Where Words Come From


I am falling headlong into to a blank brick wall.

The compact space around it taunts me with particles,

Specks of interesting elements,

That might break down the blockage.

If only I could form these half-baked ideas

Into a full thought.

I wish I was not so afraid to write.

I wish that those innermost thoughts

Which dampen my brain with their

Coverlet of dark concepts and odd impressions did not

Embarrass me so.

I wish that I could pull together these

Strange happenings,

Write them down; file them out in single rows.

Tell them, ever so gently, they will do my bidding.

Afraid isn’t the proper word.

It is not detrimental enough.

I am ashamed.

I am ashamed that I cannot, or maybe

Will not, write down these truths

Which grow haphazardly from the brain branches

Inside of me.

Browbeaten and defeated.

I plod onwards.


Sideward at least.

One day I will be versed, proficient in my craft,

One day I will have the ability

To take the rawness of the words

Round out the terrible edges with pretty prose and vivid imagery.

One day, I will wake up knowing which bricks to pluck away at.

Lithe starlight that stings my eyes will

Gleam through those gaping holes.

The wall which once caused heartache, strife

Will have distorted into the grandmother’s doily,

Dainty, light.

Gone is the reddened brick,

The hardened mortar.

Gone is the density.

The solid safety of rock-hard matter.

The word designs,

The thoughts once safely locked behind,

a robust fortress, now slip through lace

Like sand units falling over children’s fingers.

If not careful,

They will all just blow away.



I Want To Write Poetry…Sometimes.


I wanted to write poetry this morning.

Mourning how many months, years, millennia

It has been since verse has scrawled across this screen.

I wanted to write beautifully

Words that scratch some surface


I wanted to write about appetite:

Strange passions.

Outrageous actions.

Famous fashions.

These moments-

They sometimes consume me.

Entangling me in yet-to-be-made memories.

Seeds for tomorrow days

Unmade ways

Ablaze with stories running with haste

In my brain.

I wanted to write something truthful

It seems.

I wanted to explain the emotions

Which reign.

I wanted to share pain,

Releasing and freeing. I wanted to freeze

This feeling of wellbeing

And peace.

To paper, to screen

To forever be seen.

I wanted to write poetry this morning.

Not only to mourn over time mislaid and misplaced

But to celebrate what life and writing has

Forever encased.



You and I,

Sipping slop from red solo cups

Signing songs of love and lust

Under a blanket of twinkling gas orbs.

Ablaze with thoughts of what might be tomorrow.

Our bodies curl into each other.

My desires for future days dribble outwards

Into the frigid air of an optimistic summer night.

You speak of daring dreams.

The skin on my arm becomes goose-flesh as you touch me

And the both of us silently wonder

If that was from the chill air,

Or something more profound.

Your heartbeat tangles around mine.

And as though it was of no consequence at all,

The two of us, become “we”.



Here we are,

What seems to be

Ten minutes later.

Laden down with worries that stop us from breathing easily.

The baby is shrieking for no reason but to hear itself shriek.

A pile of unpaid bills is tucked away in cupboards,

Away from busy minds.

The two year old just shit his pants

Taking no regard to the hours of toilet training we pandered to last week.

We are tired but still

An hour commute is screaming at you

To get a move on.

However, you can see the smog of panic that just set in

Somewhere above my right temple.

It leaves me teetering on the precipice

Of a breakdown.

You don’t want to come home to find me

In the bathtub bawling with a bin of Ben and Jerry’s,


We wonder if it ever gets easier.

If we will ever find our niche.

We wonder if “we” are strong enough for this.

Can we make it through?

Can we defeat the doubt that begins to creep in from the corners

When the arguments over family, money, work

Builds this wall between us?

Will it wear us down?

Will it ruin us?



Here we are,

Sullen and sad.

Looking out over sacred green fields

Holding each other close

Anxiously clinging to memories made

With loved ones now gone but not forgotten.

