THE GAME a poem by Marie Legault

THE GAME....by Marie Legault

 

A shot rings out,

the bear runs, staggers and falls

She lies drowning in her own blood

What is this game called hunting?

 

Because of a heartless hunter

a cub will die this night

For the hunter shot its mother

and the wolves will win the fight

 

What a trophy he has shot

he brags of how she fell

This game called hunting is sadistic

And the hunter belongs in hell


I would like to dedicate this poem to Mike McIntosh and the bears at Bear With Us Sanctuary and Rehabilitation Centre for Bears your efforts do not go unnoticed....thank you for all you do --  Marie Legault.

HAIKU FROM THE WINDOWSILL by Patricia McGoldrick

HAIKU FROM THE WINDOWSILL

 

through glass, snow diamonds

sparkle in the backyard drifts

karats beyond price

 

snow owl is soaring

southern white flight in blue sky

Arctic home displaced

2014 BIO: 

Patricia McGoldrick is a Kitchener, ON, writer. In her poems, stories and essays, she is inspired by the everyday. Patricia is a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and the League of Canadian Poets. Recently, published in the annual collaborative poem, I Hear the Wind Waiting, at leafpress.ca. Follow her on Twitter: @pamcgoldrick. Stop by her blogs at http://pm27.wordpress.com and http://pmpoetwriter.blogspot.ca/ 

FOR THE LOVE OF KI , a poem by Audrey Austin

FOR THE LOVE OF KI

I met him on a Friday

In the backyard of a friend

Those deep brown pools of love and need

Did common sense transcend.

By Wednesday I was baffled

Did not know what to do

His sloppy kiss and muddy feet

Across my floors; who knew?

Who knew that I could overlook

This gift of chaos in my life?

Black shining head upon my knee

Became my strength to deal with strife.

His love is unconditional

My love for him is real

Living with my Mastiff friend

Awakened me to feel.

To feel annoyance, yes, at times

While vacuuming the hair

But to feel this inner peace and joy

This love Ki freely shares

Is more than I have ever known

With him I’m not alone

For Ki I thank my God above

How blessed I am to know this love.

 

I am very pleased that my love poem was chosen to be part of Cobourg's Poetry Event

Pic Spaces

So, here are 10 of the poets who submitted poetry that was displayed on the outside of store windows in {piCs} "poets Downtown Cobourg" event on Saturday, February 15, 2014:

Ariel Gordon
Sean O'Gorman
Roz Bound
Sonja Benskin Mesher...
Jill Battson
Audrey Austin
Gordon Phinn
Anna Yin
Kirk Ramdath
Lisa Johnson

 

 

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR... may all your dreams come true in 2014

 

 

 

Sister Rita - a poem by June Luvisi

Sister Rita 

She was radiant loveliness.
Porcelain skin and perfectly sculpted features
Lit up by sparkling eyes and a welcoming smile
Perfectly shaped lips, when curved up in laughter,
Framed beautiful teeth agleam in the schoolroom’s sunlight
And all of this beauty accentuated
By the starched white wimple framing her face
And the rattle of her black wooden rosary beads
And the heavy black dress ...of her nun’s garb.
As a nine year old public school student
Brought in to study my religion
And feeling a smidge alien in what seemed like foreign turf,
I rejoiced in my good fortune.
Could have gotten that sharp featured nun
Whose voice matched her looks
As she laid out rules.
Now, so many years later,
When I talk to those who went full time to Catholic Schools
And tell them about Sister Rita,
They look at me,
Suspiciously
And ask,
Really????
And I answer,
Really.

WEARY - a poem by Audrey Austin

Weary

Weary woman worries when

The door is shut

On hope that drowns

In white envelopes

Piling up on table

Demanding satisfaction

Threatening to kill the little faith

That barely floats above the stack.

 

 

"WEARY" received honourable mention by the Ontario Poetry Society and has been published in "The Ultra Best Short Verse" - a Canadian Anthology of Poetry

 

 

 

 

BEACON - a poem by Bela Kaul

BEACON

 

The light shines up above

over and beyond

is it this world

in another realm?

