Passion For Poetry

This is a new day and a new blog for my ventures into the world of poetry, and this is also going to be a somewhat different format. Previously I was all about forms. For a little over two years I did weekly posts, each time offering a different form. Somewhere along the way the forms became less fun and more of a chore, so I took a break to figure out how to bring the joy back to writing poetry.

Forms are fine, but too much of something is never a good thing, so I’m only going to post a form here once a month. The rest of the time I’ll be posting some of my other poetry, poetry challenges, maybe even some interviews with other poets. If you’re a poet and would like to be featured here, drop me a line at carolrward(at)gmail(dot)com – I’d love to hear from you!

Today I’m starting off with a couple of poems I pulled from my files. This first one came about as I was doing a coffee run at Tim Horton’s, and noticed an unusually large number of seniors. And they were all complaining about the same thing.

Bingo Blues

The room’s filled with fog
From the chain smoking grannies
Don’t mess with their luck
Or you’ll find yourself
Out on your ear

The concentration is fierce
Daubers flying furiously
Hearing aides at the max
Canes within reach
To snag a new card

It’s Saturday night
At the Bingo Hall
Truck on over
And don’t forget
Your pension cheque

But wait, what’s this?
Smoking’s banned?
Damn health nuts
Causing an uprising
Of the blue hair set

Now it’s Saturday night
And they meet at Timmie’s
Walkers parked outside
While they reminisce
Over a cup of joe.

This next one came about during an intermission at a poetry reading. A fellow poet and I were having a rather heated discussion on inspiration. He stated that inspiration was hard to come by, while I claimed that inspiration was all around us. I then started pointing out things around us that could inspire a poem, and ended by asserting I’d come up with a poem about the ficus plant sitting in the corner. The CPW is the poetry group I belong to – Cobourg Poetry Workshop.


I’ve heard them talking
the women sipping their lattes
and tea, taking dainty bites
of decadent pastry while discussing
world hunger
the men indulging
in a glass or two of wine
all worldly and wise.

They admire the d├ęcor
judge the softness of the chairs
the paintings on the walls
even the china they drink out of
ignoring me in my corner
my alcove
my world.

The door inhales
the dust filled parking lot air
with yet another visitor
exhales coffee laden breath
and the haze from too many
closely packed bodies.

I’m touched with disregard
to my dignity
shoved aside and overlooked
I’m bruised and torn
unable to protest -
not that anyone cares
for the feelings of a plant
especially when
the crowd is so large
because it’s that time of month again -
CPW poetry night.

1 comment:

graceunderpressure said...

Poor little anthropomorphized plant.. :( I like it.