The rigid crackle of leaves upon stone

Reminds us that life is precious.

Life is fast.

A magpie flies overhead and I look up to you.

Your jaw is ridgid, strong.

Your eyes, like always, are soft.

Without looking at me you reach for my hand.

Hours later, after sermons have been said

And our deepest regards given,

We hold our children close.

Despite them being at the age where that sort of thing is frowned upon,

They hold us back. For that, we are always grateful.



Here we are,

Bones brittle from years spent existing well.

Our hairs have turned like autumn leaves.

Our lives caught up in photographs

Efficiently arranged in a desktop folder

Named, “The Good ‘Ol Days.”

We sip tea spiked with whisky

From bone china once meant only to be looked upon.

We laugh and cry for days sped past.

We wait for the phone to ring,

But not too eagerly

Because we still have each other’s company.

A dreadful thing that nags at our innermost thoughts,

At the inconvenient times.

As I am reading my favourite Atwood story,

While you are looking up some current event

That spiked your interest.

We try not to think about that future.

It is a lonely idea.

Instead we pluck away through memories of

Bringing up babes, career days, accomplishments

The glory days.

I walk over to you and without thought,

You reach for my hand.

I get goose-flesh up my arm

Just like the first time,

The two of us became “we”.

Identity Renting: The Illness of Infatuation

The year is 2093- a newfangled fad called Identity Renting is hot on the rise. It is a privately funded program where individuals with enough cash can walk into a laboratory and within minutes become fully immersed into another human beings body & life.

It is typically a recreational venture that lasts 2 to 24 hours long. Participants are said to find the experience mind-opening and exciting.

You can choose to be anyone you’d like that is listed in the Identity Renting directory. The statelier of a person the more expensive they are to rent. One registers themselves to be in the Identity Renting directory. Sometimes they do this for the publicity, or money, or simply interest in the program.

This is one human’s journey through the steamroller that is Identity Renting.


Now before I begin- please don’t get me wrong

I love who I am, I love my own song.

But there are some times when my mind

Gets to thinking

And I ponder the possibilities of change and


Strange and unnerving when the idea first hits the ear

But truly and utterly, they tell me, there’s no need to fear.

To walk in the shoes of your best friend or foe

To understand what it’s like to partake in diversified flow.

It all sounds too interesting and exciting and neat

The deed of publicity is all-around great.

Yet ominously I hear in my left waxy clogged ear,

Side effects may include- profuse sweating,

Bed wetting,

Everlasting loss of memory, extreme swings of mood and mind

Not to mention the slight change of getting

STUCK in recipients body and living out the

Rest of your days as someone that is not you.

And of course, like always, possible death.

But we live to take chances and try things that are new

So now I will begin to ponder the more important question of who!

Who can I be, who will I chose

To hack into their life to become my VERY personal muse.

I could be as witty as Ellen De G

Or try my hand on a throne as a prominent queen.

I could be mysteriously handsome like the talented Depp

Then no one would think I was a miserable schlep.

What if I could sing notes reminiscent of footsteps,

In new fallen snow-

Creating wondrous imprints wherever I’d go.

With the voice of an angel so sultry and sweet

The attention I’d get would be no difficult feat.

I could be tough- a right bitchy ol’ broad

And no one would mess with me in fear they’d get clawed.

I flick through this directory of thousands of lives

And wonder if the word ‘hijack’ is much too contrived?

Once I delve in to this rapidly unnerving heist

My body too will be hung up, valued and priced.

At any moment I could be caught unaware

Be locked in subconscious while a stranger takes over my stare.

Upheaval would sully my everyday life

Chaos taking over- resulting in nothing but strife.

And for what?

For a few extra kicks?

For a few hours of unaccompanied bliss.

For a rush of triviality. For a rush of the new.

I am willing to toss all that is true?

Because really I am a pretty wonderful catch.

I’m talented, funny, and all around fresh.

