Tag Archives: poetry

National Poetry Month

I didn’t know April was National Poetry Month! Did you?!~


I just found out this morning ūüôā¬†Thanks, social media.

Want to celebrate it with me and take on the 100 Haiku Challenge ?!

Coincidentally, last year on March 31, 2015 I decided to write 100 Haikus in 100 days. This year, ¬†to celebrate National Poetry month I am going to do it again! Only this time I do not have 100 days, I have 30 (well actually 27 now because I’m 3 days late) to write 100 Haikus!

Some of them will likely suck- but others might just be dynamite- who knows- follow me on twitter to see the words unfold.

This might even become an annual April tradition.

#100Haikus #HaikuChallenge


Heidi J. Loos

T. Bug

Ever heard of the travel bug?!

Here’s a poem I wrote for the Northern Bard poetry contest in #WhatsUpYukon¬†

With beautiful artwork by Lyndsie!

Check it out and if you like it, please comment on it in What’s Up Yukon or share it on your Twitter, Facebook, & other social media pages!

Thanks guys! xoxo


Hashtag #HaikuChallenge

Just as I was about to fall asleep last night, I had this intense urge to write a bunch of Haikus. And I had this thought:

One Hundred Haikus

Instead of Status Updates

New Writing Challenge.

Seriously though, how cool would it be if we just started replacing our tweets and Facebook updates with daily silly, dirty, goofy, sappy, wacky, witty, emotional and even radical haikus and we just flood the interwebs with micropoetry?! People won’t even see it coming, all the sudden, all over their newsfeeds it will be like BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM 5-7-5: Poems FROM everyone, FOR everyone. Literally, Poetry, Everywhere (on the internet). Then I looked up #HaikuChallenge on Twitter

and obviously it is already a thing! I’m just the last to know about it!

It’s not that surprising though,¬†even though I have a degree in Creative Writing, I have never been that up to date with current trends of any kind. Things sort of need to weasel their way into bubble. I had never even attempted to write a Haiku until just over a week ago at a Brave New Writing workshop here in Whitehorse. I never took poetry at UBC, I mostly stuck to prose: short-fiction, long-fiction, non-fiction, writing for children, script-writing and song lyrics. Although arguably song lyrics are a form of poetry- melodic haikus were not included.

I think I was really inspired by my friend Shiphrah who is taking on the SketchaDay challenge for one year. I keep seeing all of her new art everyday on Facebook and I’m loving it. It’s such a nice break from all the usual viral videos, memes, and selfies on my feed. Plus it’s always amazing to witness how much anyone can improve at something if they do it every single day.

I often write about “Writing” on here: the challenges, obstacles, not having enough time for writing, comparing myself to other writers, things you shouldn’t do as a writer, etc… My biggest problem though, is my writing goals. Most of the time they are just too freaking big, they’re not obtainable. No one can write a novel in a day! Not that this was my goal, but, in a month maybe… Because some people can do it in a month! ¬†But some people can write 15,000 words in a day, others 10,000 or 5,000 or just 5,00…but it doesn’t matter what other people do, or what they can do. It matters what you do. And, if you want to improve on something, you have to just buckle down and do it. Agreed? So start small, baby steps.

Three Lines a Day!

I am challenging myself to write ONE Haiku every day for One Hundred Days.

#HaikuChallenge #100Haikus

Some of them will likely suck, but some will be funny, and maybe even witty? I’ll post them to my Twitter and Facebook Page daily, so you can be the judge. I think it will be fun challenge. And not as easy as you may think, (at least not for me) for I struggle the MOST with short, brief, and concise. Just look at that sentence for example, I list synonyms constantly instead of just choosing one word. Because, I like them all: these words, and, I like a lot of words, so I like to use lots of words, and repeat a lot of my words, generally just get bogged down and wordy. So I think this challenge will not only help me to improve on my newest endeavour of haiku writing, it will also help me improve my writing for all genres!

If you want to, I’d love it if you would take on this #HaikuChallenge with me and write #100Haikus over the next 100 Days.

I believe in you

Let’s do this thing, together

One Hundred Haikus.



Emerging from the Low

The clouds rolled in sometime in March

Thick shadows of grey and black

My internal weatherman predicted storms

God knows I’m prone to highs and lows

but God doesn’t even exist.

I know, I’m prone to highs and lows.

Usually I wouldn’t have it any other way

I like to, feel, everything…

But this time I got stuck , down deep, in a rut

Discouraged from the bottom of the canyon

Not even bothering to look up

to touch the rock or clay

I curled in the fetal position

And pitied myself

For months

Hoping if I just lay there very still

Something would happen

The earth would start to shake

Someone would find me and pull me out

But how could that even happen, when I had no light to shine

No voice to call for help

“I can’t connect with anyone.”

I just kept saying over and over again

Shutting my doors. Pulling the blankets over my head.

Letting sleep take me away.

“That’s how everyone feels, sometimes” my mother would say.

Just go on Anti-depressents already,

that’s what the others would say.

I can’t.

I won’t.

I don’t know why.

I locked my ambition in a box

and lost the key

My passion drowned in the sewer pipes down the street

I stayed in a box

Walls on each side, protecting me from anymore harm

not even the sunshine could bring me back to life

May, June, July,
August: my favourite month

Still the world was grey

and I did my best to escape

eat more, drink more, sleep more,

watch TV,

sleep again.

I am forever tired

forever trying to escape,

but today I finally feel different,

if only just a little.