 

A beacon of love

perfect but yon’

where I must be

in eternal glee

 

light shines encompassing all

hiding out all darkness

fluidly, lucidly,

placid, and oh so lovingly

 

my consciousness rises

to see beyond its veil

is it the metaphysical?

but oh so lyrical…

 

I have a need to be

floating in eternal bliss

with no judgment or fear

feeling the presence of all those dear

 

connections remain

over many lifetimes

in absence of death

or any kind of dread

 

time is a vacuum

in this open space

past, present, future,

peacefully azure

 

love flows like a river

with no direction,

beginning, or an end,

ever-present at every bend

 

a place that just IS

where I just BE

a place of LOVE

in the realm above.

Mountain Morning -- a poem by Phibby Venable ....

Mountain Morning

Dingy linen wraps the mountain dull
Even the dogs are listless on the rugs
Almond twigs stick silent from a branch
as though touching a sun is in their power
but stiffen, and stay frozen in the air

That is the general mood that holds the day
but still, I think a walk is no small thing
and want to see the way the houses smoke
in chimneys that reveal how others dwell
in fog that drifts and looks across the hills
Then clears itself to vapor as fog will.

Two Poems by Lynette Davis ....

Happy Day  

A Poem Written By: Lynette Davis

 

I yearn for you

Your sweet whispers send shivers down my collar bone

I breathe in the air of your scent

And catch of wisp of the unforgettable

 

I’m intoxicated by just your smile

They all think I’ve gone mad

He tries to convince me that you’re my past

 

I say, I’m missing you

I say, I’m needing you

I say I’m wanting you

But you never loved me

 

I still love you.

 

All the lies I’d told myself

How you made me cry…

No, I made me cry

 

He’s telling me that anyone who leaves is a fool

Does this qualify to you

 

Or maybe, I’m the fool

Then again maybe you’re the fool

 

Yeah, I’m probably the fool. 

 

 

Not Just Dance 9-30-13

 

Can’t you feel the rhythm

Will you bring the heat

Listen to the war cries

Of the children of the streets

 

While their laughter and jesters

Have you clowning around

You’re krumping heart thumping

 Crowds roaring to these sounds

 

The power of this movement

Finds her kindred, breaks barriers

The spirit of those who cry

When no one listens

Who hurt and bear pain

There’s nothing to gain

But this…release

 

Can’t you feel it

Connecting children of the streets

 

It courses through your body

A madness to twist and turn

To jerk and freeze

Ah yeah, you feel that burn

The excitement takes over

The DJ’s breaks getting loud

Yet, there’s a soul, a heart beat

This movement makes you proud

 

There’s a quick fierce shake inside

Your breath gets taken away

Pulse is racing, hands mating

While your hips begin to sway

And you’re chasing the music

Or maybe its’ chasing you

No need for the reason

You’re just flowing to the groove

 

It’s pure it’s rapture

Erupting with a freedom

You have yet to understand

It has history, a deeper meaning

Before misconstrued and made

A cheap thrill

 

And though we called it hip hop

and other styles of street

We were the children of a movement

sprouted growth from the seedlings of dance

But I think that they have lost it

How despicably sad

 

"Relish on a Hotdog" - a poem by Audrey Austin

RELISH ON A HOTDOG

We used to be like relish

On a hotdog.

Now I am here.  You are there.

Slim space between

Yet I have built a mountain

In the middle.

Or was it you who

Cast the first stone

Leaving me alone

To add the boulders until

Now the mountain pass

Is blocked with innuendo

Wrapped in sarcasm?

I don’t relish hotdogs anymore.

 

This poem by Audrey Austin is one of the Judge's Selections in a Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume Eighteen 2013 titled "Spirits in Stone".