I’m bright and adventurous, I’m audacious and cool

And to become something I’m not would make me a

Self-sacrificing silly old fool.

If I am quite happy in the skin that I’m in

To change that would be the most awful of sin’s.

I won’t do it, I can’t! I will be myself and be free

I will live in the life I was meant to be.

But wait…OH NO!

I’ve waited two minutes too late

And I find myself sealed to a table of fate.

Men in white jackets encase me in fear

There are no soothing voices, no settling cheer.

They work with quick fingers- their goal in plain view

As I try to explain what I do not want them to do.

But as hard as I try my words are all mute.

My body no longer is a pristine working engine

The last thing I view in that room

Is a large multi-colored injection.

And as my mind fuzzes over with the influence of preparation

I silently curse the illness of infatuation.


To the kids-

To the boys and girls of this world,

To the small human beings

Who today play pretend in make believe dresses

Playing trucks, flinging rocks, miss-matched socks

Ponies, and care-free essence.

To the children whose hair flows freely, without suspicions of messes

To the girls who don’t concern themselves

With mascara stresses.

To each and every one of these

Small and striking personalities

Stay true to this you, for it is just so beautiful.


Naked In The Bathroom Mirror


Naked In the Bathroom Mirror

Recently a girl said to me in a frenzy,

“Do not post those pics on Facebook

I’ve got a muffin top in them.”

I gave her one of these, “Pftt”

And proceeded to ask why she cared.

Now this did not fare well for me

As she looked me up and down, scowled and replied,

“As if you don’t care.”

And maybe once I would have.

Once I would have hated the naked body

That stared back at me from the bathroom mirror.

Maybe I would have resided right alongside this girl

Scrolling fanatically through I-phone photos

Choosing just the right angle so the Facebook and Instagram ogler couldn’t detect

Those double chocolate coco cookies I consumed only minutes before.

Maybe at one time when I gazed upon a picture of myself

All I would see was a double chin, cellulite skin, and a chipped toothed grin.

Maybe I once fixated on being thinner.

I could be trimmer, slimmer, and all around fitter.

Maybe I would fear there would always be a better…

Maybe back then

When I looked at this heinous version of myself

I would have obsessed on how to deliver

A prettier body in my bathroom mirror.

Maybe I stewed over how to wither away those last 30, 20, 10

God forsaken pounds

Because I somehow thought that misplacing that fat

Was the key to my everlasting happiness.

Maybe I needed filters and Photoshop

To perceive my self-worth.

Maybe that legendary number on that proverbial scale

Produced this gale force wind blowing in-

Insecurity and self-doubt.

Or maybe- I was just not supposed to love myself.

I don’t know when it changed

Or why or how or for what cause.

It didn’t seem like something to keep track of I guess.

What I do know is that when I stand

Naked in front of my bathroom mirror-

I fear nothing anymore.

I embrace the pot belly I once scathed

I can eat like a goddamn queen on any given day.

I no longer see the imperfections.

No, they are whitewashed by a chipped toothed grin

While I laugh freely and dance uninhibitedly.

I’ve trashed the scale that once made me feel so damn sickly.

And I will continue to preach loudly about beauty.

All that I know for certain I now am.

And all of that uncertainty beforehand

Now just seems so damn silly.

I feel lighter as the blinders have been removed

And I can unequivocally love

This naked body that stands before me

In my bathroom mirror.

We Are So Much More

We may not be warriors but we wear a suit of armour

Made of sweet smiles and selective hearing

To guard against moments of hasty jeering

Peering eyes have chastised us by

Quietly saying all the things we are doing wrong as ‘Mom’

They try to shred us apart, one mishap at a time

But what once would scathe us, now we scoff

And slides off the shield we grew when becoming Mom


We may not be soldiers but we strategize like a son of a bitch

We can fix a wound with a Band-Aid and a light kiss

Fold laundry, make dinner, and plan a holiday all simultaneously

We make time for coffee and friendships

Wield households and chaperone field-trips

We oversee homework and chores

While acting as the mediator in the sibling wars

And we were not born, with this super human ability to multitask

No it just unmasked like an atomic bomb-

When we became Mom


We may not be fighters but our strength exceeds

Far past what you may see

We have housed human beings inside our bellies,

Ripped our vagina’s open to receive them

Or had a knife cut clean through our abdominal cavity

And yet still came out of it smiling.

