November 2019


View Issue vol. 10, no. 8
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)

Select the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and all poems by that author.

LeeAnn Wallage BrownImprinted

Charles BullBeing God

Normand CarreyThe Cathedral Fig Tree

Marilyn ChallisGift Haiku for Mother Nature

Harry GarrisonSymbols And Signs

Jari-Matti HelppiFlittering Truth

Breton Lalamashe told me do it for the story

Scott Lynch O

Harry Wayne Mahshhh… pub in.action

David Mac EachernIn the Making

Richard S. PayneVibes

Justin PettipasRespite

Jenna PiersonToo Long at the Fair

Len RussoHalifax 2019

Rod Stewart October Maples

Jasmin StofferHome: a Meditation

Cynthia Taylor Acoustic

Ian Thomson-MckinnonMetaphysics

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Halifax 2019
Poem by Len Russo

All day I hear the sound
of tape being pulled off a roll
as my neighbour packs his things in the hall.

Another of the “oldies”
is moving out as our new landlord ups the rents 30
percent, in this town
gone lunatic making money.

Downtown is mostly
student housing now,
and old wood houses
under tall trees are being jigged into air b&b’s
by the clever landlords.

Cranes are everywhere
as towers go up high,
all metal and glass.
They all look alike.
Seldom a graceful wood
detail among them.

And the oldies? They flee
reliably to the outer burbs,
where malls spare you
too many sidewalks. A bus
chugs along every half-hour.
The rents are 20 percent lower.
For now.

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Flittering Truth
Poem by Jari-Matti Helppi

I saw a truth once.
It flittered past me as I tied my shoe.
I stood up from the effort
and asked myself why I don’t buy loafers?
That’s when the truth flittered by.
Didn’t ask a thing or wag a finger.
It just flittered and was gone.

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Poem by Justin Pettipas

He leaned against a tree
And tried to share its relief at the rain.

With the flick of his lighter
The tree gave a shudder.

So he made a quiet apology
At the start of his cigarette.

The smoke hung in the air
Like a ghost umbrella.

When the clouds had dried up
He said thanks and moved on.

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Poem by Cynthia Taylor

I forgot who I was.
I forgot the sound my soul made
I forgot that feeling that used to pulse

Acoustics strumming inside my head
Drums seeming to order my heartbeat
Melody directing my soul

Emotions rippling as if sound waves
Emanating from where I hadn’t felt in years
Erasing all lost time, tears and fears.

For this moment in time I am who I was
So many years ago before
I forgot the sound my soul made

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she told me do it for the story
Poem by Breton Lalama

we were flying over hollywood and i swore
i saw your name in star lights
i took a bite out of the clouds
because your voice kept
echoing against the smooth parts
of my skull
“do it”
you said
“do it for the story”

i swallowed cotton to write you gold
i hope it tasted like your shine
i hope you still pour cream into your
still look sideways at
bright lights

i hope whoever’s kissing you is doing
it right

i left bruises like breadcrumbs across
your collar bones so whoever
came after me would know
the path to your home
coming, baby

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Home: a Meditation
Poem by Jasmin Stoffer

As guru(s) say
We are all journeying forward
Today and tomorrow we remain

I sit next to you
Even if we are far away
And you don’t know me we connect

Our souls are
Connecting and to be here now
Is to love so deeply

Through the fog of
Ambition and greed and corruption
I hear you I listen

Sit down on the
Cushion do you hear me
Breathing in light and passing it on

I would like very much
To help walk you home
If you’ll have me wholly and

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Poem by Ian Thomson-Mckinnon

Existence is structured
From Concepts
to breathing
When dreaming exposure
to insight and feeling
There’s colours
They swerve intermingle
There’s blood on the table removal is certain
Tapestry of sky
Woven to structure
There’s time within patience
There’s time within sound
Existence is structured
From concepts
to breathing
Ideals of good are inherently fleeting.

