Hour 15

She looked gorgeous
my precious darling.

When she walked down the aisle
I thought it was the most beautiful sight.
I struggled to hide my tears
they just came flowing.

The day before our wedding,

I was supposed to leave from my parents house for the church
but both my parents had expired
I was distraught as none of my extended family offered their place.
However, each and everyone was stoked about our reception.
So much for family when you need them the most they suddenly have a sack full of excuses.

I was a homeless groom until my fiance suggested I leave from her house on the day we were to Wed.
She was going to leave froom her friend’s place which was in the same apartment complex on a floor below.
She was close enough to get her parents blessings and so was I.

I knew in that moment that she was the one for me. It strengthened my belief in our love.

She is loving, caring and generous.
my pretty angel and
my love and my life.

 

I vowed to love and protect her and honour her for the rest of our days til death do us part.

Hour 14 A redacted Poem

This is my redacted poem
an ode to all the unsaid words
blacked out on paper.
Read between the lines
and relate to what you can.
Rest is open to interpretation.

 

You can find my redacted words in the scrunched up paper in the bin.

Peace out.

18 / Haunted by Foods Passed

[Prompt: Write a poem about a haunting, real or imagined, detailed or abstract]

 

Haunted by Foods Passed

Who could forget loaves of bread stuffed with chocolate-covered cherries, perfect for making French toast on slow Saturday mornings?  That bakery on 4th or 9th street (I always mixed them up) in Vancouver long defunct.

Copenhagen pastries hard with solid butter, perfectly formed by that Dane now retired.  Even the waxed paper they clung to indelibly haunts me.

Real Greek pizza, dough formed at six each morning by Marguerite—long passed—who spoke no English.  Her coarse gray braid and gnarled hands both reminded me of olive trees in black-and-white photos.  Village Pizza today: a bland facsimile.

Chocolate marshmallows that puffed and smoked on sticks over beach fires; slip off the crispy shell and toast the molten middle again.  What corporation would discontinue such a thing?

Big yellow papaya from Hawaii, sliced down the middle and emptied of black glistening seeds.  I filled the hollow with large-curd cottage cheese so many mornings, until the markets stopped getting you and we’ve got these wizened, unripe, expensive failures now!

Montréal: you are famous for smoked meat but your sesame bagels I will never get over.  Hand formed, poached in honey water, baked in a woodfire oven.  You still exist, but I can never afford to visit you again.  Ditto New York cream cheese with seasonings and diced vegetables.

Fresh chinook salmon, you are my favorite food ever.  I would stand at the fish counter and make sure I got the line-caught Sitka king with the most belly fat.  I bought you for my father’s last great meal.  But now I feel like I’m taking you directly out of the mouth of a starving orca whale.

Something in a Chinese restaurant in Durham, New Hampshire, I called “orgasm chicken.”  You were coated in sesame seeds and I could still cry from missing you after I graduated and moved.

Chicken in an Indian restaurant in Cambridge, England: you were marinated in yogurt and I’ve tried to order you in every Indian restaurant since.  I have failed to find you.

Sara Lee pecan coffee cake before trans fat was banned.  You and Lorna Doone cookies were superb.  RIP.

White cheese with smoked pork right inside, bought at a roadside stand in Vermont in the 80s and never to be found on the internet.

Orange-chocolate ice cream in California.  Soft serve rolled in chocolate powder in Denmark.

Ontario butter tarts.

Patak’s Kabouli sauce.

Fresh Elk liver and onions.

Grandma’s canned green beans.

Hob Nobs.

Apple beer.

Jello 1-2-3.

17 / Kaleidoscope

Kaleidoscope

[Prompt: Write a poem either titled or centred around a ‘Kaleidoscope’]

 

she is maKing her bed this morning

before high school And broken

wavy lines like Looking through leaded glass

are what she seEs: the comforter

is all messed up & shImmering

as EDna Pontellier in The Awakening

when she walks to drOwn herself

in the Gulf.  So okay, she tells herself,

don’t paniC, don’t panic:

another Ocular migraine

with Phosphenes and the

unmistakable scEnt of pinks

 

Hour 13

Lessons nursing has taught me.

Show empathy – for you never know what a person may be going through.

smile and take your time – break it down.
May your actions radiate genuine intention.

Sometimes listening is all you can do. Be present. No need for words. Just hear them out.

Always ask for help when you feel overwhelmed.

When it is stressful just rememember its only for 8 hours.

It is important to switch off from work.

And to empathise without getting attached and emotionally involved.

Code brown means your patient has had a massive shit and you need to clean it up.

 

 

Hour 12 – Closeted Hoarder -Prompt 12

I am a closeted hoarder
I collect everything
And find it hard to let go.

Each item in my possession holds
sentiments and memories.
I am a closeted hoarder
I collect everything and
I am unable to let go.

I am trying my best
to cleanse myself of this God awful habit
Like a cancer it spreads– invading my self esteem, y being…
and I can’t seem to shake it off.

I reaffirm and remind myself
‘’You don’t need this, you think you do, but, you don’t.”

I am a closeted hoarder
I collect everything
And find it hard to let go.

I am ashamed of myself
And I hate myself for it.
I know I need help – however, I am not ready to ask for help from the outside world.
I’m not there yet…
I’m trying to be strong
I’m trying to help myself
but it doesn’t seem to be working
only worsening -sickening habit.
“I will get better.” I lie to myself.

I am a closeted hoarder
I collect everything
And find it hard to let go.

I see myself letting go
and forgetting everything.
My memories deny me access
to reminisce
-this is my worst fear.
And why I hold on
and struggle to let go.

I am a closeted hoarder
I collect everything
And find it hard to let go.

Hour 11

Having true Friends is a rare and beautiful thing.
You feel safe to share your accomplishments knowing that they will share in that joy with you.
They are rooting for you.
They sit in the silence with you and are not afraid when things get ugly.
They help you by offering a hand.
They have unconditional positive regard for you.

Friendship is a beautiful thing which starts as two ordinary individuals
who connect on the smae wavelength and understand each other.

Its an expereince of a lifetime -knowing that you are loved by a true friend and having grown old together.

 

16 / Your Complimentary Poem

Your Complimentary Poem

 

This poem is free; take it

however you want, making

its abstractions suit your wedding

divorce break-down triumph

long journey into the night or

creative writing assignment

due in an hour.  A concrete image

is not here.  Any simile

is like something you’ve heard

about a thousand times already.

 

This poem agrees what you’re feeling

is what it’s feeling too.  It’s a lot

of feeling, but in a general

kind of way.  Universality

is what makes this poem

get so many likes.  It feels

so seen!

 

Take it easy, complimentary poem:

you can’t have an undertone

when you are generated

from homogenized fragments of poems

throughout recorded human history.

But you can rhyme and switch point of view.

You do you.

 

 

—–

[prompt: Write a poem that is pretending to be something else, a set of instructions, a recipe, a letter, a news report, etc.]

Hour 10

What is love?
Couples and families with children facing each other
eating at the dinner table
talking about their day.
Cells phones switched off
or out of the picture.

Love is being present in the moment.
Being grateful for their presence.
Sharing conversations about mundane and spectacular
and celebrating everything in between.

 

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