The Picnic (poem)




The Picnic



It was our first date, and to a park

we went, it was a nice summer day

She was so beautiful, I adored her,

as we unpacked, I decided to say:


“Those are strange looking windmills over there.”

She just laughed out loudly and shook her head

“They’re actually windpumps for draining,

I didn’t know you were so stupid!” she said


Offended, I flung the potato salad

which landed perfectly across her face

Enraged, she picked up the mayo and sprayed

it at me, so I quickened the pace


and threw all the crusty bread rolls at her,

so she quickly stood up and dumped the jar

of pickles over my head, I then

brought out the champagne, raising the bar


I shook the bottle and popped it open

the force of the champagne hit like a high

pressure hose, she was instantly drenched,

she stormed off without even saying bye.


Joanne Fisher


Word count: 151


This was written with the photo prompt provided by Crimson’s Creative Challenge #90.



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©2020 Joanne Fisher





Unreciprocated (poem)





we never kissed

or even touched,

though i imagined

what it might be

like as your lover,

you seemed both

attracted and repelled,

the nuances of our

desires, i said i

loved you, but

all i got was



Joanne Fisher



Word count: 38 + prompt


This was written with the prompt nuance provided by Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #167.


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©2020 Joanne Fisher

Your Eyes (poem)




Your Eyes



listening to

The Beatles

I asked


what the phrase

girl with kaleidoscope eyes

meant –


she said

look into mine,


in them

I was lost




Joanne Fisher


Word count: 23 + prompt


This was written with the prompt kaleidoscope provided by Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #160.


During the lockdown for some reason I began listening to The Beatles again. As a kid I grew up with The Beatles being played often, but it had been a while since I had heard them. I found it interesting that I remembered all the songs to every last detail. It’s amazing how music just stays in your memory like that. I really loved hearing Sgt. Pepper again. There’s a detailed analysis of the album on Wikipedia. It goes through every song on the album and how they were recorded. It must have been quite amazing when it was first released. I think their creative high point was the Rubber Soul/Revolver/Sgt. Pepper period.


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©2020 Joanne Fisher




Lost: One Golden Ring. Please Return to Owner (poem)


Lost: One Golden Ring. Please Return to Owner



I’ve lost my wonderful golden ring

I forged it myself in the Fire

you don’t know of the joy it did bring

so wickedly proud of it I was


It looked to be of the plainest gold, but when

put on my finger, the heat revealed

fiery letters I inscribed myself then

that’s how you know it’s truly mine


But one day some heartless brute appeared

and hacked off my ring (along with my finger)

I fell to pieces and he just disappeared

my wonderful golden ring was gone


my attacker was careless and managed

to lose it in the bottom of a river

lying there I hope it wasn’t damaged

but since then it’s been found again


I know my ring is out there somewhere

so I sent some servants to search for it

but it seems they couldn’t locate it anywhere

so for now, I sadly have to go without


if you happen to have my golden ring

please consider returning it to me

having it back would make my heart sing

I feel so incomplete without it



Joanne Fisher


Sometimes it’s fun to write from another perspective…



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©2020 Joanne Fisher


Flight into the Unknown (poem)

Ruru (aka Morepork)

Flight into the Unknown

i.m. Gertrude Fisher


old ruru

standing guard


over our totara

it is ending –


fly through

the tall forest


to wherever

it leads…


as you finally



crying mokopuna

surround you



Joanne Fisher


This is sort of a complete rewrite of an older poem. To anyone who isn’t a New Zealander/Aotearoan I may need to explain some words: Ruru (also known as a Morepork) is a native owl. Totara is a native tree that grows very tall. It has very dense wood, thick stringy bark, and needle-like leaves. Mokopuna is the Maori word for grandchildren. One of my favourite Maori words.

This is a poem about my grandmother who died a few years ago now. She collected owl figurines, and so I always saw her as an owl, though some in the family called her Mouse (which I didn’t)…

I’ve deliberately used some Maori symbolism here (though my grandmother was of Irish-German descent). Rurus in Maori mythology were seen as guardians with powers to protect and advise. The totara symbolises life and growth, and also social solidarity, though in this poem I’ve extended it to mean family.





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©2020 Joanne Fisher



The Emptiness (poem)



The Emptiness


I was still only a child

when the dark first entered

and of course nobody cared

so I grew up feeling broken

believing my insides were black

and the vampires saw that

they knew I would let them in

to feed on what was left

it was my own tough luck

I was told I could be cured

so long as I paid lots of money

I didn’t really have, so I figured

no one was actually worried

about whatever happened

and the black emptiness

continued growing



Joanne Fisher



Sorry it’s been a difficult day. Think of this as a plot summary of my childhood and early twenties….



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©2020 Joanne Fisher

The High Castle (poem)



The High Castle



the world is silent now


once something sang

in the branches of the dying tree


it had a name

they all had names


there were names for everything

I cannot remember them


the older I get the less sure I am of anything

all I see is my world falling into darkness


stomping around the empty halls

with a festering wound that will not heal


I wish I could die



I wish I could die




the world has seen

alpha & omega


life still clings to this rock

let go


let go let go let go let go let go let go

before it all


happens again




long ago there was a vision –


a golden chalice

healing the old wounds

of the decayed earth


I do not know if it was meant for me


some days I sit beside the river

choked with dry weeds

watching a fading sun slowly descend


the trees scratching the dead sky

with bony fingers


hoping to see

a stranger

holding aloft

the golden cup


until then, I wait




the vortex

face the fury

& burn



Joanne Fisher



Like Drought Rhythms this is one of my apocalyptic poems. It is based heavily on the Fisher King myth. The narrator has gone slightly insane…



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©2020 Joanne Fisher





Hoarding (Terrible Poetry Contest)






I thought this world crisis was a bit of a caper

and soon the long lines for goods would taper

but when I still go the store

there’s always so many more

all I’ve got left to eat is my stack of loo paper




Due to the virus Bill hoarded beans

as stacks of them were within his means

but after eating so many cans

his butt alone could power vans

and he had to frequently wash his jeans



Joanne Fisher


These “gems” were written for Chelsea Owens’s Terrible Poetry Competition. This weeks prompt was writing a limerick about stockpiling against a worldwide disaster.


Seriously I hope everyone is doing okay at the moment. I’ve not really mentioned the current state of affairs as I feel I’m being bombarded with more than enough information about the Coronavirus and its spread. My country is forcing visitors to two weeks of isolation. So far we’ve only had eight cases and no deaths thankfully. Think of my blog as a place to go for an interesting diversion from all the current issues besetting our world right now…



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©2020 Joanne Fisher



CCC#69: The Mistake (poem)



The Mistake



The two gnomes did silently creep one night

into the Witch’s grounds, the moon so bright

they planned to raid her garden for food

which would put the Witch in a foul mood


“Surely the Witch is here and will see us!”

one said to the other scared of a fuss.

“No, she left on her broom some days ago

and hasn’t returned, so she can’t say no.”


Unknown to them both, the Witch had returned

on her broom earlier that day feeling spurned

She was in a mood, and spied the two gnomes

creeping to her garden, she browsed her tomes


She pulled out her dark wand once they were near

as they approached her crops, she flicked the air

Instantly they were turned into clay figurines

“Serves them right for trying to take my aubergines”


So there the two are in her garden still

a warning not to take against her will

slowly their colours fade and motionless they still stand

if they had asked, she might have given a helping hand.



Joanne Fisher



Word count: 174


I’m 24 words over the limit. I’m sorry about that.


This was written with the photo prompt provided by Crimson’s Creative Challenge #69.


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©2020 Joanne Fisher