PAD 2020 – Day 2

Following the Poetic Asides prompt today, which asked for a “space” poem.  Found it difficult to come up with something cohesive, or even a title. This weird time forces me into a headspace where words don’t come as easily as they might have before. So when they do come, I feel as though they have been hard fought. It gives me appreciation for all the ways creativity works, and doesn’t work. Just another thing this present world is teaching me not to take for granted.



the space occupied by four bodies

in a small house

for three weeks

in the last gasp of winter

when snow fills

the empty streets

and the only visitor

is the neighbour’s cat

leaving paw prints

on the doorstep

like a calling card

from a more typical time.


the space between

the curtains and the window

where sunlight slips in

makes a bright spot

on the floor

like a not-so-subtle reminder

of an outside world

that exists and thrives

in absence of human interaction,

or intervention, where everything

forges on, without dwelling

on the challenge of now.





PAD 2019 – Day 20

Sometimes the prompts align seamlessly. Today’s Stroll of Poets prompt called for an “unknowable” poem, while Poetic Asides suggested poems having anything to do with “dark.”  Infinite possibilities, but this is what sparked in my brain.

Unknowable Darkness


Staring at the night sky, December, north of the 52nd parallel, fixate

not on every glimmering point of light, but the blackness that holds them.

Face bit by the kind of cold that reminds you you’re alive.

That distracts you from the impenetrable idea  of infinity.

Even darkness, silence have their wonders, but grasping them seems

impossible. Too much for an earthbound body to bear.

Poem: Dubbing Planet 9

Most days, reading or watching the news makes my heart ache.  This week, hearing about the quiet planet chillin’ at the edge of our solar system, took me to a different kind of dark place — the beautiful mystery of space.


Dubbing Planet 9


We can’t see you, shadow planet,

but we know you’re there.

This is more than faith.

More than wishes made

on all the shining stars.

(Maybe it’s your light, so bright,

that we’ll see tonight —

forgive us our mistake).


You can’t hide forever,

even floating far

past imagination.


We’ve got your tracks, elusive giant.

You Bigfoot in space,

and we’re excited, tittering,

because we love to dub.


This is our time, baby.

Our chance to claim the cosmos.

No more stuffy Roman gods,

no more démodé Greek deities.


You need a now name.

Something trending:





Make you mononymous, female:





Or formal, with title,

honorifics for our stellar stone:

King Orb

Lady Rondure

Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack

(Way out in black, black, black).


A century from now,

if you’re spotted, snapped, shown

to all the world, will we know better

how to name?


Is something ineffable until it’s seen?


What new words will have sprung from

our multilingual human tongue?


A millennium from now, if humanity remains,

curious, searching, able

to touch your primordial face,

will we know you then?


Will we be any closer to understanding

why you’re there, why we’re here,

why anything is

at all?