Don’t Vote For Pedro!

Vote for me!

I’m sorry. That was so NOT Canadian. I’m sorry you’ll need to be Canadian to get the joke. Sorry about that ;-)

It’s that time again!

The nomination process for the 2014 Canadian Blog Awards have begun.

If you’ve been enjoying what you read on The Eclectic Poet, I would appreciate so much if you’d consider voting for me. You can do this by clicking right here —> Voting

You don’t have to be an official “Follower” and an account is not required to vote – many of my readers – Mum, this is YOU – drop by to visit and don’t have a WordPress account :).

There’s more information to be found about the awards on Jonathan’s blog here —> Canadian Blog Awards

CBA Button


There is a rage in the cage
My jail is of your perception
I am not just a hobby
Was that your intention

Because when I’m alone
Silence cuts to the bone

Did you think I should be happy
With only scraps from your table
To be worked in to you life
Only when you can schedule

Because when I’m alone
Silence cuts to the bone

You claim that you love me but I’m here alone
Tell me she’s cold yet you refuse to leave her
Your emails come from exotic, couples trips
Since when is that love? Not now. Not ever

Because when I’m alone
Silence cuts to the bone

If you can’t be seen with me in public
Don’t expect my sex, heart or soul
Why should I accept just part
I seek the other half of my whole

I may be alone but I’m doing just fine
Silence may be golden but I won’t be your concubine

~ kei
21 October 2014

Whispers II

Can you hear me?

Say my name just one more time
Say it in your Bourbon and Marlboro accent
You loved when I first described it that way
I just loved how I could feel your voice
Words like sweetgrass inhaled and tickling my senses

Sentences that lit fire in every nerve and synapse
Poetry that ran like lava through my veins
Waiting only your breath upon these embers
To bring me back to life again

~ kei
20 October 2014

Of A Feather

Listening to the song of cardinals reminded you of me
They trilled in my garden and sang in your bougainvillaea
Your heart was healing and you were ready to fly
Soaring on the strength of the love between you and I

You rushed out into the bright, beckoning sky to soar
For a time, it was so beautiful, to watch you in flight
But bright plumage attracts others both friend and foe
Once the vultures had begun to circle, they wouldn’t go

Intent on only taking, they stole in darkness and in lies
Your dark confusion returned, I could see you’d lost your way
Their theft left you adrift in air streams with no way back
Not one cared that they’d stolen your heart and soul’s map

But has come a gentle white dove to my world of dark
Gifting me with an olive branch that tastes of your kisses
Though eons pass until this phoenix heart is ready again for the sky
The kindness of one among the many, gives me reason to wish to try

~ kei
16 October 2014

Kateri, Bleddyn and Cardinal

More From Grade Seven

I confess to having a wee crush on my grade seven English teacher (who is still very much alive and now a principal at an Elementary school in my neighbourhood and consequently, shall remain nameless).

Initially had a “girl crush”.

Unfortunately, it would seem that her interest in one of our gym teachers (who shall also remain nameless but by way of describing his comb over ‘fro, shall be known to some) was of greater import than nurturing fledgling writers. In fairness, I was still planning a career as a ballerina and so Mrs. … err… “X”, could be forgiven her oversight, though not her taste in paramours.

Writing has gone through many changes in what is and what is not correct. I have experience in Business, Medical and Technical writing and all embrace different sets of “rules”.

I hate rules. This is a lifelong affliction with me (ask my parents or kids) and if you are a lover of rules, please do feel free to bugger off now.

No rules are tolerated here. Writing for personal enjoyment and in particular writing fiction, is an intensely personal thing and quite frankly, as an adult-type person (or so I’m told) I henceforth and forthwith, declare a moratorium on all rules of spellering and grammatification on any of my blogs.  Ever. Ad Infinitum. Until I’m discovered. By Stephen King. We shall commiserate about rules and collaborate on horrificly, harrowing, horror stories.

With a lot of alliteration. Because… fuck the rules.

Back to grade seven. Mrs. R, gave me a B- on a project that in my opinion, contained some of my better stories. I’ve been writing stories since I was… umm… around five years old I think. I have some illustrated books I made (thanks Mum!) from about that time. I threw my pre-teen heart and soul into the stories that were to reflect the project theme: Oceans and Seas (in the last half hour before I had to hand it in) and expected that Mrs. “X” would be pleased, if not impressed.

