Category Archives: Creative Writing

Puffy White Delights: A 6 Word Story

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

Requires watering daily or will die.

White Hydrangea.
White Hydrangea.
Puffy White Delight 2
Puffy White Delight 2

Daily Prompt

Practice Makes Perfect: Yoga Bummers!

The community centre changed the Yoga Instructor last week. Manpreet blamed the skinny couple in the group who complained every week that they  needed more challenges or kept interrupting the yoga instructor asking for different more challenging poses.  The rest of the stay-at-home Mom`s and pushing 65 retirees were quite happy with Amrithaa`s  Hatha Yoga and her slower pace of endurance poses.

Manpreet did say one time that perhaps Greg  and Sally should try a different class. Greg replied that this time slot worked best for their home business hours and that they had complained to management that the Hatha Yoga was not challenging enough.

Yoga Bronze Sculpture

In walked ballet-feet Kara who announced that we were going to do a quick paced class of power yoga!  Manpreet estimated that Kara may be about 105 pounds, 5 foot 8 and maybe 20 years old too. Manpreet looked down at her pendulous breasts and figured they were bigger in circumference than Kara`s muscled thighs.  Seeing a retaliatory  opportunity to annoy Greg and Sally , Manpreet kept interrupting  the gazelle like pace and pretzel posing instructions of ballerina Kara for modifications for arthritic knees and bulging bellies.  Many of the stay at home Mom`s and pushing 60 retirees gasped and grunted painfully through the power yoga class. Pretentious Greg and skinny butt Sally were finally challenged exclaiming they loved this new approach many times.

Manpreet decided in honour of Amrithaa to just do her Hatha Yoga routine.  Kara noticed but continued on with the next challenge. “Yes Yoga is about going at your own comfort level. Let`s move from plank to a downward dog, raise your left leg up high over your buttocks and let the weight of it drop to the right and magically the momentum will help you flip into a crab walk position. Like …this!, ”  she said.

Butts hit the yoga mats and arms and legs were flinging about everywhere.  Kara said, “Oh maybe we can practice this one again. Practice makes perfect!”

Manpreet assumed warrior pose so as to get a better view. Kara repeated the instructions.  Again butts hit the yoga mats!  Manpreet was enjoying this and moved from a warrior pose to a modified tree pose.  Greg and Sally kept trying the new pose without success.  Finally the perfectionist power yoga class ended.  Greg and Sally rushed  to thank Kara for the amazing power Yoga class exclaiming they were finally challenged.  The rest of the class packed up and limped out of the yoga studio.

Tracey muttered, “ Bummer Yoga class or what?”

“Yeah, I miss Amrithaa”,  Manpreet said.

Next week, Amrithaa  was back. Greg and Sally were gone!

Yoga can be so cleansing.

Kneel and Bent: A Play About Pain

Scene:  Middle aged woman on the heavy side ordering fries at New York Fries Food Stand in a mall food court in the midafternoon.  She walks with a bit of a limp and lurch due to bad creaky knees.  She settles at a food court table.

Bent:     Un, unh. No. Don’t you dare!

Kneel:    No more French Fries!

Bent:    We thought we talked about this?

Woman looks around confused.

Bent:   Who’s talking?

Kneel:   Look down you ingrate!

Woman keeps head facing forward, pauses fry in opened mouth and  with raised eyebrows glances down.

Bent and Kneel:   Yes. It’s your trusty knees. Always there when you kneel on us. ( guffawing)

Woman chomps on fry and wags her head frowning.

Bent:     Nonsense. It’s you that’s the pain!

Kneel:     Go easy there Bent. You know stress isn’t good for us.

Bent:     Actually Kneel, you have to admit the regular physiotherapy has been quite

beneficial. And things have been lighter since Madam lost those last 11 pounds.

Woman smiles. Pushes fries away.

Kneel:     Latisha the physiotherapist is pretty hot too!

Bent:     Oooohhh doggy! Love the way she massages my cap.

Woman looks down in disgust.

Bent and Kneel:    Eeeww? You know knees can be sexy.

Woman gets up and right knee buckles a bit.

                Kneel:     Ouch! Did you take your Celebrex yet, sweetie pie? My meniscus is a little sore.

Bent:      Yeah the hamstrings are feeling a little tight. How about a few stretches?

Woman does a right side hamstring stretch balancing on the food court table for stability. Walks gingerly towards the stairs.

Kneel:   Whoa! Take the elevator for knees’ sake!

