Monday 26 November 2018

Poetry Monday: King Tut (It's a short poem today, I promise)

It's Poetry Monday! The topic this week is King Tut, highly relevant because November is the anniversary of the discovery of his tomb in 1922.

Join Diane and me (Delores is on hiatus for now) as we break the seal on our thoughts about this momentous event in history. If you would like to leave a poem on this or any topic, please feel free to post it in the comments on either of our blogs. Or if you prefer to post on your own blog, leave us a comment to let us know where to find you.


As I suspect many of you did, I grew up with a general idea of who King Tut was. I can't remember where I first read or heard of his tomb and its dazzling treasures; it's one of those bits of information that I must have encountered in elementary school because it seems to have been in my brain for a long, long, looooooong time.

I decided to go back and re-read about the famous Boy King. If you would like a refresher, this link will take you to a Wikipedia entry. 

In reading about what is known of the young king's health in his short lifetime, I was struck by the suffering he must have endured. DNA studies and x-rays and other tests done on his mummified remains have provided evidence that he likely had some or all of the following: a cleft palate, mild scoliosis, congenital fusion of seven vertebrae in his neck, a deformed foot caused by the death of bone tissue, numerous episodes of malaria, and a compound fracture and infection in one leg.

These are serious health concerns even in today's world. Imagine what it must have been like in a time over 3,000 years ago, when there was no real help for these issues. King Tut died when he was only 18 or 19. There are numerous theories about the cause of his death, but his medical issues alone make one reflect on how fragile his health must have been.

However . . . as often seems to happen to me . . . what stayed in my brain most clearly, despite the serious matter of this young man's short life and early death, is one relatively mundane fact:  that his internal organs, like those of many other mummies, were found separate from the rest of his body. They had been removed and stored in jars (called canopic jars). Keeping the mooshy parts of the body apart from the body proper makes sense, I suppose, given the high moisture content in them, but it was one of those bits of information that seems to be now stuck in my head in a more easily accessible spot than I might have wished.

Aaaaaaand . . . that brings us to my poem. This week, a limerick!


Of All The Things About Which I Could Have Excellent Recall, Why Oh Why . . .

King Tut was a very old mummy
His innards were not in his tummy
They'd been put in a jar
OMG, how bizarre
When I die, please don't take mine frummy

(Note: If you have a better last line for this crummy/yummy poem, please please please let me know, because the rhymes for mummy and tummy are few and far between. Thank you. Thank you very much.)

Always read the label. And if it's a question mark? Don't eat the contents.

 By the way, this is what King Tut's jars actually look like:

© Charlie Phillips - Canopic Jars of Tutankhamun (found at: I believe copyright means I'm not supposed to use this photo here without permission, so if it disappears you'll know my blog has been discovered by an excellent photographer and I've been asked to take down his photo. Somehow I don't see that happening, but you never know. I just thought it was really interesting that "jar" doesn't always mean what I think of as a jar. These are beautiful.

P. S.  Yes indeed, it was a short poem. I didn't promise anything about the remainder of the post. Not short. Not short at all. Sorry about that. I have to try to do better in future.


Wishing you a good week, people!

. . . Preferably a week filled with something other than trivia that will get stuck in your head and make you feel squeamish for days . . . . . . .

Update:  Next week's topic is "gifts" . . .

Monday 19 November 2018

Poetry Monday: The Things We Build

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is "the things we build."

Join Diane and I (Delores is on hiatus for now) as we construct stuff using nails, glue, double-sided sticky tape, a deck of cards, staples, our imaginations, and/or spit. Or maybe . . . snow.

If you'd like to take part, you can leave your poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or if you prefer to post on your own blog, please leave a note in the comments to let us know where to find you.

Today my poem comes without a lot of preamble, but with a whole lot of poem. But I think once you get started it will roll along nicely.

I hope.


How To Build A Snowman: A Guide For Grownups

First, get one or more kids.
Then, make it snow.
(Make sure it's sticky snow.)
(Preferably in a flat place.)
(Six inches of snow is just about perfect.)
(This is probably the hardest part of the whole thing.)
Then, dress kids in warm clothing.
Include mittens, please.
Snow is very cold.
Show kids how to pack the snow into a snowball,
Using their mittened hands.
Replace mittens on kids' hands
If they stick to the snow.
The mittens, not the kids' hands.
Then put the snowball on the snowy flat place
And push it around.
If you like to be orderly, roll in a straight line.
If you want to have fun, roll in all directions.
But not all at once.
Because that's kind of impossible.
Although it's fun to try.
Reminds me of a line from a Stephen Leacock story.
(Stephen Leacock was a funny Canadian author.)
(If you have time, read the whole story.)
(It's hilarious.)
Where was I? Oh yes.
The ball will grow quickly.
Stop when it gets too heavy to push.
Try to stop in a place where it can be seen
And admired.
While you have a rest,
Have kids make another ball of snow
Not quite as big as the first.
If time and snow permit,
Have kids make a third ball of snow
Not quite as big as the second.
Now it's your turn again, big person.
Put the medium snowball on the large snowball
And put the small snowball on the medium snowball.
I know it's complicated but you can do it.
Don't hurt your back.
Find some pieces of coal to make eyes, mouth and buttons.
Wait, people don't use coal at home anymore.
That might be tricky.
Maybe use little rocks instead.
Or twigs from a tree.
Or seed pods from the dead plants in your garden
Because all the plants will be dead
Because snow.
Where was I? Oh yes.
Or use something from your fridge
Like prunes or plum pits or peach pits.
Use your imagination.
Do I have to think of everything for you?
While you're rooting in the fridge
Find an old carrot that you don't want to eat.
A parsnip will work also.
Broccoli can be used in a pinch.
And if you ask me, it's a better use of broccoli
Than eating it.
Where was I? Oh yes.
Stick that in the snowman's head to make a nose.
If you have an old scarf and hat,
Please add those, too.
If you're feeling wild and crazy
Use a colander for a hat.
Snowmen don't get cold.
Well, they're cold to start with
But you know what I mean.
However, they like to be well-dressed.
Don't give your snowman a pipe, though.
Even though a pipe is classic snowman ornamentation,
Smoking is bad for them.
If you have enough time, and enough snow,
Build another snowman
Or a snowdog. Or a snow cat. Or a snow donkey.
Use your imagination.
But above all,
Make sure the kids have fun.
And loosen up and have fun yourself.
You big person with the kid inside.