 

IN PASSING - an inspirational poem by Marlon de Souza

In passing

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Just another average person

A ceramic bowl, a sacred plate
were found at the site -
offerings to a Mayan god.
A cross, a tomb -
signs of where that other god appeared.
A minaret, a temple,
ritual lashings and prostrations
and twenty-five hundred saints and martyrs
prove loyalty to other gods.
Yet my god has no symbols,
asks for no shrines
and demands no rituals
but that I learn to sit silently
by a quiet stream
and listen
or watch my dog sniff invisible scents
while I look at the vast sky
and fly
beyond.

© 2013 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Marlon de Souza writes. Among his teachers are water bodies, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, e.e. cummings, His Royal Highness Wolfgang the First, Leonard Cohen, and his friend and dog-child, Jules.

More of his work can be found on
http://justanotheraverageperson.com/



 

Enjoy PURPLE MORNING, a poem by Phibby Venable .....

Purple Morning

In the eloquence of this purple morning,
I am watching the tree lines embroidered
across the mountain.
They are stark black in outlines as
the water color of dawn barely glances
above the hills.
When the sun comes, it is too harsh
for the morning glories....
Their damp eyes close slowly.
They seek a pink and purple sleep
and wait for evening.
I have been up for hours and know the way
that some flowers close against the
tough regimen of days.
I have watched others, like daffodils,
awaken, unworried by warmth,
opening with sunny charm.
I am torn between reluctance and chance,
the soft fold of vulnerability
or the strength of bold resolve.
Each, lying as they do,
in the personal awakenings
of the individual heart.

If We Don't Wake Up - A poem by Rima N. Jaber

If we don’t wake up,
If we don’t open our eyes,
If we continue with the flow of evil and ignorance,
If we continue ignoring tolerance and morals,
If we continue forgetting our values and humanity,...
If we continue our hate and discrimination,
If we don’t see each other as children of one God,
If we don’t treat the other same as we treat ourselves,
If we don’t look at the other as our brother or sister,
If we build walls of ego and hells of hatred,
It’s the death of humanity,
And surely it’s announcing soon the extinction of the human kind.

Rima
{{OneLove}}
~♥☼♥~

EACH ONE - a poem by Audrey Austin

EACH ONE 

Delving deep beneath the bottom of my yearning
Is a scared shred of startled fakedom
One that whispers
One that cries
One that shouts to reach a listening ear.

Rising high above the surface of my shining
Is a sliver sure of caring kingdom
One that answers
One that pleads
One that reassures and softens fear.

Staying level in the now of life’s assertion
Is a silent sense of battles waged
One that urges
One that purges
One between with choice to tempt the seer.

WINTER - a poem by Tschana Wade

SEASONS:  WINTER

                        by

              Tschana Wade 

                  

Winter white, Cold at night

Despite the frigid outlook,

The future looks bright.
 

I see victory in the near distance

Persistence through the snow storm, 

We mourn,

for spring and summer.
 

Hey you, driving that Hummer!!

Try not to splash with the dirty water

For I am someone’s daughter

Why I aught’ a

No, Tschana, keep cool,

Wasn’t it I who got you through school? 
 

Yes, Lord,

I know you will see me through,
Even the thickest of snow

Won’t stop me and you. 

I wait for your Word,

Than move forward

Shout Praise, raise my hands

And rejoice.

For the voice

of the Lord has spoken

No more joking.

 

God your love is omnipotent, real

I feel your presence,

Your essence consumes me.

Free, to fulfill

your will

I will obey

Pray

Never stray.

The day I see your face

Your grace, your mercy

never thirsty.

For you provide living water,

You thought of me always. 

My light, my love

You understand me, when

Others can’t stand me.

You are a real friend to me

Your love is endlessly 

Forever, Whenever, wherever 

I will praise your name

You love us all the same,

For that I am thankful.

 

Memories of Mom - two poems by Eleanor Lambert, Bermuda

MEMORIES

 

There was a woman, who was so gentle and kind,

Not a day goes by she does not come to mind.

A woman who sacrificed every day and night

She could stretch a dollar like a widow’s mite.

Although very little to make ends meet,

Yet her children always had plenty to eat.

