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Slammin’ in the Capital
Poster courtesy of Madeleine Kelly The Capital Poetry Collective brings the art of slam poetry to Ottawa. Their next show is Capital Slam, which takes place on Saturday, November 21 at Origin Studio at 57 Lyndale Ave in Hintonburg. A “slam” is a poetry competition in which poets perform original
Remembrance Day
Photo by Sofie Sharom. The Fields of Honour By Frank Baile Ranked by no rank, Lie the fallen, Testaments to a courage that, Few foreknew until that time. When something stirred in them, Like a sign, but more, That made each say, There must go I! Not all are here,
The Old Man
I went for a walk today Along a woodland path When I met an old man Looking at some flowers Who turned to me to say Why do the seasons come and go For I love spring, summer and autumn But not the winter's snow Once I was young like
How The Trout Lily Got It’s Spots
One day in early May The Trout Lily was heard to say Why are my leaves dappled this way? The Spring Beauty nearby replied with a sigh The answer lies in the meadows green Where the wily fox cannot glean Beyond the valley and in a stream Are fish so
The Two Travellers
There were two travellers Who walked along a path one day The first was a dreamer The other a capitalist they say The dreamer watched the rainbow Where melodious songbirds fly Their symphony a command performance A ballet in the sky The capitalist saw no beauty Or value along his
If I Knew
If I knew that By opening my hand I could hold the light From your shining eyes I would open my hand And let the light shine in For I would know That by closing my hand I would hold in my palm The magic of your eyes By Darryl
The Witch’s Broom
One spooky night In a lonely pumpkin patch A wicked witch with an evil eye Cursed her sorry plight For try as she might Her broomstick would not fly Over and over again The witch sat on her broom Under the moonlit sky But try as she might Even reciting
Some Thoughts on Aging
I am withering away No matter where I lie My youth has left me bankrupt Old and gray and hung out to dry I can’t remember what I should forget Nor forget what I should remember My eyes are tired and my hair is white I fear some night that
Gratitude
I offer my gratitude To everything on earth That’s as sweet to the eye As glistening cherry blossoms Under a clear blue sky To the early morning light At the dawn of day To the dew that washes A flowers wrinkles away To the sound of thunder And the rain’s
The Vampire Bat
Black as black As the night could be His shrieking call Was a mystery Like some spider In his dusty web The bat inspires Fear and dread With blood-red eyes And a serpent’s tongue He seeks out blood When the sun goes down With vampire’s teeth He traverses the night
Dreams That Come in the Night
Dreams that come in the night That force their way Into your slumbering mind Are gifts from another time For at the dawn of day Dreams never reveal Which gifts are real Or the ones they conceal For when you awaken You are never mistaken About the love that’s lost
Reflections
I have often paddled my imaginary canoe Along turbulent streams of life And during solitary travels My peace was shattered by a vexed view Of man's greed, jealousy and strife Struggling against adversity I was transported back in time To an ancient voyage Taken by a forgotten traveller Whose birth
One Halloween Night
I was sitting around my room one night When all of a sudden I saw a dreadful sight Right before me covered all in white Was a ghostly figure who gave me a terrible fright I froze on the spot in a horrible state And nervously pondered my uncertain fate
Spring
Spring with your blossoms So pink and white Please stay awhile don't leave me During this early morning light Your fragrant beauty so fragile Is a captivating call Of leafy boughs and melodious birds For I can see them all This moment is a transient time Beyond the world’s hourly
The Sugar Shack
March has come at last For beneath the snowy creek I can hear the water running fast Breaking the ice like panes of glass Little pockets form at first Until a mighty torrent bursts Not far from here In the distance we can see An old weathered hut built long
The Farmer’s Ghost
I once heard a story About a ghost Who defied the fates And lurked about Fields and pastures And farm yard gates Each morning The phantom So the locals state Haunted farms And worked the fields Until very late Legend claims A farmer took his life After going insane When
Take a Trip with Alice Through the Looking-Glass
It is often debated whether or not author Lewis Carroll was under the influence of some kind of narcotic when he created Alice in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking-Glass. It is completely understandable to ponder the question as the stories are wacky, out-of-this-world, fantastical and outrageous. They are equally
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