Rivalling with each other over who had the most gruesome time delivering

And our hearts swell when we think of these little beings

That forced us to find the fight to free them instinctively.

Because we are Mom.


We may not be famous artists, but we teach our kids

It’s smartest, to color outside of the lines

We are the destroyers of boogeymen and things that go bump in the night

We fight all that’s wrong and edify all that’s right

This thing called love, we have it down to an art

And we know that this is the part- we were always meant to play

I say, we are the architects for this upcoming generation

A vocation filled with fascination, creation and stimulation.

An occupation worthy of jubilation!

We are the draftswomen for visions of the future

We are the producers of the good and virtuous

And we are courteous in our purposes

Never boasting of our worthiness


So you see for all the things we may not be, we are so much more.








Speaking Out- For The Haters

I want to talk today

About judgment and hate

But my words come out

Unrelated and lame

Deflated, outdated, jaded

And maimed.

I want to talk about

Creating a day

Where we can forget

Hatred, discrimination and blame

But I realize today, that I cannot preach

Of issues like this I am not worthy to teach

Hypocrisy sullies  my world-weary reach

Since I too am a hater; my words have been breached.

I’m a hater of teens with their tits hanging out

Worried my own girl will take this same route

I’m hating on Photoshop and all of its tricks

Altering bods for just a quick fix

I hate the debates of vaccinations and kids

Stressed from the sickness

That once we had rid

I find hatred in media

Hatin’ on fakes

Pre-teen idols

Teaching my kids

To be flakes.

I’m hatin’ on Miley and of course on the Biebs

Believing that they just need to all leave.

And suddenly I realize how much that I hate

And I think about all the time that it wastes.

I look at my babes, and their innocent faces

And all too soon my thought process replaces

Realizing hate is forlorn and pointless

Only causing condemned disappointment

So I’m thinking the way to stop all this hate

Is by starting with me, changing my fate.

I look at the girls plastered on Facebook, Twitter and Plus

And instead of laughing and calling them sluts

I wonder why they show off all their stuff

I want to talk to the strangers I share this world with

And tell them their beautiful without Instagram tricks

And as for the media, I’ll say that it’s fine

Because issues like this will never resign

But knowing full well I don’t have to oblige.

Because hatin on others causes that riff

In which we have tried to so hard to dismiss

I quit, omit

From all the bullshit,

Because hating

Will get us nowhere quick.

And maybe if I can show love before hate

My children will take after this trait

And life will get better

Whilst joy generates.

Because whether we like, or whether we don’t

Hatred will ALWAYS cast the first stone.

And eventually we will be left all alone

With only our despicable revulsion to show

So I will begin practicing day after day

To obliterate ill will

In my own world today.

Because the ending of hatred,

Begins here with me

Not needing it to be fully at peace

And then I will teach my kids to receive

Life without hatred and life without greed

And oh how beautiful it will feel to be freed

And know that this harmony simply started with me.

Just Fine

There’s a little lad standing alone in the yard

Away from a playground, bounded by scars

His classmates play gaily, whist he watches afar

His name could be Jeffery, Eric or Carl

But his name does not matter, at least not to them

Since he has been outcast- duly condemned

From the playground condition, he couldn’t quite blend.

He is not overly handsome, funny, or trim

Which makes him a target for a bully named Tim

Now this name is known, and this name is cool

This is the name that rules the school.

So Tim tells Carl he’s worthless, pathetic, uncool

And Carl goes home feeling a fool

Over dinner, his Mama will ask why he cries

And while wiping away tears he’ll say

“I’m doing just fine”

And Mom will believe him, because why would he lie?