There is no doubt in my mind she was a miraculous person.

For she was our Mom you see and we know for certain,

That through her sacrifices and unconditional love,

She has her reward in Heaven with her Saviour above.

 

       HAPPY 107th BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN MOM

Memories of Mom

 

                                           Many things have happened                              

                                           Since she was called away,                                                                   

                                           So many things to share with her

                                           If she was still here to stay.

 

                                           Every day in some small way,

                                           Memories of her come our way

                                          Though she is absent she is ever near

                                           Much loved, missed, and so very dear.

 

                                          She taught us so many things

                                          We should do each and every day

                                          To read and obey God’s Holy word

                                          And yes, always to pray.

                       

                                                  Happy Birthday

                                                     In Heaven

                                                         MOM

                                                   We love you  

"Swamp Flower" and "White Flowers" - two poems by Phibby Venable ....

swamp flower

There in the oily green of swamp

 drifts a lovely lily rose,

 unthorned on thickened pads of float

 The slippery frog a constant friend

 They call the water there unclean

 Still, it is true that lovely things

... can grow in molds of ugliness

 Hidden in the hard wood forest

 and glistening in the sun's warm touch

......Phibby Venable

Phibby Venable

white flowers

What could I show you

 in the commotion of our lives

 We had a love that grew to bondage

... A house that owned us

 and demanded sharp repairs

 We were too young for the black clouds

 that hung above our music

 and rained scarlet tantrums

 on the rusty tin roof

 We planted a packet

 of morning glory seeds

 to prove we could grow

 some other thing than struggles

 Still the dark rain lazed

 and many years later

 the roof gave way

 our keen eyes swayed

 far beyond each other's sigh

 though soft blooms grew

 on the vine we left behind

 unfolding white at dusk and dawn

 long after we had gone

 

 

Phibby Venable lives in Abingdon, Virginia. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, she is author of the novel, Women of the Round Table, and 5 books of poetry, including; Blue Cold Morning, The Wind Is My Wine, My Life On Little River, Indian Wind Song, and Blue Water Poems.

Email: phibbyvenable@aol.com 

Author’s page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BLOY58
 

Poet, Marlon de Souza -- "Not by the shade of a pipal tree"

Not by the shade of a pipal tree        

Not by the shade of a pipal tree
Or by the waves of a stream,
But by the tears of a restless mind
My heart once had a dream.

There by an untouched rainbow line
Out on a ledge by the sky,
Wondering if twists and turns of love
Make me feel alive.

And by the waves of a moonless sky
Far, far away from the shore,
There by the curve of the seabed’s cry.
I’ll promise to love you more.

Soon on a night when Venus reigns
Away from the sun’s sweet glow,
There you will find me with a heart
Stilled by a mind wanting more.


© 2013 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved

Marlon de Souza writes. Among his teachers are water bodies, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, e.e. cummings, His Royal Highness Wolfgang the First, Leonard Cohen, and his friend and dog-child, Jules. 
 

More of his work can be found on   http://www.JustAnotherAveragePerson.com

 

A poem by Crystal Piche ........

SURROUNDED YET ALONE

 

To be surrounded yet alone raised me to my name
For I am who I am
I am that I am
To be "alone" yet never am
It is that way
Giving the greatest thanks for all this day
Beloved are you
I feel you course through
The cell
Having never left
... Such brilliance
Unspeakable
Let it be that
Purity rings through
Strong and true
Healing
Let it be that she blooms

Three Baja Poems by John Brooke ........

Hola Audrey,

Three of my Baja Poems that may be worthy for inclusion in your publication.

AFTER THE HURRICANE — A GHAZAL

by John Brooke

Yield to the hurricane, you must, Arroyo,

lie wanton with wet desert lust, Arroyo.

 

Parade your charismatic writhing snake dance,

uncoil earth passions, come combust, Arroyo.

 

Mountains of rain thunder into your being,

rocking and rolling with each thrust, Arroyo.

 

Brutally filling your scorched sandy bed,

dirty rocks rollick in disgust, Arroyo.

