens,
My restless heart dances amongst the stars…

Beauty I have touched,
and wonders I did see,
on the journey I have traveled,
seeking liberty.

Precious silence!

Like a lovers breath upon soft lips,
My mind burns with anticipation…

Waiting on the road ahead,
or seeping from beneath my skin,
finding new discoveries from
the fires that burn within.

Precious existence!

Like a leaf blowing aimless in the autumn wind,
My weary soul searches for a place to settle…

Where I come to rest,
Amongst the remnants of my past,
Will the seeds I’ve left behind me
leave a legacy to last?

Precious freedom!

Like a comet streaking through the heavens,
I embark on my star-crossed voyage.


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Peaches

Fruit is food from the Gods. It has eye catching curves and beautiful shapes. It’s soft and supple, gently yielding in your hand when ripe for the picking. Once bitten its sweet intoxicating nectar flows forth filling ones senses with joy. Is it any wonder men have written poems and songs comparing the fairer sex to that of fruit?

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The Ancient Gods

Dr. Hiltunen stood at the center of the dig site deciphering an inscription carved on stone. As he read aloud he recognized the verse as a variation on an old Finnish rune. Ancient mythology had consumed him from a young age.

As he continued, the winds began swirling and the clouds spun clockwise. The doctor did not notice the coming storm even as the others scramble for shelter. The sky above Hiltunen opened and a rainbow column descended from the heavens. The doctor and the stone were pulled through the beam into the clouds, into Asgard.


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