Quite frankly, I’ve never recovered from that B-. (Only a little facetious)

I hated school by that time; was bullied by boys and girls alike and having made the effort to impress someone who I saw as a kindred spirit, was crushed utterly by that “B”. The “B” incidentally, had nothing to do with grammar but with my half-arsed effort at creating maps. All I can say to that is “Hell yeah, GPS!! My imagination far outweighed my writing skills at the time but I still rather like this particular piece about meeting the Loch Ness Monster. Said meeting has not yet occurred but Scotland is still on  my bucket list.

Without further ado, obfuscation, innuendo, oblique, sarcastic rhetoric, extraneous verbosity, et al: Here is (in its entirety and unedited edition), “The Creature Of Loch Ness”


I was standing on the edge of Lochness in Scotland. All at once to my surprise a monster rose up out of the water and looked at me with his big, green eyes.
“Sir”, I said, quite unaware he was the Lochness monster, “Do you know of any large sea animals that go around Lochness eating fair maidens”?
The ugly creature answered quite plainly and clearly and he said the only animal he new (sic) of was his cousin Herman in Philadelphia. “He has a habit of eating fair maidens when he comes here. After I’m mistaken for him and blamed for his atrocious table manners.”
By now a large crowd had gathered and they to began to question my friend. Little children plunged into the water to play with him. He used his tail as a slide and he could ride twelve children on his back. People stared in amazement, and then they swam into the water to play.
In a few months tourists started pouring in to see the “super, collosal, giant Lochness Monster”. It was quite a show.
The Lochness turned into a beach, all because I had discovered television’s favourite talk show celebrity, Mr. Monster!
I was – pardon me – we were, just packing our bags to go to Paris, when I woke up… and to my surprise, looked up at a monster with big, green eyes.

© K. Tupper, Grade 7, English project composition from “The Wondrous Sea”


Sunday Photo Fiction ~ Elizabeth Again

Sunday Photo Fiction: October 19 2014

Here is a description of the challenge from the blog, Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Alastair Forbes:

“Every week on a Sunday, a new photo is used as a prompt for Flash Fiction challenge using around 200 words based on that image. Your story does not have to be exactly what the item in the photo is, you can make it anything you want, and enjoy what you write, and we will as well.”

Here is today’s photo challenge:

©A Mixed Bag 2014

©A Mixed Bag 2014

Elizabeth Again

Genre: Fictionalized History

Word Count: 199


I couldn’t contain my excitement, gazing for at least the tenth time through the lens trying to catch sight of the steamer.

After several years of hopes, prayers and endless disappointments; a ray of hope had come my way at a quilting bee last spring. The first of the “Home Children” would be looking for families here in Ontario. I couldn’t contain a little rush of tears when John and I received the letter confirming, a girl would be coming to us from Maerdy. My dearest John, how we’d looked forward to children in the early years! Alas, we were still childless and a home without the laughter and dreams of little ones seemed a bleak future.

Here at the docks of the St. Lawrence, we waited patiently for the steamer to come in. At least John was patient! One last peek through the glass…

I knew her immediately. Tall for her eight years, wavy auburn hair, cut short in the Institution’s fashion, white dress and pinafore over dark stockings that all the Home girls wore. It was her eyes that I knew. Deepest blue and finding mine through the lens, straight to a mother’s no longer lonely heart.

~ kei
19 October 2014

Note: My Great Gran is Elizabeth and one of Dr. Barnardo’s Children (British Home Child). She came to Canada with her older sister. There are many sad tales of this program but my Gran’s is one of the success stories. She obtained a degree from the Toronto Ladies University, returned to Wales to marry and begin her family, my Grandmother being one of those. The Thomas family later made their home in Ottawa, Canada, embracing their chosen country fully. Great Grandpa Thomas is honoured in the Book of Remebrance on Parliament Hill for his military service at Passchendaele in World War I. Gran was an involved pillar of the community and a huge part of my life in ways immeasurable.
Rwyf wrth fy modd i chi Gran.