This page features poems from writers living outside Halifax, but with some connection to the city or Nova Scotia. The map shows the locations of the authors (blue dots). Halifax is the red dot.
Read the poems by scrolling down or clicking the titles.
Click the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and other poems by that author.
Word in Webster one should embellish,
Word “Thanks” forever we cherish,
Directed to Moms, our Dads too.
For bringing us up, so strong so true.
Infant, adult stops between,
Parent is Protector from dangers unseen,
Grateful we are for leading us through,
Acknowledge you now, Mom and Dad, Thank You.
Old Jack Frost
is comin’ to town
Gonna paint some
pretty scenes tonight
Grey and dwarfed
with icy frown
a long curved knife
He scores cold glass
without a sound
His fragile dreams
x-rayed in white
The canvas warms
and melts them down
He’s mad enough
To spit and bite!
A Gitche Manitou on knees crowned
While haunches lesser ache assuage
Centaurs await in glistening rage,
afraid of tales reeking sounds
Coiled in a field wildflowers taste
The Archer incants tongue’s harden
Sleeked eyes scan a smash-mouth garden
and lash unfeigned on a carcass of chaste
True to form, Achille’s first kiss stayed
Hearts boiled reduction thick
The Archer’s arrow pointed wisp,
unwavering on the battle abatis splayed
Night’s sheathed hollow by the fend
Centaur’s flesh open wounds seethe
Down a hillock before light can teethe
The Archer mild, lays at dawn’s bend
This time her fetters unbound
A station a bridge,
Graveyard a church.
Evening bells ringing,
Train whistle screaming.
Men with tongues waggin’
At hitching standing.
Little children playing,
Evening birds nesting,
Babes in mother’s arms, resting.
What started as prose
Ended up keeping me on my toes
Therapy or closure, one never knows
Once writ, paper and pencil anastomose
When I think mother, I think caring, compassion
When I think mother, I think forgiveness, understanding.
When I think mother, I think of father,
Who together with mom made me a human being.
Thank you mom, Thank you dad.
all was silence
which echoed through the air
striking those who heard
and lived among the buildings
out of place
made right again by hammer
the building slowly rose
for work was done
the labour of earth and mortals
know nothing of gods and heaven.
Useful your words told
After all was said and done
Sent from my iPhone
Ciel est tout bleu
Un étang de réflexion
à une galaxie
Bending over barren slopes
zephyr cuts a path
Age is a curse robs one of youth
Brings creases to face, shoulders a stoop.
A receding hairline, arthritic knees
Dimming of eyes accompanied by wheeze.
Adds pounds to frame says bathroom scale
To see correct weight one has to inhale.
Years pass so fleetingly a constant reminder for me to see
To take life easy and rest for a while, to slow one’s pace as I travel last mile.
I’ll savor old age which I accept, you see,
Please come a calling when I’m a hundred and three.
A hedge, a tangle, our bodies slip through
Bone on branch shared the deep bruise,
Charcoal scrape, newly rubbed tributes to view,
The crest of leaves slithered the light, our muse,
We clung, we gnarled, we got lost in the grooves,
It rained, it poured, we tightened victorious the old yew,
Bark and ashes then greenness gone too soon,
In the cotyledon that rustled in short true,
Near a bandshell, the half shell and all of its blues,
Our bodies ripened crouched in trees next to purlieus,
Grey matter yet to be seeded one afternoon,
Shin splints pounded on gravel, the new tattoo,
We watched, we craned for our shine later bloomed,
Long limbs lingered now crushed shells at the root,
While colossi groan mercy to spent curlicues
I sleep diagonal when you’re not here.
Fingertips over the edge, food for creatures
beneath. The bed is plated, garnished in
layers, striped black and welt then rolled like
a cigar spreading arctic to tropic sear.
Better feng shui when you’re not here.
Answers gleaned from the hidden. Toes
ripped sheets in a race to the arms of
Morpheus and when wraiths erupted out of
hands there was no pain, only REM that
spoke reverie unashamed.
I sleep diagonal on a cross that’s necessity
Spine a torc wrapped tight around the fetal.
Kingdoms clamour, windows push back
light, armoured flanks keep fractures away,
you see. When you’re not here I sleep
The road’s not much
Of a road this time of year
More like a muddy trail
Slouching away from the highway
Down into the tangle of trees and underbrush
Gnarly black spruce and soft tamarack
Fighting back the unrelenting alders
While awaiting next winter’s nor’easters
To claw at their branches
And tear at their roots
With screeching icy fingers
Until they fall crashing to lie
Patiently for the earth to embrace them.
Just off the road and into the woods
The remnants of a stone fence
Just a jumble of rocks
Poking through tall green ferns
Beyond, the square outline of a foundation
And beyond that, another
And then more beyond
Remnants of a human presence
Clinging to this bit of empty coastline
Stubborn like their ancestors
Determined to survive, like barnacles
On the hulls of their longliners.
By accident we discover the graveyard
And the hardness of their living
Painful in a single headstone:
Dau of Warren G &
Clarissa H Baker
April 25, 1879
Aged 4 weeks”.
We row across Haulover Cove
Past Gull Shelf to Reid’s Island
In a skiff borrowed
From the German at the end of the road
And eat our breakfast in silence
Wild duck eggs
Cooked over an open fire.
Glide one two free
On backs my breath takes
Huntress on the prowl spree
By death’s door insects forsake
Boomerang through atoms elect
Beauty the work survival
Fate stands still for the select
While wings push air none rival
The chain complete to awe
Severed spirit now creed
Sleek machine I saw
Glimpsed in an instant speed
Dethroned am I to bottom rung
As meek swift arrows morse
Implore shelter none
Before dusk her next course