Facing the Far Side – Writing 201: Poetry, Day #6

Today’s Theme


Today’s Form

Found Poetry

Today’s Device


(I’m afraid I didn’t manage a Chiasmus…but I was working with the picture and the print in front of me at the time)

Facing the Foreigners of the Far Side

Facing the Foreigners of the Far Side

The Poetry I Found Before Me

The Poetry I Found Before Me

Apologies for not working out how to rotate the photo. Here is the text typed for the convenience of your neck’s alignment:

There is initial cultural resistance

The things he’d done

Were good at heart,

Just rarely equipped to stop a runaway stage

A barbarian faux pas that quickly cost him his life.

What should I do about it?

How to be wise and sensitive,

Spend time connecting with the helpful and friendly local people

Entertaining themselves from the far side

Becoming confident



The wellbeing of all

We have the same need,

That is going to be revealed:

The light bulb’s going on.

There Once Was a Floor That Was Clean – Writing 201: Poetry, Day #4

Today’s Theme


Today’s Form


Today’s Device


The floors of my house are appalling!

It’s been weeks that my Hoover’s been calling

Each time I walk through

It reminds me it’s true

That my standards of perfection are falling.

Putting Skin in its Place – Writing 201: Poetry, Day #3

Today’s Theme


Today’s Form

Prose Poetry

Today’s Device

Internal Rhyme

When it comes to skin it’s all about the context, its place, be it face or foot. Some might have a fetish for the skin on another’s foot – but just a few, perhaps not you. Not me. I like to see the skin of your foot on the floor – its rightful place – not in my face.

Yet, when I look at my foot. I see my dry heel and the skin I could peel. I can’t help myself. I pick and I peel the rough edges from my heel. I throw them on the floor without a thought. Ought not that foot skin be in the bin? Yes, but my thoughts digress as I peel my heal.

Until you come to call and your eyes fall upon that skin, not in the bin, but on the floor. I am disgraced. The skin on my face turns red. My skin is shed.

I’ve no one to blame but myself for my shame. Skin is beautiful, in its rightful place.

A Life Unwrapped – Writing 201: Poetry, Day #2

Today’s Theme


Today’s Form


Today’s Device


Unusually, I’m more taken with the wrapping than the gift.

Not so much the shiny, sparkly sort of wrapping, but plain, brown paper, the

Wholemeal among the slices of paper from which one might choose.

Red ribbon, on brown (red salmon on rye?) will capture my eye.

Add a simple bauble, a feather or a frill. Red on Brown.


Place a little something within. One thing. Anything? Most things

Enthrall me, if they’re wrapped with a nod to my wholemeal life:

Dressed with ribbons of passionate red, if you please.

My Eye’s View Haiku – Writing 201: Poetry, Day #1

Today begins another two week poetry writing challenge from the good folks at WordPress. I’ll attempt to keep up.

Today’s Theme

Screen – writing about the screens in our life.

Today’s Form

Haiku (3 lines: 1st line 5 syllables; 2nd line 7 syllables, 3rd line 5 syllables)

Today’s Device


Screen! What have I seen

Since I set my sights on you?

Souls’ struggles, not silent.

Throwing It All Together – With Fridge Poetry and Marcella #105 (of 466)

Continuing with the Writing 201 Poetry Course, we were to use the form of ‘Found Poetry’ – the kind where you take other people’s words and add them all together – the same way one might compose a ransom note with words cut from a magazine.

Though the composition currently being formed upon my fridge, would not pass for a cleverly or thoughtfully constructed piece of poetry, it does have an essence of poetry about it.

Here’s a photo of where we’re at:

What happens when a brother and sister, and various visitors compose a poem one word at a time.

What happens when a brother and sister, and various visitors compose a poem one word at a time.

I was going to type it out here – but I’m just not convinced it’s worth it. Apologies to my brother!

A couple of nights ago, I combined eggs, tomatoes, carefully caramelised onions, parmesan cheese and home-grown basil – to make a rather delicious frittata to share with a good friend.

Just before sliding it onto a plate

Just before sliding it onto a plate

This friend is a regular reader of this blog, but was yet to experience one of my Marcellan creations – being a friend on the other side of the world, as she is.

We enjoyed the sweetness of the frittata and of good conversation. She also dutifully added a word to the poem on the fridge.

On this Wednesday evening just gone: #105 ‘Frittata with Tomatoes, Onions and Basil’ with Janet at my table.

I Have My Mum’s Hands

For Day #7 of Writing 201, we are to write a prose poem, around the theme of ‘fingers’, using the device of assonance.

My Hand? Mum's Hand?

My Hand? Mum’s Hand?

