View Issue vol. 13, no. 2
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)
Scroll down to read all poems, or select the poem title to go directly to that poem. Select the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and all poems by that author.
Renaming a species – Part 1 of 3
Poem by Graham Atkin
Good day crew
I brought you here today
For a very important matter
To rename a species
We had some fun
Cruising past their fighter jets
At hypersonic speed
Did you see their pilots gawk?
But back to serious matters
Here is a summary
Of our discoveries
Of this species
(to be continued)
Poem by Claudette Bouman
Whirling, wispy whirlpools of vapor
crowding, wavy, rolling to the edge
Twisting, turning, soft, layered,
fine cotton dust
They crowd in upon each other
And then sweep up in a delicate storm
Turning over rising steeply,
As waves upon a sea of clouds
Running in arranged row upon row,
A harmonic musical movement
Then they’re gentle, elegant ballerinas
competing for attention
Spectacular wisps of vapor.
And then sudden so, poof, gone
In a disappearing act.
A magician’s trick?
An optical illusion?
No, again no
Still more vapors, wisps,
and cottony trills
Everywhere, covering a lake of glass.
Poem by Olivia Landry
driving home before the sun comes up
waving to the kids
arriving at the daycare across the street
watching my devil’s ivy outgrow
every pot I own
catching sunsets haphazardly
on city streets
listening to Halloween by Phoebe Bridgers
hearing her tell me over and over
we can be anything
Poem by Catherine A. MacKenzie
In this new normal
Of a not-so-gentle world
Of confusion and chaos
For we share one life;
Be thankful for tears
For to love is to cry and
To die was to have lived…
Poem by Alison Goodhew
that sectarian tree
pushing fingers through
the throat of the street
with a heave
the ground rises
in complicity, trips up
someone who hurries
Poem by Richard S. Payne
MIND was nothing if not complicated;
ego driven and, often frustrated.
SOUL chose to avoid this difficult bind,
instead being helpful, loving and kind.
BODY was distressed, caught in the middle
between true to self, and superficial.
An unhealthy tension, and not too soon,
for a call to conflict resolution.
The big showdown to take place at high noon,
in an empty place called … MEDITATION.
Poem by Matthew de Lacey Davidson
The Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière
(Lyon, in France) – it sits upon a hill.
Exhausted, I once tried to make it there,
but couldn’t. Bleary-eyed, I found, instead,
purely by accident, outspread,
beyond the puppets, standing silent, still:
the amphitheatre (or Odeon),
built by Claudius, and almost two
thousand years ago. But then, upon
a wall (and there for all to see),
the best example of calligraphy
on brass from ancient times. I never knew
that sometimes, something better brings us awe –
like the basilica I never saw.
Why I Wrote this Poem
The word “puppets” has to do with the many stores in Lyon which sell marionettes when I visited there. In addition, there was someone playing Le Tombeau de Couperin by Ravel on the piano in the building where my hotel was. However, I couldn’t figure out a way to get that into the poem.
Haiku by David Mac Eachern
In bringing on love
Revealing that it’s peaceful
Science of the heart
fearing the screeching of brass monkeys
Poem by Scott Lynch
I rise “I know. But I do not approve.
And I am not resigned” *
like a New Year’s Polar Bear swim
we dive into February
-11C and another Groundhog Day
news pending from Shubenacadie Sam
Ice fishing huts on Albro lake
bus shelter ice boxes
The MacKay on-ramp
catapult to the ethereal
and the singular marvel
Africville Park to the heights
of Fort Needham
resplendent in the one transitory hue
of Jack Frost’s paintbrush
a ballet of sea smoke down the harbour
gifting fleeting glimpses of the
candy cane stacks of Tufts Cove,
The MacDonald, the Ferry,
to Georges Island and beyond
light splashes through the low cloud
yielding a metamorphic mirage
more veil than view
looking to the basin and one last wonder
a statuesque bald eagle
perched in a painted maple
transfixed by the scene?
* from Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Poem by Melissa Boland
Chakra’s aura glow
As the bowls summon peace.
Acceptance of self;
mind, body and soul.
