Just a bit of fun.


Sloggerhumps are smelly creatures,
chubby, sloppy, lazy, and mean.
They sprawl in swamps and bogs
and quags, sucking frog eggs
through hollow reeds, dangling

small fish from their ears.
With skin as bumpy as tree bark
yet as slick as oil or soap,
they slide and slip in the shallows
munching on swamp weed,

snakes and dragonflies.
While they enjoy the taste
of human flesh, they care not
for human bones, so when
a man thing steps to close

they spit gobs of bog and phlegm,
sloshing unlucky travellers
with a sticky, stinky splat.
Like leprechauns, however,
they do hide a bit of treasure,

but not near rainbows
in black metal pots. Sloggerhumps
stuff their bellybuttons with bits
of wealth and one can filch
each richly morsel if one dares

to venture close, close enough
to sway the beast with a sweetly
whispered lullaby, sway it into sleep,
that is, for what can’t be swiped
from the naval of a snoring Sloggerhump.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Four Stars.”


Sorry, folks – I’ve been busy. I hoped to write a poem each day this month, National Poetry Month. Sadly, my time is not my own. That being said, let us press on.


Yesterday, I
the wind
as it swifted
the chimes
that hang
from the silver
birch garnishing
an afternoon
with music.

it returned,
the pine’s
dark limbs
with ribbons
lifted from
and kissing
the head
of each burning


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Karma Chameleon.”

Sunday Morning Coffee (Poetry Month – Day XI)

Sipping hot, Sunday morning coffee…it’s wonderful. All is quiet, peaceful. Wonderful opportunities are limitless. I can’t wait until tomorrow morning.

Sunday Morning Coffee

Sunday morning coffee
works best, but make it hot,
so hot that steam rises
from your mug
as thick as magic billows

from a witch’s cauldron.
Then, step outside,
just a step, no more than a stride
and peer through that steam,
re-exploring the world you see

everyday but never truly notice.
You’ll see sparrows and finches
flitting from feeder stem to stem
just as you always might,
but you’ll hear them gossiping,

complaining about trolls,
how their thunderous stomps
quake the earth, frightening
the tender hearts of life
still locked in speckled eggs.

Lili-elves, tiny beings,
ever unseen, jousting
with dandelion stems
on mice-back between
the garden’s marigolds

will ask you to judge their trials,
deeming one brave knight
more honorable, more noble than all.
And you’ll shiver when dragon shadows
swallow you. The mighty beasts,

sunlight dancing on their scales
waltz about the trees
as gracefully as butterflies.
Remember, on Sunday,
make your coffee hot.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All It’s Cracked Up to Be.”

Gracefully, Aslan (Poetry Month – Day X)

Aslan is the main character of C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia series

“As he appears in Narnia, Aslan is a large, talking lion, who is terrifying, magnificent and beautiful all at once. He appears in different sizes to different people, although he himself never changes; as people grow in wisdom and character, they can perceive more of his greatness. Aslan is very wise, and a powerful force for good, but as Narnians often say, “He’s not a tame lion.” He is dangerous, and an unconquerable enemy, but he is unquestionably good.”

Aslan, due to my faith and my relationship with Christ, is, by far, my favorite fictional character.


Gracefully, Aslan

Hearing its call for help,
the great lion bowed

his head, allowing
the butterfly, as bright

as hope, to rest
atop his mane

as he softly spoke
the tired creature’s name.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Interview.”

War (Poetry Month – Day IX – Poem II)

This morning, walking near a large shrub on my property, a cluster of sparrows darted from the evergreen’s dark. Soon, I was writing.

Taste of War

The sparrow king, Butterbrown,
perched on his throne-sprig
within the Palace of Evergreen,
has declared war
on the Dark Kingdom of Labyrinth

where the chipmunks
tunnel and weave deep
beneath the earth’s skin,
far from the sun’s sight.
The four sparrow chieftains,

Thornbeak, Clitterfoot,
Grim-eye, and Purebreast,
darted from the palace
as love from a heart,
to rally their forces

from each corner
of the Sparrowbark,
to repel the whiskered evil
from beneath the Kingdom of Butterbrown.
No longer will the rodent devils

be tolerated; no longer will they
filch the seed fallen from the feeder
hanging near the blue house
from the tired, old elm.
This day shall taste war.

If I Had a Hammer (Poetry Month – Day IX)

I’ve posted this short poem before, but I thought it well reflected the intent of today’s WordPress prompt and, today, I possess a dearth of time. I’ll do my best to post a second piece later today.

Dwarven Lament

In darkness deep, we unearth the light
of gem, and gold, and silver bright.
Our swords are etched with golden rhymes.
Our might with wealth is thus entwined.

Our axes gleam with amethyst.
Our armor winks with emerald’s shine.
And so our tombs will glitter thus.
For this, our wealth, we’ll surely die.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “If I Had a Hammer.”