This cycle continues, day after day

Tim’s unkind words begin to eat Carl away…

One day he decides to speak to his Dad

About the sad troubles at school he has had

Dad begins in a tone that is rough

Telling wee Carl he must stand up and be tough

“Every boy gets bullied, that is a norm

Stand up for yourself, or at least try to conform

You will get nowhere in life, being so kind”

And with that, Dad leaves while saying,

“Carl, you’re doing just fine.”

So Carl will live the rest of his days,

Assuming that this is all just a phase

And yes, the phase will eventually end

But the scars of the playground will never quite mend

He will grow old reminiscing this plight

Feeling like he was never quite right.


Joni sits stagnant, froze to her bed

Stunned by the words, she has just read

The words sting like razors cutting through flesh

And her sobs of regret come out in small breaths

She made a mistake, she can’t take it back

And ever since then, she’s been being attacked

Slut, Whore and Prosti-tot

Are the words that they write

All of these words are out in plain sight.

Mother will see them and cry tears that bite

Daddy will read them and scold her with might

Joni’s not thinking clearly, she’s not thinking right

She can’t figure out how to get rid of this plight

Even the boy who was with her that night

Has begun writing words of familiar trite.

She hates herself for indulging in sin

She has sullied her name, and thwarted her kin

And soon Joni will lash out from within

By sliding a blade against her marked skin

This is not new for Joni, her scars will oblige

But the emotions she feels, she knows soon will subside

She glides the knife to an area which hides

Under her clothes to conceal all her cries,

And as the blade separates her pale rind,

She thinks to herself, “I’m gunna be fine”.


Lance was a freshmen in the collage he picked

Lance thought in college the cliques would be kicked

And maybe they were, but Lance could not quit

Seeing the labels that made his teeth grit.

He had to work hard for the grades that he sought

The pressure was on since the classes were bought

Ma- proud of her baby, the first to go far

Pop, loving the thought of his boy above par.

Lances head began spinning from the classes he took

Each day a growing stack of college text books

His eyes grew weary, mind filling with fury

Turning to drugs to forget all his worries

And as it so happened, these drugs took him away

To a place where he needn’t worry about textbooks or grades,

And those grades began slipping to a faraway place

And ma no longer looked at him with credit and grace.

Pop told him one day, to pick it all up

Or the funding for school would all go away…

And maybe it was because the drugs had anchored his mind

But depression swept over, making him blind

‘Trapped’ was the only word he could find

As he walked off that campus, not looking behind.

One year later, he sat broken and cold on the street

With a needle in hand, looking down at his feet

And as he plunged it, one last time,

He looked up at the sky

And thought to himself, “soon, all will be fine”.


These words that I write

Are not tall tales or lies

They are issues that concern everyday lives

So next time you hear ‘I’m doing just fine’

Look closer at the additional signs

Because sometimes ‘fine’,

Just means,


Welcoming Marie An-poet to The Blogging Mama

Well as promised my lovely readers, I have found a new persona for The Blogging Mama. We have went a different way for her though, as she will be coming to entertain you via You-Tube Video.

Marie An-poet is her name, and Spoken word poetry is her game.

And before you ask me why the name? I will let her explain it to you.


So without further adieu I give you Marie speaking about poop.

I hope you enjoyed Marie’s debut, unfortunately we do not have a set schedule for her as of yet, but stayed tuned for more Spoken Word Poetry from the lovely Marie An-poet!

A Diamond, A Heart and The Jack

It was no surprise, when he looked in her eyes

And her fear was driven by pain

He yearned for the day, he could take this away

When together, they’d hold their new babe.


He kept a strong face; she used his heart as her brace

Surpassing the moment as one.

Yet he still did not feel, the pain that so reeled

A pain which compared to none.


