Vol. 4, No. 3
Writers:
Dorothyanne Brown – Learning again
Richard Collins – A dull place
Brian Downey – There It Is
Harry Garrison – Fun With Inertia
Ron Gillis – Song
Alex Hanam – inventory
Emily Krauss – Sit by the Ocean
Ian James Matheson – Each Piece Is A Niche
Nina Mazel – Untitled
Mike McFetridge – Avro Arrow
Ayesha Mushtaq – Lest
Nicole D. Myers – Mid-Sentence
Jaywant Patil – Living by the gun
Kelsey Patterson – Faded Colours
Allison Rangeley – Scars
Wendy Watkinson – Grief
Tamara Williams – I Am She
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Learning again
Sonnet by Dorothyanne Brown
When I was just a tiny girl
I used to want to find my boy
But now that my whole life’s awhirl
I find that men, they do annoy.
They want a gal to fill their tum
And keep them warm and often touched
Unless I cheer them, they are glum
And lay about and scratch and such.
But as I age I feel the ache
Of living lone and sans a mate
It seems I must a big step take
And find a chum before too late
To learn to care again is tough
I only hope to love enough.
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A dull place
Poem Richard Collins
What he has lulled under a dull orange
or pulling back the bed sheets
Keeps underneath them
feet wrapped Garroted
And the guillotine draped arm
Strapped what he has pulled
Is not easily willed as the limb
Or a sleeve frayed and burgundy
once he hid allayed
But lost every vestige became
Worn happy he once hid to play
away in a dull orange place
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There It Is
Poem by Brian Downey
There it is, that sea again,
that wash of stars,
that breeze again.
There it shines, that moon again,
through Greek pines,
that light again.
There you are near me again,
a hand, a mouth,
a kiss again.
I smile, I write a note to you
with love, and care
and hope again.
I lift you high, I hold you close,
you wrap me
with real love again.
I breathe, I sigh, I laugh again.
And listen to
Your heart, so soft,
And we talk
Our worlds again.
And there it is, that sea again,
It whispers
of what’s clear again,
on rolling sand
through glowing wave,
that ebb, that flow…
It is here that we begin again.
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Fun With Inertia
Poem by Harry Garrison
Seating’s at capacity,
but the seated don’t spectate.
The contestants stand.
They do not fight each other.
They grapple with inertia.
Every time the bus lurches
they have to keep from falling.
These are The Inertia Games.
…Inertia is worsened, and things
…go downhill, both literally
…and figuratively, when the driver
…‘rides the brake.’ That’s what
…I call it when the driver hits
…the brake over and over again
…as the bus goes down a hill.
…It annoys me even if I’m sitting.
I think you should receive a foul
if you play in The Inertia Games,
and your backpack strikes someone
who is sitting down. A woman hit
me with her backpack. I told her
she had done it and she said,
“Sorry! I didn’t know!” I said,
“I know. That’s why I told you.”
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Fleeting image appear in mind,
Set on paper born a rhyme,
Juggle words to and fro,
Song takes shape lyrical flow.
Song is telling of fable,
Set to music ever more playful,
Message sent to all who listen,
May song bring, joy happiness vision.
Song penned pleasant to ear,
Now time for world to hear,
Waiting each day for reply,
May song meet favourable eye.
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I found a sucker for those wretched
charms
and a workout for your open arms
a secret pill to quit your wit
and a leather case for your sewing kit
an opaque pink to rouge your cheeks
a good bleach for your menstrual sheets
a Bible lock for the gates of Hell
and a lipstick for my Jezebel
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Sit by the Ocean
Poem Emily Krauss
Sit by the ocean,
And listen to the waves, crashing aggressively,
Against the jagged and grey, rocks.
Watch the fierce waves,
Rumble in the water after a ferryboat passes by.
See the birch trees swaying back and forth
in the wind.
And watch the seagulls dive for ocean treasures.
Sit by the ocean,
And listen to the waves, crashing aggressively,
Against the jagged and grey, rocks.
Feel the warmth of the sand
oozing between your toes.
Smell the fresh salt in the air
that is all around you.
Let nature engulf your entire body
into the spirit of the great outdoors.
Sit by the vast and lonely ocean,
Listen with all your might to the waves,
Crashing aggressively, against,
the jagged and grey rocks.
Watch the mango orange sunset appear
like magic in the evening sky
And enjoy living in the moment.
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Each Piece Is A Niche
Poem by Ian James Matheson
Each piece is a niche,
Intertwined underneath,
And between all these teeth
A man breathes his belief.
The lightly lit hallways
Have limitless ceilings,
And figments fall faceless
Like allusions to meanings.
Wrought iron’s worn rotten
Where water had gone,
It’s worth written off when
Things forgotten went wrong.