I Have My Mum’s Hands

I have my Mum’s hands.

Well, as it stands, my Mum’s hands are

Her hands.

No, my hands are hers, as they were

Twenty years ago.

When I look at her hands I see the

Future in store for me.

Not in her palms, but her fingers

My eyes linger on the backs of her hands

Seeing scars from hours of work for this girl

And many others.

My mother’s hands have worked hard

In the yard, the kitchen, the office.

Keeping bees, on her knees, weeding gardens.

I love my Mum’s hands.

They’re my future

Hands. A future of hard work

And giving love. A future I’d do well to


With both hands.

Big Girl Love – A Ballad

To start off Week 2 of the Writing 201 course, we were prompted to write a ballad with a big hero/heroine, using the device of ‘epistrophe’ – a cluster of words repeated at the end of each verse.

I went with some words I heard last week. Words spoken to a big girl who must have looked like she needed to hear them.

Love for a Big-Hearted Girl

She was always a big girl, large from the start.

She followed the rules  – did her dutiful part.

Then she heard the words that sunk deep in her heart:

Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. People love you, you know.

At school she was tall, above all her peers,

In the back row of photos in every school year.

They said ‘Big is beautiful!’ to dry up her tears.

Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. People love you, you know.

Strangers asked for directions as they slowed to pass by.

She figured, they figured, she’d see far from that high.

And if she could help, she’d be helpful, she’d try.

Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. People love you, you know.

Princes were paraded before that big-hearted girl.

But unknowing feet trampled the shine off that pearl.

They’d all gone before they saw her beauty unfurl.

Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. People love you, you know.

Some say she’s fun. Others say she’s scary.

It’s hard to be all things, unless you’re a fairy.

Those words, her reality, can seem so contrary.

Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. People love you, you know.

When reality bites and that big girl quakes.

Goes to sleep with the fears and rejections that shake.

Her big God’s love is there when she wakes:

“Wherever you are, wherever you go, you’ll always be loved. I love you, you know.”

A Fishy Memory – With Marcella #104 (of 466)

Last night, I had my Mum and Dad and my brother join me for dinner. It was a quick turn around time between my getting home from work and my brother leaving for work. So, something fast and easy to cook was the order of the day.

Marcella’s ‘Fried Titbits of Swordfish or Other Fish’ was just the ticket – with salad made from whatever happened to be left in the fridge. I went with the ‘Other Fish’ option as the local supermarket had no swordfish. I can’t remember what the ‘Other Fish’ was that I used. As you will see from the poem below, memory is not my strong point.

Writing 201 – Day #3 An acrostic poem, with the theme of trust, using the device of internal rhyme.

Moleskine Memory

Memory escapes me, eludes me, mistakes me.

Once in a while, I’ll remember and I’ll smile, as I

Leave for the right place, at the right space in time.

Each day I look in my little black book, to

See what awaits on that particular date;

Keeping me right from morning till night.

I trust in my diary. I trust it, I do!

Nevertheless, my memory’s a mess, and

Each new hour, I’ll need to read and re-read.

Last night: #104 ‘Fried Titbits of Swordfish or Other Fish’, with my Mum, Dad and brother at my table.

Poetic Crisis – With Marcella #101, #102 & #103 (of 466)

I had enthusiastically signed up for the WordPress Writing 201 course.

It started on Monday.

I had enthusiastically said yes to sharing the costs of installing wifi in the small block of apartments where I am living this year.

The wifi wasn’t installed by Monday.

I was all set to be poetically inspired and to ‘dazzle’ you with the skills I was acquiring in the course.

It’s Wednesday. I’m taking advantage of a coffee break at work, to write this post.

It shall consequently not be very inspired. However, I am determined to catch up with the assignments. Day One: a haiku with the theme of ‘water’ and the device of ‘simile’. Day Two: a limerick with the theme of ‘journey’ and the device of alliteration.

I shall challenge myself further by noting the recipes I’ve cooked this last couple of weeks from Marcella Hazan’s ‘Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking.’

A Caffeinated Haiku

Black Gold. Shot by Steam.

Sweetened. Portioned. Freeze. Then Blend.

Gold Dust. Granita.

A Limerick with Prawns but Little Alliteration

A girl set to peeling crustaceans

She nearly gave up in frustration

The prawns were de-veined

Only treasures remained

For her and her guests’ degustation.

Last week: #101 ‘Tomato Sauce with Olive Oil and Chopped Vegetables’ with Sonja and Elise at my table.

Last night: #102 ‘Prawns with Tomatoes and Chilli Pepper’ and #103 ‘Coffee Ice with Whipped Cream’ with Ray and Cathy at my table.