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Who am I?
I’m Canada, your owner.
It’s ok if you don’t remember.
You never do.

Who’s the sixth Ally?
It’s me, your brother.
It’s ok if you don’t notice.
You never do.

If I’m not America, then who am I?
I’m Canada, his twin.
It’s ok if you didn’t realise.
Nobody ever does.

What was I saying?
Why don’t you ever listen to me?
I’m sick of this, brother.
I’m sick of being ignored.

I may have burned down Washington,
But that will never hurt as much
As the pain in my heart.
The pain you gave me.

I’m invisible.
Nonexistent.
I’m never here
Even when I am.

Who am I?
I’m Canada, your twin!
I’m sick of this, America.
I’m sick of being forgotten.
A poem about Canada from the anime Hetalia: Axis Powers
Bus Poet Stop Apr 12
spring planting, spring harvesting, spring garlic

One of the great joys of having a job in agriculture
is to think days, weeks, even months ahead,
One of the great joys of having a job in poetry,
like a fireman,  a patient planter of love,
you wait to be called,
then becoming by being,
part of an all consuming burning

come spring, take advantage of the cool, wet weather of spring
to put in multiple crops of peas and lettuce, also a great time
to get your perennial vegetables,
like asparagus and rhubarb, started

the planting cycle is not an either/or,
come harvest thy labored fruits,
nine crops to harvest come March,
kale, pick leaves as needed,
leeks, best left in the ground
and harvested as needed,
parsnips, purple sprouting broccoli,
rhubarb, spring cabbage, spring cauliflower,
and of course, my personal fav,
Spring Garlic

Garlic, like like love, is generally planted in the fall,
before the frost and harvested the following late summer.
But from March to May,
once the ground has truly thawed,
the young lover plants, spring garlic or green garlic,
can be harvested.

it’s a long bus ride to Western Canada
where the garlic spring has come,
ain’t complaining lots of time to write foolishness
and plant a few good bus poems in northern ontario
and even michigan,
the window slides, and the seeds scattered,
but at every bus poet stop,
those that need it,
planted many inches deep


April 2 naught how I wish I was nineteen again
juneau Apr 5
After two days on a drinking binge
My nose began to turn red
After three days of having drunken fun
I noticed that the party was dead
And the story it told of the good times that flowed
It made me sad to think it would end

You see I've been in the basement drinking a beer with no-name
It's taste and low price is insane
Intoxicated, I wont remember the name
So there ain't no point buying labeled again
La la la la Lala la Lala la la la
Sixty-something (two drunk)

April 4 2019

America - A Horse with no name parody
Francie Lynch Jan 30
That's me in the picture,
A collage of brothers and sisters;
I'm held high in my Mammy's arms,
Days before leaving Ireland.

Six months later, in our new home,
On a couch in our front room,
We pose again.
(See the console in our romper room?
It's testament to our boom and boons)

There's thousands of miles between those shoots,
And four million loved ones left behind
In a life and land we won't have again.
(That's the way life was back then)
No Face Time, #MeTime,
Sometimes a landline,
But always a letter in a card at the right time.

Brothers and sisters are missing.
In neglected churchyards,
And yet my mother smiles,
All the while.

Sixty years on, we pose again,
Sharing four hundred years here,
With seven hundred left behind:
Years of Famine and Hedge Schools,
Foreign invasions and Imperial Rule.

We stand *****, shoulders touching,
Between them loved ones missing;
Gone before the shutter opened,
A partial story as pictures go.

We're Irish proud,
Some of Canada's best;
An Irish-Canadian
When laid to rest.
Brothers and sisters died before we left Ireland, and brothers and sisters died after we arrived in Canada. But the six sibs that left Ireland are still alive and well.
Edit and re-post.
K Eaglechild Jan 10
Because I Am Indigenous.