Woman sighs. She pushes the Up button on the mall elevator door.

A Good Beginning

I eat oatmeal for breakfast.  Not that I particularly love oatmeal.  It’s habit—and my Grandfather.

“First meal of the day should stick to your ribs,”  he’d say. “Sugar? No. It’s poison! Stay away from that stuff.”

Oatmeal is bland and good for me.  What was Mother Nature trying to achieve by giving me taste buds for not -good-for -me delicious foods like chocolate ice cream or sizzling steak dripping with fat? The outrage!  I just wished that bland, green and fishy appealed more to me than sweet, fat and salty.  Grandfather often said Mother Nature had her cruel side as a matter of necessity. I want to break free from necessity. One morning sans guilt, I will frivolously order a Sausage Egg McGriddle and Mango Chiller in the drive-thru.

One day; not today.  Necessity demands that today  I sit alone at my kitchen table swallowing the last bit of gruel that sticks not only to my ribs but cements me in a life of doing what is good for me.



XII Ways of Experiencing Time




A childish game of chance

With a roll of the dice

Your fortunes are blessed by ladders

And cursed by serpents.




The youthful day warming in radiant beams of energy

Prickly green blades tickling bare feet

Bumblebees buzzing their Honey Symphony

Serenading Mother’s enchanted roses

Who surrender sweet intoxicating potions to spellbound noses.




Swaying in protective arms

Gazing up into dark hazel eyes

Gold flecks sparking lightning bolts of recognition

My soul mate.




At my hooves

Forcing me forward in unwanted directions.

Fearing the stabbing pain of its teeth.



Running out

A warrior worn from a cancerous battle

Lays down his sword of strength and shield of will

“I just want to have a nice long nap”

Turning out the light with a kiss.

Goodnight Daddy.




Pointless wandering loss in dank underground blackness

Blind, cut off, suffocating

Familial miners digging for the healing surface

Knocking on walls. Can you hear our pain?




Encompassing all that was, is, and shall be

Existential thoughts, memories, and wishes of a lifetime

Will it burst?




Soaring in misty cloaks of imagination

Cresting mountains of creation

Swooping down valleys of lessons learned

Gliding over glistening waters of wisdom

Migrating across vast memories

In moments.




For class


Horseshoe Lake Road trapping the distracted traveller

In its deceptive web

Sucking out the life force from her best laid plans.




Colourful images painted in bits of black

Ebony lines undulating laughter, fear, loathing, and fantasy

Across an undefined white

Whispering dreams into countless possibilities.




Fighting what is immutable.

Forcing what was not meant for you.

Failing to accept your flaws.




By green lights of passion

All the way to your ultimate destiny.


A Nice Girl—A Monologue by Kathleen Clarke

A nice girl like me?

I don’t think

Your son is interested in

Nice girls like me.

He is attracted to Kay Slutterland.

Oh, Pardon my faux-pas….Sutherland.

Yes !….Kay.

All plunging neckline, bare belly and bossom bursting up out of an underwire prison.

That’s right. The Sutherland girl from the East side.

Please don’t take this the wrong way


Your son practically tattoos his eyes on her skin.

I hate to disappoint you but he barely glances my way.

I am not his type.  Yes, really.

I’ m trim. Neat. Polite.  I look glorious

In a knit-sweater and pleated skirt.

It’s true.

Ready for Church Picnics

And afternoons at the Racquet Club

of course.

I bumped into Kay and your son at the


In fact.

They were in the Poetry Section.

She had her head thrown back, eyes closed, and toes curled

And she was practically


as he stroked her with exhilarating and  pulsating words.

I was overcome with a dizzy sensation.

I had to…

Escape to the cookbook section.

He reads poetry so well.

Yes , the bundt cake comes from a recipe

I found there.

So delightful;  lemon poppy seed.

All proper and everything when coming for a visit

Mother always says.

This has been lovely.  Thank you.

And would you tell your son that his Poetry Book is overdue?

He could bring it to my place


Marjorie Keeps Her Own Counsel

Assignment #3- Dialogue by Kathleen Clarke

Marjorie Keeps Her Own Counsel

I can’t see the little darlins’.  But , oh, can I hear them. Here we go again.

 The tall white pines provide a blissful barrier for Marjorie’s eyes. This gives her some privacy to eavesdrop from her lodge balcony.

            “Toby, come!” the little girl says. A dog barks and rustles around in the bushes.