Inside his eyes cried, tears of questions and freight

But he could not upset his strong girl

So with a gaze that was locked and soothing words that were talked

They heaved on to let labor unfurl.


The meaning of time is all knowing; sublime

And the two fighters had discovered this too

Two days turned to nights twice during their fights

And oh how the contractions flew.


He stood strong by her feet, with his body bent neat

Over hers, to take away all her pain

And although it was kind and took the strain off her mind

He knew that the stance was in vain.


The pain would remain, with harshness and maim

And he would be totally helpless

But everything changed, as her words came to range

And she spoke, “Your help is my bliss”


Fortuitously the two allowed me to be

A witness to the happenings that day

And unknowingly I caught glimpse you see

Of two people who were attached by the souls.


Eventually an infant was freed

To this world that holds prospects so vast

But first he will see, this awesome love that’s between

His Mom and Dad’s present, future and past.


Growing with love, that envelopes not shoves

Through this life is a wonderful thing

And if there is one thing I know, that I’ve learned from this show

Love and unity is what these two bring.


Great things are achieved when determination is weaved

And these two had that in stacks

And their outcome was grand, while locking their hands

A diamond, a heart and The Jack.


In dedication to Ashley, who is as deceiving as a diamond- pretty as can be, but strong as a rock when it comes down to the tough stuff. To Dustin, who I am now sure has one of the biggest hearts I have ever seen, especially when it comes to his love. And of course their beautiful baby boy Jackson.

A Christmas Gift

As my baby brother sits in the hospital with his love, supporting her through this monumental time in their life I wonder what thoughts race through his head?

Labour is the most agonizing, exciting and beautiful thing that a couple will endure together- All wrapped up into a not so neat package. I cannot stop thinking of these two very important people, one of whom I’ve always known and the other I have come to love as the sister I never had.

I couldn’t be happier for them. I have no doubt in my mind that they will be the best of parents to this wondrous new addition.

But what engrosses my mind most today is how much my brother has matured in these last nine months. I look at him from one year ago, and see the man he has evolved into and pride swells within me.

Although Dustin and I have always been close, I could not feel any closer with him at this moment…Any happier for the amazing experience he will soon endure with his beautiful partner,  Ashley. And the notion that he will soon  look into his son’s eyes, brings on gushing tears each time I think of it.

I wrote this poem several years ago for my poetry book, A Fervour of Truth. It is how I have always seen my brother Dustin, but now it somehow means so much more. Today I would like to share this poem with you…


A comrade whose alliance has

Served me through my years.

The one in which knows my life

Of laughter and of tears.

A comrade whose young memories

Are much the same as mine.

And always stood beside me

Throughout the tests of time.

This comrade could find faults

Of mine, and tell me in a whim,

Sore feelings would be shared at times

After that, accepting them.

A comrade who works hard

Deserving all he takes,

This comrade finds his way in life

Despite the trialed stakes.

Comrade I have learnt from you,

As I hope that you can see

Thank you to our parents

Who  brought you here to me.


The anticipation of what is to come continues to distract me from my day to day duties, because I know that soon I will be given the allowance to see the same things I deeply love about Dustin, in his son…And that is by far the best Christmas present I will receive this year.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin…”

Unfortunately I have been cursed with bad skin. I have been dealing with this woe my entire life. Whether it be acne, sensitive skin or eczema which has now developed into psoriasis. When it comes to my skin it feels as though it is an uphill battle, and there I am itching the whole way to the top.
I had noticed my psoriasis getting worse with the change in weather, but never did I think it would get this bad! I woke up yesterday morning with a swollen knee cap and so much inflammation in the area that I was sure my leg would have to be amputated.
As I freaked out a lot a reasonable amount, and made a doctor’s appointment a little ditty started to inch itself together in my head. After going to the ol’ doc’s and purchasing some cream that I’m sure was the cost of a small village in some places, I sat down and typed out this poem that was accosting my brain.
So here it is, this is for all my peeps with skin abnormalities…