These slick streets see
Serotonin-scarce seraphim
Orphaned by endorphins
Playing theremins for heroin
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Leaves fall swiftly from the trees
a golden autumn evening
back from a poetry reading
I feel inspired
you can’t force inspiration
The last leaves fall from the trees
it’s the beginning of winter
time passes in a blur
I love the snow
white, pure, untouched
I fall to the ground and make a snow angel
I’m reminded of my childhood
and drinking a hot chocolate
after coming inside from the snowy weather
I still think of him
even after all this time
and I cannot figure out why
I thought it was unrequited
but it turns out
he feels it too
that it
that love
I know it’s true.
Where does inspiration come from?
for me it falls like the leaves from the trees.
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Avro Arrow
Poem by Mike McFetridge
It shot off the ground,
and into the sky;
Its creators knew how,
but they didn’t know why
This invention of theirs,
over which they did harrow,
Would become the incessant,
the true Avro Arrow.
Canadian at birth,
Canadian true through,
The Avro Arrow,
at birth, was so new;
It brightened the day,
it challenged the Blue;
And so put away,
no longer thought through.
So was this our chance,
for our nation to rise?
To inspire the world,
to challenge the skies?
Poor Diefenbaker,
in hindsight, thought narrow,
And he moth-balled the future
Of the one Avro Arrow.
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I fear to touch you,
Lest my leprosy befalls you.
I fear to speak to you,
Lest I steal your words.
I fear to begin,
Lest it ends.
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Mid-Sentence
Poem by Nicole D. Myers
loquacious
garrulous
vociferous
effusive turn of phrase
exhilarating intelligence
orated & pronounced
written & published
voluminous
extensive
bounteous
in mid-sentence
in mid-monologue
poised & uninterrupted
memorized & immortalized
at present
their own persuasion
a library of completeness
uttered in pure confidence
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Living by the gun
Poem by Jaywant Patil
Those who live by the sword will perish by it
said Christ, which Americans have forgotten.
If they continue to live by the gun
they are likely to perish by the gun.
A society that loves and worships their guns
clings to them for they feel insecure.
Even innocent children play gun games.
More guns around makes them more insecure.
More guns and more killing
continue to go into a vicious cycle.
America the land of milk and honey
has become a land of guns and bloody.
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Faded Colours
Poem by Kelsey Patterson
I used to dream in colour.
Vibrant and gleaming in unworldly glow.
Senses blooming in the haze
with particles of sight and sound,
melting away as I wake.
You breathed into every day.
Taking it one inhalation at a time,
leaving pieces of your soul
in the webs of my mind.
Left tangled and intertwined within.
I framed you in black and white.
Ebony frame, cream border,
Grayscale where blue skies once were.
Cold and impersonal,
Your eyes cannot shine behind the glass.
This reality I faced in silence.
I now dream in monochrome.
And in my sleep your grin
still has me smiling ear to ear.
But memories fade and fold over
Like pieces of paper,
left discarded and sodden in the morning light.
I remember your eyes
Suns wrapped in stormy seas
mirrored wherever the waves meet the sky.
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Scars
Poem by Allison Rangeley
I Have Scars Lots Of Them Some Of Them Are Physical Scars
That You Can See On My Arms. But The Deepest And Most Harmful Ones Are The Emotional Scars, These Are Scars I Have Acquired From Years Of Bullying, Lack Of Self Esteem, Being Overweight, Having A Learning Disability And A Mental Illness And The List Goes On These Are The Scars That Will Likely Be Lifelong.
If You Had Asked Me When I Was Say Fourteen Or Fifteen
How I Got The Scar On My Wrist I Would Have Told You It
Was A Childhood Accident If You Then Went On To Ask Me If I Had Any Other Scars I Would Tell You About The Scars From Scraping My Knees And Elbows Falling On The Playground Or From Scratching Too Much When I Had Chickenpox.
What I Would Not Mention Is That I Had Been Bullied
Since Primary School Or That I Was Picked On For Being Different, For Being Slow And Doing Poorly On My
Assignments In School Because I Had A Learning Disability Or Because I Acted Odd Because At The Time I Had An
Undiagnosed Mental Illness.
Now That I Am An Adult I Realize These Emotional Scars Are
Just As Harmful If Not More Then The Physical Ones. I Have Hidden My Emotional Scars From Society My Entire Life Even From My Closest Friends. And Now That I Am Older And Understand These Are Scars I Am Willing Although Still
Nervous To Open Up About Them So That Others Can Learn
From My Experience And Not Feel The Need To Hide Their Emotional Scars.
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curled up asleep
as calm as the dawn
the hue is so blue
and you know you know
next to you next to me
hearing you breathe
hearing you leave
softly so softly
what is left now
feel so bereft now
are we any closer
are we any closer to knowing
hold me hold me as i cry
and when the earth meets the sky
you know you know
how i love you
how i miss you
how i want to be with you
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IAmShe
Poem by Tamara Williams
I am she who visits in the light
of the moon
sliding under the sheets
I am she who comes,
in your dreams
delivering hidden messages
to be unraveled throughout
your waking hours
I am she who dances
mesmerizing like a flame,
with solar flare sways
I am she whose eyes
captivate and lure you
deeper and deeper until–
you can’t breathe
I am she who has you,
right where you want to be
I am she who visits in the light
of the moon
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Open Heart Forgery 