Oulipo: To Squeeze Green


To Squeeze Green

I pressed against a gnarled fog,
in woods grown of grass and tea.
This little lick of deeper dark,
this deeper wash all green as vines,
and I squeezed the air
with oddly pleasure,
and oh,
it pricks me.
Steady on.



Remix Oulipo’d Words Squeezed Out of “Eaten by a Forest Witch” and written
to prompt from Found Poetry Review: Choose your own adventure prompt

Painting by Denise Green, from WikiPaintings

Campcide Tales, Day 26: Three-Legged Races

Three-Legged Cide-By-Cide

It’s a buddy-cide-by-cide system,
But not holding hands,

Hands are just too normal,
Normal isn’t normally us.

Us, not us, as in Usual or Useful,
Useful we are not.

Not knotted, knitted or fitted,
But our legs twisty-tied into threes.

Threes through trees, and in latrines
It’s a buddy-cide-by-cide system!



Photo from Flickr Commons,

written for creative bloomings

Campcide Tales, Day 24: Sinkacide


Campcide Tales, Day 24: Sinkacide

I’ve never been afraid of rain,
Whether it pours or dribbles
Or falls strained through clouds.

Whether it comes pelting down
In grains of bridal rice, or barrels
Through forests, a freight train.

And it might seem strange,
But I can’t swim,
So when it rains ….

I strap on my water wings,
And I float-on-my-cide!
I’ll survive this campacide.



Written for Creative Bloomings, Day 24

When String Isn’t String


When String Isn’t String

It’s one of those days
when heat’s as heavy as water
against lemonade, and it tastes
of errant daughters.
it’s one of those days
when I can feel the world spin,
and I really hate that whole
dizzy disorder thing.
it’s one of those days
when a piece of string’s
just too short to be anything
other than bloody clutter.
when is a string not a string,
or milk not milk, well I’ll tell you.
It’s when there’s not enough of it
to be of any damned use.




Written for Margo’s poem tryouts,
Poetic form: Blues Poem
photo from WikiCommons

Campcide Tales, Day 21: Wordlecide

Janie Lee Goes Crococide

We were hunting stars for signs,
signs like stacked stones pointing
far from here, signs toward escape
for home, signs steering us away
from bears and ants and nature’s
howl, and how had we missed

those signs, that Janie Lee had gone
loopacide. She was throwing stones
at our canoe, said it was a killer
crocodile, and that we were all
heading for crococide.


Some vacation this turned out
to be. Time to tread the trailcide,
Someone said, but our leader,
she liked this circus, this ringcide…..
This magnificent campcide.


Written for Creative Bloomings, 

Campcide Tales, Day 20: Dreamacide


A Dream of Steam

Step into a dream
of hot shower steam,
of privacy
and a shower screen,
to scrub up clean
with bubbling soap,
oh the wishes, oh the hope,
not to wash in an icy stream.
And, excuse me, please;
which way to the latrine?
This dreamacide
just proves I’m too citified
to survive this campacide!




Written for Creative Bloomings, Day 20 “A Dream Camp” 

Campcide Tales, Day 19: Dentalcide


The sun rose over that sulky morning,
As Janie Lee sat there picking ants
Out of her toothbrush. Those stuck
In her minty toothpaste were mostly
Dead. We all felt pity with her, and
We’d walk by and pat her back, like
An old dog with a gimpy leg.
It was mintacide. Dentalcide. Yep,
She finally understood: Campacide.




Written for Creative Bloomings, Creepy Crawlies

Oulipo: A Spy in the Blind


A Spy in the Blind

Those proper words are pasteurised
with morse through venetian blinds,
and that tourist office,
is a foreign redundancy,
a francophone that is now rarely called.



Oulipo’d source: “CIA’s style manual,
Directorate of Intelligence Style Manual
& Writers Guide for Intelligence Publications,
sections 1.3 and 1.4

Written for “Who are the word watchers
Date: 17 July 2014 23:51 (c)