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Poem by Scott Lynch

cherub faced dynamo
radiating energy
like the Shai Hulud*
eyes portals to sprightly wonders
listicle Lolita
trying to control her world
piercings all but healed
balancing on the cusp of maternity
seeking meaning and place
with all her being
to be

* Dune, Frank Herbert

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October Maples
Poem by Rod Stewart

A crimson ocean,
Of quivering butterflies,
Whispering beneath
Autumn’s brisk breath.

A chandelier,
Hung with ten thousand shards
Of stained glass,
All ablaze
With day’s last glimmer.

Cotton candy,
Puffed proud
With emerald, gold and rouge,
Eagerly licked
By frosty wafts.

Spitting wild sparks
Aloft into azure,
Before fizzling
Asleep to grey.

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The Cathedral Fig Tree and a dirty little story
Poem by Normand Carrey

-Behold the Cathedral!
Gaze up and admire its lofty branches-
A site to rival the adjectival heavens!

Can this be the same prepossessed fig
With its elaborate strangling system
In the common habit
Of this kissing family of trees?

A rich resource within the cathedral,
Red fruit, fleshy leaves threaten
To become an expensive proposition,
As Hi-ways slice thru maculate forest.

When seedlings become too large
Oedipus outstripping its nutrients
Waits around, favours the moment
While others encircle the host,
Making me lose my power.

The fig’s prolific growth, inevitable;
All potential evil resides in a seed
A few millimeters in the traditional land,
The Dulgubunda name this tree gularl.

We loved you like a prodigal son,
Hidden in the perils of any human heart
The cycle in the cathedral repeats itself,
Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness

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Symbols and Signs
Poem by Harry Garrison

These crossed swords
mean a battle was fought here.
These crossed utensils
mean a meal can be bought here.

This sign points
to fuel to fuel your way.
This sign points
to a place where you can stay.

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shhh… pub in.action
Poem by Harry Wayne Mah

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Being God
Poem by Charles Bull

It’s hard, being God.
I really don’t think I’m
……….doing a very good job of it.
I keep forgetting.
In fact, I’ve so often sold my birthright
……….for a bowl of stewed lentils,
the very idea has come to seem preposterous.
It’s like I’m afraid to go through with it.
(There he is, hiding backstage,
……….playing on his phone.)
I mean, who wants to die?
Being God is hard.

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Poem by LeeAnn Wallage Brown

You are my day
Forever staining my memory.
The Father.
The Love

Imprinted on me.

Vision blurred with tears.
Clothes packed in a noir bag of plastic.
Toothbrush removed from our cabinet.

Imprinted on me.

Time spent on my knees

Imprinted on me.

My heart wanting to burst from a fragile chest.
Placing it in his hands.
Letting it bleed out so I no longer feel

Terror gripping at me.
Paralyzed my body in fear.

Imprinted on me…

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Too Long at the Fair
Poem by Jenna Pierson

All the music has stopped playing.
I have sat too long here,
Filled my glass too many times,
And emptied it.
The faces are too close to me,
blurred strokes of paint against the black night,
and their voices are wavering and thin
and all woven together like morning traffic.
I can’t make them out.

My makeup falls from my face in flakes of gray.
My armour is rent, my defenses fallen.
I wait.
It will all be over soon.
All the music has stopped playing now.

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Gift Haiku for Mother Nature
Haiku by Marilyn Challis

Tropical breezes,
Whispering Summer goodbyes,
Jack Frost here too soon

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In the Making
Poem by David Mac Eachern

Heading away at the break of day
Many good times do come and go
Finding one’s way to earn full pay
Every dream lived planted more to grow

A measured distance, life traveled with persistence
Meant to see forever the brighter side
In gift or talent, truth has consistence
Under darkened sky many stars do guide

Sent to attain the facts of life
In pleasure not pain, wise purpose remained
Driven by plan, a victory over strife
Worthy of mention, love to be gained

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Haiku by Richard S. Payne

Songs are energy,
you and I are vibrating,
don’t stop the music!

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