My skin, my skin, it’s making a fuss
My elbows, my knees,
And even my butt.
I wish I could stop this terrible state
But this constant itch I have, just seems to be my fate.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin
Or it gets the rash again”

What can I say, I disregard rubbin’ it on
And every time I forget
My skin reminds me at dawn.
I will wake with that rash being ten times worse
And the hypochondriac in me, will soon be ridin’ a hearse.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin,
Or it gets the rash again”

There I am itching, a really rueful patch
And I thank the heavens above
This scratchy rash hasn’t moved on to my snatch!
Because that would be awkward, to say the least
Going to town on my crotch, like a fucking feast.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin
Or it gets the rash again”

And I wonder if I will ever be rid of this thing
That has taken me over
As vicious as a bee with its sting.
For as long as I know, the scratch has been here with me
The rash is inevitable, like taking a pee.

“It rubs the lotion on its skin
Or it gets the rash again”

Because I have said it, it must be groundlessly so
That the rash chooses us
Like the swordsman to his foe, the beauty to her beau.
So my advice to you, if you wear this rash sash
Use the cream that will help you forget this brash rash.

“It rubs the lotion on the skin
Or it gets the rash again”

Thoughts For You

Rocky Horror Picture Show

The wonder of collective glow

Mystic things and Stephen King

And of course the sexy Sting


Always coursing through this life

With a blaze that burned in stride

You gave us knowledge that we could not know

Would later sow, and onwards grow.


Two years it’s been since you have left

Leaving us with hearts bereft.

I know that’s not what you’d like us feeling

Although our minds are always reeling.


I see you in your daughters eyes

Looking down on us from azure skies

I hear your words in angelic voice

“This life is yours, so make your choice.”


And once again you are right,

Once again you’ve showed your light.

So sadness I will put aside

And celebrate your wild ride.


Today Janet, you’re in our view

Your life, your wisdom- through and through.

Blame is for Suckers (and Babies and Wimps)

Blame blame go away

Do not come another day,

Let me live a life that’s free

Of jaded thoughts of what should be.

The kids are grubby, the house a mess

I have not bathed in days…To confess

We eat spaghetti from a can

And I can’t remember the last time I ran.

My body is gaining too much substance,

My face is full of acne abundance

My boobs are sagging, despite their small size

Tree stumps are what I envision my thighs.

The babies are back talking every chance that they get

I am quickly approaching a nervous wreck.

I feel that I come up short in the jist

Of life in general on the awesome list.

Well here and now, As of Today

I have something important to say!

if you are frustrated, gloomy or blue

There is only one single thing you must do…

Stand up and shout out “NO MORE OF THIS SHIT”

I blame no one but me for my dubious skit!

Change your attitude and your downtrodden ways

Pick yourself up, out of your off-putting phase.

Healthcare has problems, the government taxes

It hurts like hell when your vagina gets waxes!

The school system fails us, and public roads suck a plenty

theweathernetwork.com may as well just be empty!

 Your body is not what it used to be

There’s hair growing in places you can’t even see

Who cares if your tooth is chipped half way off

And you have that persistent ‘old man’ cough

Your life is in front of you, just waiting to be

Grasped to the utmost, and brimming with glee

Only you can seek your own lively reserves

And placing blame will not get you the rewards you deserve.

So I for one will be blaming others no more

for the life that I thought was uncalled-for and sore

I will take this ol’ life by its two mountainous oysters

And renovate my journey into an audacious roister.

To end a wee rant, I will leave you with this

Blame is for suckers, and babies and wimps

Be bigger than that, be cooler, be smooth

And if you take my advice, I guarantee it will sooth!


A Child’s Desire

Lyndzee 203_edited-2


Look into my eyes

Tell me there will never be lies

Be there for me the way you must

Allow me to give you my unwavering trust


Look into my eyes,

And see the child you’ve created.

Tell me this moment was fated

Never to be outdated.

Never rated.