Basic snowman for illustrative purposes.

Actual snowman in the wild.

This is what happens when the snow is too shallow. It's a snowgrassman. But fun in its own way.

Snowman with collander hat. Maybe it's a cooking pot. It's hard to tell.

Non-smoking celebratory snowman celebrates.

Littlest snowman ever. This is how you take your snowman indoors to take his picture. Put him in a foil tart pan. I love this little guy.

(Photos: Pixabay. Thanks, all you generous people who contribute free use of your awesome pictures for others to enjoy.)


Thanks for reading, my people. If you get the chance to make a snowman, embrace it. The chance, I mean. Heck, embrace the snowman, too. Act like a big kid. You'll be glad you did.


Update:  Next week's topic, as described in Diane's own words:

 "This day in 1922,

King Tut's room was brought to view!"

Well, now . . . that will be a bit of a challenge, at least for me!

Thursday 15 November 2018

Poetry Monday on Thursday: Someplace Warm

So, it seems I owe Poetry Monday a poem . . .

The topic this week is "someplace warm" . . . Join Diane and I as we visit this subject at a time when our Canadian weather is heading for "someplace cold" . . . (Delores is on hiatus for the time being.)

Travel with us to your own warm place -- where would it be? Feel free to leave a poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or on  your own blog -- if you do that, please leave a note in the comments to let us know how to find you.


Daughter and family are safely landed in their new city far, far, FAR away . . . and we had a good final visit with them before their departure. I have carefully filed away those good memories in a safe place in my head, right beside the storage spot for my name, so I'll be able to retrieve them easily. And now that the wrench of seeing them leave has come and gone, I am able to start looking ahead to the time when we will see them again.

Close to home, our weather is not just heading for someplace cold, the cold has arrived with snow and gale force winds. Just after Daughter and family flew out of Nova Scotia, we got walloped with an early snowstorm. Within twelve hours, the snow was gone again -- washed away by rain and a sudden rise in temperature. Within another twelve hours, the red line in our outdoor thermometer had dropped like a stone and the wind had come up. Result: -20C (-4F) with the wind chill factor, and it felt every degree that cold.

Boom -- winter! Boots, scarves, winter jackets and gloves -- all hauled out of the back of the closet and gratefully worn.

And along with all the winter clothing, I've got memories to keep me warm.

Read on.


Warm Places

A southerly latitude would be warmer by far;
Or a day in mid-summer, whilst inside a closed car;
A fire in the stove would be cozy and roasty;
Wearing sweaters and socks would be nearly as toasty;

But the things that will keep me the warmest, somehow,
Are the memories I'm wrapping myself in right now.

Hot chocolate, and love.

 (Photo: Pixabay)



Update:  Next week's theme is "the things we build" . . .



Monday 12 November 2018

Poetry Monday . . . delayed this week

There will be a slight delay as Donkey waves forlornly at Daughter and family as they disappear into the wild blue yonder . . .

But here's a consolation poem:

Photo courtesy of

As Arnie in all his movie incarnations was fond of saying: "I'll be back . . ."

Monday 5 November 2018

Poetry Monday: Common Sense

It's Poetry Monday, and this week's topic is "common sense."

Join Diane and I as we try to make sense of common sense. (Delores is on hiatus for the time being.)

You can leave your poem in the comments on either of our blogs, or if you want to post it on your own blog, please leave us a comment so we can find you and cheer you on. Use the topic or not; the objective is just to exercise our brains and have fun.


I had a whole long meandering post written about how I'm not really sure what common sense is, and whether you're born with it or if you can acquire it through actively seeking knowledge and experience, and how I've never, ever been accused of having it (which feels like it's probably a bad thing,) and how some things that come easily to me don't come easily to other people, and vice versa, and I wasn't really getting anywhere with the post except making myself so bored my eyes were rolling around in my head, and I figured in the interest of not driving everyone away I'd better get right to the poem.

So I did. Here it is. It's the same thing I just wrote except the lines are shorter and there is punctuation. I hope your eyes don't roll around in your head.


Common Sense

What is common sense?
Is it something
We are born with?
Or do we acquire it
Through experience?
I am curious
Because I feel I lack it
And I've been trying
My entire adult life
To develop it.
Tell me.
Tell me what you think.

Is it something you're born with?

Or can you learn it?


Thank you for reading. Apologies for a rather lacklustre poetry effort. My mind has been very occupied with our daughter's impending move to the USA. The leaving date is one week and one day away. I'm feeling pretty bleak as the date gets closer.

Wishing you a good week, my friends.

Update:  Next week's topic is . . . "someplace warm" . . .