May perfectionism cease.
A new dawn rises
focused on my truest existence
as I continue to grow
A Winter Day
Poem by Janet Brush
A black and white photograph, 1954.
How do I know it’s a winter day?
The light seems diffused, coming
from an unknown source –
a lamp or overhead light.
The stove is the giveaway. Me, 8 years old,
leaning on the water tank, David, 4 years old,
his bare feet warming on the open oven door.
This was the heartbeat of the house –
kitchen/diningroom/livingroom all in one,
the only heat the old Enterprise coal stove.
I remember that dress, navy blue, white collar,
light blue piping – another hand-me-down from
the daughter of a well-to-do friend.
And look at David. He still has those cowlicks,
and the wonky eye. “Cock-eyed,” “cross-eyed” –
just two of the names kids called him.
I chased them away, occasionally hit them –
“leave my brother alone!”
Off to the side, a little bit of my mother.
She hardly ever appeared in photos,
but she was always there, the rock
that made us strong, kept us sane.
Poem by Gordon Young
What makes a bubble?
… Inflation and strain
In a membrane.
A make believe need
A contagion unabated
Skin taught and slick
Awaits some anonymous little prick,
And its life is dissipated.
Why I Wrote this Poem
We often assume the permanence of social and financial realities that surround us. But all it takes is one misstep or one wing-nut to bring things to a surprising and dramatic end.
Poem by Nicole Myers
when I abdicate
from my little depression
& the birds swarm the trees
_____on the way home
from somewhere between
Sans Souci & Sober Island
_______we’ll walk for coffee
I’ll wear my yellow sundress
with a warm coat sweater &
__________you’ll hold my hand
_______I’ll tip forward into
I’ll be whole again.
Gift In An Attractive Box!
Rectangle Poem by Harry Garrison
Gift In An Attractive Box! Put the gift into the box. Wrap it in wrapping paper. Tie the box with a ribbon. Tie the ribbon into a bow.
Why I Wrote this Poem
The title is taken from Malinda Kathleen Reese’s YouTube channel Twisted Translations, from the video “Google Translate Explains the COVID-19 Vaccine.” Quote: “After you are released, you can remove the mask and put it in an attractive box.” The rest of it is using the expression “put a ribbon on it” or “put a bow on it,” to try to write a neat little poem about a neat little box. The poem is rectangular, like the box.
Poem by Lorie Morris
Where are, the heroes?
Where did they, go?
Where, can we find, them?
When will, the heroes come
back to us? Is the Hero or
Heroes in us?
Ballad for my Favourite Master’s Candidate
Poem by Daniel Boucher
The poli-nerds and Econ majors
All were blown away
On the occasion when the clown
Received her MPA.
Surprise leapt to their faces,
Khaki pants split at the seams,
‘Cause from her huge corsage a spray
Of water came in streams.
Oh! How the normies hollered while
The basics heaved and whooped
(They noticed that her trousers were
Upheld by hola-hoop).
But nothing beat the laughter heard,
from here to Timbuktu,
When down the steps she spilled because
Of red, size nineteen, shoes…
…She fell into the orchestra,
the building crashed down o’er her!
But there she stood relieved, by luck,
inside a well-placed dormer!
I pity lonely dweebs for whom
such fun’s a rarity;
At least they may recount the day
the clown got her degree.
Poem by Jennifer Graham
I’ve always wanted to be in your walls
I love your spine
The way you talk to me
The way we converse
The candles burn bright
You are there
my intimate playmate
Together our imaginations create stories
for a while
I feel safe in your arms
Until the clock strikes
I am asked to proceed into
Back to myself
More than a memory
Show up each day and
pull me in deep
Every inch of you is beautiful and lush
Plump and juicy
Quenching every desire
Can I keep you?
Tribute to an Evergreen
Haiku by Marilyn Challis
Tears streaming downward,
Crying for a gnarled old pine
Why I Wrote this Poem
A stalwart longstanding resident pine at the top of Riverside Drive, Lwr Sackville was upended by its roots overnight by a gale force blizzard and nor’easter.