 

Weeping waters cascade rushing out to sea,

flooded with tears, a breach of trust, Arroyo.

 

Juiced with rain you're rapidly over the falls,

by us humans you are cussed, Arroyo.

 

Until next season I babble dry and parched,

Brooke now a dribble, once robust, Arroyo.

 

 

The Ghazal Form

SHER: An odd number of independent couplets (shers), five or more, each of which is complete by itself and autonomous. This is the most consistently (often the only) rule followed in modern English-language ghazals.

BEHER: Metric consistency, or counted syllabics. There are 19 beher in Urdu, but they can be classified as long, medium and short. The lines of each sher should be of equal beher or length.

RADIF: The second end word of each sher should repeat according to the scheme: aa, ba, ca, da, ea, etc.

KHAAFIYAA: Internal rhyme in each line of the first couplet, and in the last line of each couplet In Urdu, this is the most rigid rule, yet is usually ignored in English.

MAHKTA: An optional mahkta or signature final couplet, where the poet's name is used in the second or third person. This is often used rhetorically, as if the poet was talking to him/herself. Many traditional ghazaL poets (shayar) used pen names

Syllables per line: 11

Rhyme scheme: aa, ba, ca, da, ea, fa, ga

La Paz Carnaval

Pantoum by John Brooke, first published Everyday Poets 2010

 Unembarrassed affections fill curb-to-curb en La Paz del Malecón
Shuffling jostling swaying hip hipping in opposite musical flows
Tight bumping padres-madres-niños-gringos cheerfully dance on
Many have traveled from distant arroyo mountain rocky ranchos

Shuffling jostling swaying hip hipping in opposite musical flows
Flotillas awash in glittering jovens moving as one sexy dancer
Many have traveled from distant arroyo mountain rocky ranchos
To flow in this cacophonous flashing corridor on tropic-of-cancer

Floats each awash in glittering jovens moving as one sexy dancer
Ten individual sets volley out musical souls in hi-tech reverberations
To flow in this cacophonous flashy corridor on the tropic-of-cancer
Brass-oompah-pahs-strings-winds-accordions musical celebrations

Ten individual sets hurling out musical souls in hi-tech reverberations
Hundred meters between groups of eager, musicians in black tuxedos
Horns-strings-windy-oompah-pahs-rapping-out musical celebrations
Pumping volumes of brightly colorful Mex-rap-mariachi-romaticos

Hundred meters between groups of eager musicians in black tuxedos
Necklaces of concessions rugs-T-shirts-dolls-ring-tossing ¡oles!
Pumping volumes of brightly colorful Mex-rap-mariachi-romaticos
Mexican foods from pozoles-moles-tacos-sopes-ubiquitous frijoles

Necklaces of concessions corn-candy-cervesa-fresca-hotdog ¡oles!
Tightly bumping padres-madres-niños-gringos en la calla dance on
Mexican foods from pozoles-moles-tacos-sopes-ubiquitous frijoles
Unembarrassed Carnaval affections overflow La Paz del Malecón  

BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE PANTOUM
The “pantun” is a Malaysian poetic form that was introduced to the West by the French novelist, essayist, and poet, Victor Hugo (1802-1885), hence the French spelling, “pantoum.”
Written in quatrains (four-line stanzas) the pantoum repeats the second and forth lines of each stanza as the first and third lines of the following stanza, respectively. This pattern is continued for as many stanzas as wanted. At the end repeat the first and third lines of the first stanza as the fourth and second lines of the last stanza. The pantoum begins and ends with the same line. The pantoum does not require rhyming end words.

What is the meaning of life?

By John Brooke

 

The trees, plants and all the animals know.

Every creature of the seas, lakes, rivers and creeks knows.

Shit, even stinking cockroaches, insects, and basic bacteria know.

 

And while we're busy killing every living thing, we ask ourselves,

What is the meaning of life?

 

First published Poems Niederngasse, Switzerland 2005

 

12/11/04 © Brooke 19 Lines