            She`s young and ‘geesus loud. Probably 4 years old. Who`s watching her? Careless. She could drown. Although , it might be more peaceful around here. Oh, that’s mean.  I’ll burn in hell for that one.


            Toby must be the dog. Why doesn’t the dog come over here? Rich people probably have an electric fence to shock the hell out of the dog. Awful. My Uncle Bob would have said that dog deserved a good case of lead poisoning. Farmers can be so cold.

            “Did you pee in there?”  the little girl asks.

            “Shut up!” says the boy. The dog keeps barking.

            Typical older brother.  I wish she and the dog would shut up too. Where’s her parents?… Don’t think about anyone but yourselves, rich arseholes. Yeah I travelled three hours up North so I can listen to your spoiled brat and obnoxious barking dog. The spoiled little princess will eventually disappoint you and run off with a motorcycle gang member and you’ll sink all your money into wrecking other people’s lives to save her now self –entitled rescue- me- Daddy spoiled ass. .. Only person that ever rescued me was me. We’d never go whining and crying back to our parents. We were taught to stand on our own two feet. ‘Course , maybe that’s why I ‘m alone.  Maybe if I was needy, like so many other women I see, I might have somebody to keep me company in my old age. Ah bastard ‘ d probably cheat on me anyway. God I gotta’ calm down. I’m on vacation.

            “Mommy said no adventure pees. Pee in the house!” the girl says.

            “Shut up or I’ll shit on you!” the boy says.

          “I’m telling.”

            Nice language you polluting little dickwad. Maybe I’ll get five minutes peace from that kid and the blasted dog. It never comes when they call it. How can people with so much money be so stupid? Kids and dogs badly behaved.  Thank god I can close my balcony door. But I’m paying $200 a night for this place. I should get a discount.  Hope she stays inside.

            “William! Can I talk to you for a minute,” the father says.

            “Yeah,” says the boy.

            Finally, some parental supervision.  Now maybe I can enjoy some peace and quiet and watch those whatch-ma-call-its… oh yeah Goldfinches. They are so beautiful…

            “Toby! Come, Toby! Come, here!”

            Oh damn …

Keeping her own counsel, Marjorie gets up, goes inside, and slams the balcony door. Hard.


Introducing Batter Up Bess

Character Assignment # 2— Character
Introducing Batter Up Bess!
by Kathleen Clarke Haliburton School of Art Creative Writing Class July 2nd, 2013
“I’m cold,” she whispered.
“Well I’m hot. Put on more clothes,” Bill grumbled and drifted back to an untroubled and selfish sleep.
Freezing, Bess grasped in the dark searching for their wedding quilt. Mother had spent hours making it, embroidering rings of roses in the shapes of hearts. Bess realized it was probably on the floor on his side. Damn him. As she slipped on her fuzzy moccasins creeping around the bedroom with arthritic knees, she calculated in her head. 28 years times 365 nights not including leap years, round up to 30 ( hell might as well be 50) . That’s 10,850! “Selfish bastard,” she mumbled.
“Humph?,” he said. Then Bill turned to snore in a different key more obnoxious than the first.
10,850 nights of freezing to death. 10,850 nights of practically going deaf. Bess shook her head and wondered when the hate had begun. She used to hang on his every word, thrill at his physicality, and be in awe of his achievements. She just was happy pleasing him. This night Bess felt as if she was being taken over by something or someone new. The new Bess reached out and sharply jabbed at Bill in his self-centred chest.
“What’s the matter?” he said. He reached for his baseball bat.
“Give me that!” yelled Bess. She grabbed the bat and with new found strength bounded onto the bed like a gymnast.
“Bess, what the hell are you doing?” he said annoyed.
She raised the bat and Bill cowered. Bill cowered. She slammed the bat beside him and he jumped.
“Get out!” she screamed.
“What the …Who are you?” cried Bill.
“I‘m Batter Up Bess!” she declared. “Introducing your living nightmare …yeah, me, your wife who is going to put herself first for a change. Now get out. For the first time in 10,850 nights, I am going to get a warm, quiet good night’s sleep.”
“Now Bess is this about the dinner you burnt? I said it was okay, Sweetie” he said.
Batter Up Bess wound up the bat and Bill hightailed it out the door.
“Don’t let the door hit your selfish arse on the way out!” she laughed triumphantly.
Batter Up Bess dropped the bat on her side of the bed. She plopped down on both pillows gathering up her wedding quilt. And happily giggled herself to sleep.
The End