Welcome to The Kitchen Sink!

•May 23, 2015 • Leave a Comment

The Kitchen Sink

Hi there. This blog is devoted to all manner of creative writing and is (ideally) updated several times each month.

I invite each of you to provide investigations and analyses; poetry and prose; reviews of film, literature, and music. Submit your own dramatic writing, introspective writing, unique and original writing. Submit your own thoughts regarding your politics and passions, hobbies and recommendations.

I invite your comments or criticism; your suggestions and feedback, at any time. Simply e-mail me or insert your desired copy as a comment, with a small note to say so. Please include your own ‘byline’ information, copyright information and/or author’s note so you can be credited for your own work.

More voices mean more variety. Let’s fill this Kitchen Sink with all the beauty and originality it can handle.

Sincerely, Chris Hibbard chris.hibbard@alumni.uleth.ca

Congratulations Old-Timers!

•July 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment

A rant
by Anonymous
July 29, 2015

Congratulations Old-Timers!

Congratulations to all those born before 1990!

First, you survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a tin, and didn’t get tested for diabetes.

Then after that trauma, your baby cots were covered with bright colored lead-based paints. You had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when you rode your bikes, you had no helmets, not to mention, the risks you took hitchhiking.

As children, you would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a van – loose – was always great fun. You drank water from the garden hosepipe and not from a bottle. You shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and no one actually died from this.

Continue reading ‘Congratulations Old-Timers!’


•July 26, 2015 • Leave a Comment

A poem
by Chris Hibbard
For Mary Jane
July 26, 2015


She flips and she twirls
all curves and curls
She spins and she shines
all graceful lines
She dances and moves
all sparkles and grooves
That girl does cartwheels in my heart

She smiles and she waves
all shimmies and shakes
She laughs and she loves
all kisses and hugs
She skips and she hops
All go’s and no stops
That girl does cartwheels in my heart

Worst Day Ever?

•July 24, 2015 • 1 Comment

A poem
by Chanie Gorkin
Republished without permission
July 24, 2015

Worst Day Ever?

Today was the absolute worst day ever
And don’t try to convince me that
There’s something good in every day
Because, when you take a closer look,
This world is a pretty evil place.
Even if
Some goodness does shine through once in a while
Satisfaction and happiness don’t last.
And it’s not true that
It’s all in the mind and heart
True happiness can be obtained
Only if one’s surroundings are good
It’s not true that good exists
I’m sure you can agree that
The reality
My attitude
It’s all beyond my control
And you’ll never in a million years hear me say that
Today was a good day

*Now read from the bottom to the top
And see what I really feel about my day.*

Underneath That Dress

•July 11, 2015 • 2 Comments

A poem for Mary Jane
by Chris Hibbard
July 11, 2015

Underneath That Dress

The mystery is a lovely one
One I can only hope to solve
There’s only clues
Above those shoes
Around this my thoughts revolve

I’m hypnotized and tantalized
And I can only guess
At the hidden treasures
hidden pleasures
That lie underneath that dress

With legs that rise towards the sky
My heart catches in my chest
With hips that twist
my thoughts persist
Eyes linger on her breast

I’m mesmerized and paralyzed
And I can only guess
At the hidden fortune
The perfect proportions
That lie underneath that dress

Hooligans Pt. X

•July 7, 2015 • Leave a Comment

A Children’s Poem
by Chris Hibbard
July 8, 2015

Hooligans Pt. X

Rowan and Norah woke up one day
to find that their mother was gone
They looked upstairs, then out in the yard,
they looked from dusk until dawn

Our hooligan heroes began to get worried
when they’d had no breakfast or lunch
They opened the cupboards and opened the fridge
and their dinner was fruit punch

Meanwhile the kids had continued their search
looking outside and in
They checked out the bathroom, the laundry and more
Even looking inside garbage bins

Eventually they picked up the phone
and called upon their nana
She told them to wait just a few more hours
and to eat peanut butter and bananas

Their mama had never left them before
at least not alone for so long
They called out her name, they cleaned up their rooms,
and they played all of her favorite songs

After a while they called on their father
and he was quite upset
He said he’s come over, said he’d call the cops
said they’d catch her in their net

But they waited… and waited… and nobody came
Not mama, not nana, nor dad
They waited… and waited… and waited some more
And their mood changed from worried to mad

How could their mother, who loved them so much
Leave them like this, all alone?
Didn’t she know their was daycare and school?
Yet she left them here at home

Then they thought, “Maybe she didn’t…
Maybe she was taken away!
By aliens, kidnappers, pirates and thieves
who expected a ransom or pay!”

And just when they had about given up
believing their mama would never come back
The alarm went off, the sun shone in
and their nightmare was just that

Hooligan Mama was here all along
Sleeping soundly in the bed next door
They hugged her and held her and told her they loved her
Said “Please don’t leave us alone any more!”

Onward We Will March

•June 27, 2015 • 1 Comment

A poem
by Chris Hibbard
June 28, 2015

Onward We Will March

Deep into the trees
We will march
We will march
Deeper still we go
We will march
We will march
We will plunge into the forest
We will march
We will march

And when we’ve gotten lost
We will stop
We will stop
Oh yes when we’ve gone too far
We will stop
We will stop

But we will not turn around
No we will march
We will march
We will seek out wild places
We will march
We will march
We will visit places unexplored
We will march
We will march

And when we’ve seen enough
We will stop
We will stop
When we think we’ve seen it all
We will stop
We will stop

But we cannot now retreat
So we will march
We will march
There’s nothing for us back there now
So we will march
We will march
And onward we will go
So we will march
We will march
Until our bodies can march no more

And we will stop
It will stop

The Voice Of Addiction

•June 25, 2015 • 2 Comments

A poem
by Carrie Roush
Copyright March 2008
Recommended by Mary Jane Horsman
Posted June 25, 2015

The Voice Of Addiction

Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.
I’ve been waiting for your call.
I’ve noticed you’ve been crying,
And, I’ve watched you pace the halls.

Whatever has been hurting you,
I can make it disappear.
You know you have nothing to lose,
Nothing to live for, nothing to fear.

Thank you, for your invention.
I’ll be sure not to leave your side.
We’ll become very fast acquainted.
My naive child, there’s no use trying to hide.

I should probably introduce myself.
I am your very own addiction.
But, you can not be angry with me.
I am you own self-conviction.

Continue reading ‘The Voice Of Addiction’


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