Our poetry is informed by the here and now and also by memory and mood surrounding  events past. Those memories are often quite vividly recalled due to the impact they have had upon our lives.  My year in Grade 5 all those years ago was no doubt, memorable. Memorable for all the wrong reasons though. Still, it continues to provoke the poetry within. I am grateful for the therapy it delivers. I keep saying it, but its true- poetry is about the mud and the flowers. Be brave and consider all your rich and informative memories -the perfect and the problematic. Beware Of Wrong Answers In those long passed days, back in Grade 5  A lot of our time was spent With our hands on our heads All because our teacher, Ms Dungeon  Didn’t like fidgeting. She taught us to be afraid of wrong answers And to count in our heads -never our fingers She taught us how to write a letter But never let us send it -something I find strange even now. She introduced us to subject and predicate They sounded like the n

  I recently returned from a holiday in Bali. I had been looking forward to much reading, writing and relaxing as well as watching my four year old grand-daughter experience her first overseas travel adventure. The holiday had to be cut short due to some unscheduled health related issues that unfortunately claimed me. So, reading/writing plans did not materialize as I had envisaged, but I did get to see the joy in a child's eyes when exploring a new and exciting culture. Priceless... I at least got to rework a poem I had written on a previous Bali sojourn which was most satisfying. It has morphed into a haibun poem, so my brief time in Bali  produced a small, yet profound change. I'm home now and feeling better in every respect. A Room At Puri Damai Lying beneath a flimsy sheet, under the heavy heat of a Bali evening. I observe the ceiling fan, slightly out of kilter. It whirs and clicks as it spins, emitting a faint squeak of discomfort in its efforts to keep the warm air movi