2026 NaPM 7 April

[wasellajam]

Canadadaism

I used to have a Canadian pen pal when I was younger...

She sent me imagist poems about bees
and moose in her garden that sang at night,
she told me the Rockies were made of cheese
and crumbled a bit on a windy night.

She had pineapple sandwiches she had
effervescence with her morning essence,
she was whimsical and sometimes sent mad
hieroglyphics wrapped in malevolence.

She blazboodled her fupple in the spring
and once in autumn when it fell again,
she painted flowers and asked them to sing
then danced a dazzle in the dada rain. 

She called me her trumpet but one day said
her jazz songs were over now she'd met Fred.

Well done sonnet, love the feel of this, the language and images.