Just us. Just now.

Forever to be, together you see.

For we, are living together


You and me.


Look into my eyes

Tell me there will never be lies

Be there for me the way you must

Allow me to give you my unwavering trust


You will work, I will play.

It is the way, things seem to stay.

But I will yearn for Fathers hold

Mothers mould.

The family fold.


I need not have toys in heaps

Expensive games, or lengthy leaps.

I want to know your love for me

With cuddles, hugs and thoughtful glee

All I need, is you and me.


Look into my eyes

Tell me there will never be lies

Be there for me the way you must

Allow me to give you my unwavering trust


This bond can be so effortlessly broken

It can be jaded, it can be stolen.

Leaving us, tired and unspoken.

Heartaches swollen

All of it chosen.


Love me lucid, love me lots

But never in, inward thoughts

Love cannot be bargained…


For then our love, will surely rot.



Look into my eyes

Tell me there will never be lies

Be there for me the way you must

Allow me to give you my unwavering trust


And when you hold me as your child

your love shines through; clear, beguiled.

Never rivaled,

Your worship wild.

I will give my doting smile.


Remember to be free for me,

When you are home and love can be

The thing that brings us close you see,

As that is all I ever need.

Be the one to ever grow this seed.


A lament you’ll never have to heed.

If you listen to my unvoiced plead.


Look into my eyes

Tell me there will never be lies

Be there for me the way you must

Allow me to give you my unwavering trust

A Poem for my Kidlets

Here is a piece of poetry that the kids and I have been working on together; It is yet to be named. lol

My name is Elvis, a noble gnome, I’ve come from far away

Please help me with the duty I’ve brought to you  today.

There is a kingdom, far away that slight magic still lives in

A place that cannot carry on, without a child’s grin.

Yes, yes that’s you! So smile on, for my land is in much trouble

Oh so soon, it will only be a glooming heap of rubble.

The name of this place is Sarphia, once a lovely place to be

With echoes carried through the wind of laughter, love and glee

The residents of Sarphia are fairies, elves and gnomes,

We used to sing and dance and play, we never thought to roam

But then one dreadful dreary day, the magic flew away

The gnomes the fairies and the elves, had forgotten how to play

Now we never sing or dance, we cannot love nor laugh

Sadness soars all around, our world is only half

Why this scariness has happened is very hard to tell

We believe it’s from a lack of joy, from our Kindness Well.

And without this joy that was our way,  the only means we knew

We could not laugh to save our life… It now is up to you!

Hold on tight for now I will, take you to this land

That once was filled with delight, once it was so grand.

Do not be frightened, and nor be scared

It isn’t how it used to be, so make yourself prepared.

Quickly come and take my hand, and help me sing this rhyme

Put on a great big smile, for there is not much time.

Let us help the land of Sarphia, to bring enchantment back

We will ensure that once again, laughter will not lack.

 We are coming Sarphia, we will soon arrive

Do not fear Sarphia, our grins will make you thrive.

As you can see, this land is full of sorrow and of fraught

The only thing to save it, it something you have brought.

So open up your little hearts, that clasp so very much

Of the love and laughter  that holds the magic touch

Frolic round the gardens Well, watch it regain bliss

You’ll recreate the beauty, that once had gone amiss.

Rally round in wonder, dance and sing and cheer

Soon our beloved Sarphia will  be without this fear.

You’ve done it! You’ve saved Sarphia, our land is now regained!

You  broke the dreaded evil blight that had us locked in chains

To show our grateful attitude, for what you’ve come and done
We welcome you to visit us, when you want some extra fun

If you’re ever feeling glum or board or even kind of blue

Open up this little book, and we will bring you through.

You are now an important part of our little world

We now  know you’ll help us, if again it comes unfurled.

Lars and Sophie, our gratitude is lots

From here out, you will live in our happy thoughts.

Farewell you two lovely kids, who we will always miss,

Remember you can always come, and visit with your  bliss!