A tiny spark-



Words on the tip of my tongue…

Le Ciel de Fromage


I feel the steam on my face

Like a lovers breath in winter

Thick with wine and stringy with Swiss

I dive in head first

Plunge deep into the depths of Cheddar and Gouda

I do the backstroke in a pool filled with cheese

I dolphin through the thick, creamy abyss

Making waves in melted Gruyere

Creating ripples in the pot



Dipping, Dunking,

Dribbling cheese down my chin

Le ciel de fromage.

I swish, swish, swish,


and bite, into heavan.

My body is transformed

My mind, reborn

I emerge

Sopping wet, sticky, and warm

Smelling of Sauvignon Blanc and a Dairy farm

I remember that as a kid I used to say: I’d like to be baptized in milk

But that was before I decided to boycott religion

and before

I discovered cheese fondue.


xx HJL


Inspiration from the Uninspired

I finally made another video‚Ķ it’s been awhile!! But hence the title I’ve been a little uninspired as of late and suffering from my annual case of seasonal depression, blah. Well, it wasn’t so bad last January when I was living in AUSTRALIA! Haha, but I’m pumping myself with vitamin D, and starting to see the light, making this video helped!
I recently got final cut pro X so I am going to be making lots of short videos in the coming days. ūüôā subscribe to my channel if you like what you see!

An Open Letter to the Man who Assaulted Me


Do you know who I am?

Do you recognize my face,

when you come in and sit down at the restaurant where I work

Do you remember me?

My eyes,

My thighs… My breast, (the right one)

the one you squeezed hard

With your right hand underneath your left arm pressing into my chest

When you took up two seats instead of one

Pressing me into the window

On the 99 B-line

Do you even remember that night, three years ago?

My silent fight, the longest bus ride of my life,

The one I’m still on in my mind when see you-

re-living, re-riding

Only this time I’ll kick you,

I’ll stab you with a fork,

smash a wine glass over your head while your eating-

Do you think that I won’t?

Because I can’t…

Do you remember my face?

When your breathing got heavy, and my eyes got wide

Because I was so fucking scared I felt sick, and couldn’t move

Like I was six years old again, weak and small,

And if I screamed, you would pull out a gun, or a knife or just do it with with your massive bare hands on my neck

So I felt safer being silent-

Do you remember?

Do you relive it too?

Does the memory arouse you?

And does it make you feel good, seeing me now,


Knowing that you still scare me, still have power over me…

Or do you not remember me at all?!?

Do you notice that I won’t meet your gaze, won’t look you in the eyes

Do you notice that even though you are sitting in my section I don’t serve you,

I make the other server take your order instead!

Am I one of so many, you don’t even notice me,

noticing you,

remembering you-

Don’t you remember that random girl you assaulted on a bus

Three years ago

Or do you think maybe, that it could be me, but then second guess yourself like I do,

Think you’re crazy for reliving something stupid that happened three years ago

When it wasn’t a ‘big deal’ …right?

Do you question your sense of self?

Your safety?

Your memory?

Your own mind

Because it’s bent out of shape from trauma

and reliving trauma–

Are you,


And would you do it again to me now

Or do I look older, tougher,

not the same easy target as I was back then,

Or maybe you’ve changed too

Maybe you respect women now,

feel bad,

feel sad for your actions

and guilty and sorry, when you see me…

Either way,

I hope you choke on your lunch.

The Rotten Olive


With eyes turned inwards in contemplation

You write the words on the inside of your skull

You rehearse every line until its damn near perfect

So when it finally comes out it sounds like a recording

Not even your voice

Played back on their answering machine

With no response

No call back…

But this is real life, face to face,

you have no technology to hide behind

You say what you wanted,

what you needed to say, but it comes out sounding different than you imagined

A little more fucked up than you intended

Not like the conversations you practiced in your head

Filling the empty spaces with hypothetical responses

Words that were so sweet and understanding

They smelled like freshly washed laundry

Tasted like brie cheese with pear on salted crackers

And it all went down smoothly, and the guilt was fleeting

in your mind, like,

“So what if you indulged a little too freely and it shows in your Brunswick Street dress”¬†

But her silence is worse than the rotten olive stuck in your oesophagus 

you choke, reword, retell, try again


No spoonfuls of steamy dialogue to drip down your chin

She tells you to strip that damn grin off your face

You strip off layers of fabric instead. 

And you laugh and smile harder because you’re nervous

about having another one of these hard conversations you don’t want to have

But know you have to

She asks you if you are just with her because it’s easy

“And you say seriously? This, easy?”

It’s not always easy, to be honest.




Whom Do You Wear Your Poppy For?

Whom Do You Wear Your Poppy For?.


Check out this giant chalk poem we wrote at the Vancouver Art Gallery for Remembrance Day.

(If you’d like to read the full poem, just click on the link above!)

I think it is important that we think critically about glorifying soldiers and war, but I think it is extremely important that we actively remember, pass down stories, memories, names, of all different individuals, soldiers AND civilians, who came before us and who lost their lives to war…

What do you think?


“Oo Oo Ee Ee”


Two drunken monkeys

in our rainbow jungle

you force me to eat bananas because they’re healthy

I eat them because what kind of monkey would I be if I didn’t like bananas, right?

(But I don’t, really…)

They’re too squishy… and phallic.

But I would gladly pick bugs out of your fur

if you had any.

I would groom you all over,

even if you had the unfortunate disposition of a baboon’s backside.

(It’s okay if that doesn’t make sense to you.)

But NO ONE belongs in a zoo.

I would swing from the vines to save you from the lions, the cougars,

and¬†the hyenas… those beautiful, vicious,¬†bitches.

I would, and I will.

But for now, I will sit and wait, keep watch from my tree top, ten storeys high

Head in the clouds, in the rainbows, in my jungle

waiting for my monkey

to return safely home.