There’s always a brume of skepticism (of fear) that will loom like a fly,
Slightly past 9:30pm on a Friday and the twilight is taking the sky
I find myself reciting; “It’s too dangerous. It’s too dangerous.”
I feel this way because it’s another day with another alert on the news broadcast; another “missing person’s” poster hanging on the bleak walls,
The articles are increasing while the fight to battle against it is decreasing,
We attend more social gatherings where we mourn more than we celebrate;
We mourn, can’t you hear us?  
Our missing indigenous women;
Of injured sisters, mothers, Aunty’s and cousins.
Of our murdered women.

There’s so much injustice and shame in our system,
Our voices get silence and we get dismissed with one wave of your ******* palm and no second glance.
Shame.

Because I am Indigenous,
My cultural beliefs are frowned upon; my healing ceremonies that takes away the discrimination toxicity, my herbs that help heal my throat that’s yelling at you to listen,
My prayers in my two native tongues for those effected by your colonialism.
My cultural heritage that is label as witchcraft and locked away in shelves cloaked by their leatherback book that they hold so close to their sinful chests

And dangling cross.

Colonialism.
Discrimination.

Because I am Indigenous woman,
I am afraid to walk alone.

Because I am Indigenous,
I am afraid to be a victim of a hate-crime.

Because I am Indigenous.

I am also resilient.
#becauseiamindigenous
Amelia Jan 1
Lately when you’ve looked at the Facebook chat bar, you’ve noticed names that you haven’t spoken to in a long time.
As if Facebook knows what has happened and is saying “Look! Other people exist in the world! You had a past before all of this.”
Too soon, Facebook.
Even memories excluding him somehow manage to involve him all the same.
You spent 5 years in Toronto, and only at the tail end did you two learn each other and find a love that was ******* brilliant.
And now Toronto is a landmine.
U of T is tarnished and bleak.
The ROM, the TTC,
Every quaint and adorable breakfast cafe, Mexican eatery, Starbucks.
Tragic.
And **** Queen’s Park.
And **** High Park.
**** dog parks too because maybe at some point you walked past one together.
And the bookstore.
Never again.
You loved that bookstore
(it brought you him).
And death to bubble tea, and 0 calorie vitamin water.
(No one should ever experience the misfortune of 0 calorie vitamin water, but it’s a memory, so it hurts).
And **** board game cafes. Even though the only game you actually managed to finish was Jenga.
But that’s because you were falling for him and you would rather talk for hours than look away from his face to read too-long instructions.
Catan could wait.
A different world ago you suffered in a city too congested for the likes of your small-town spirit.
And somehow you found life there.
Would have gone back there.
And he will never know.
Oh Canada
You are one hundred and fifty years young
And across this great nation our many
Cultures are proclaimed as asset
Rather than liability
Or so the Head mouths
Until the Head attempts to ban its own niqab

How can We truly be free
When the Head proclaims:
“Smile, you’re on camera, oh patriot
You have nothing to fear if you but OBEY

If you allow our shears to slice
Your liberties free from you
A twisted plot device  
To put in motion
Taxes, taxes,
Bombings, bombings,
So We don’t fall down!”

The Mouth tells us:

“Your safety comes at a price,
Oh Canada
Safety is not a cheap commodity
Oh nation

We owe it to our southern Big Brother
To help enforce peace
It is time for us to pay the bank
What we are owed
Oh country

Like unto what Ginsberg once said;
‘It’s them Russians, them Russians,  
And them Chinamen.  
And the terrorist Boogeyman.’”

Head smiles approvingly at Mouth
As the Hands share Their gospel:

“Children, do not fret,
All is well so
Keep calm and carry on
we act to protect your safety
Feel the comfort of the
Flak jackets of the Watchmen
Strong and secure among us
Patrolling with tanks, guns, and teargas
All is well, little ones,
Let us tuck you in with a sweet THC sleep
we act as we do in your best interests.

The match which lit the state-approved ****
Snuffed out by the wind of the vox populi:

“We cry
Oh nation
Over the spilled blood
Of the unarmed soldier who died
Protecting the epitaph of the nameless
We mourn for the nation’s first
Whose land was unjustly taken
Their wealth pillaged
Distributed amongst *******
We weep for the babies  
Who cannot get into hospitals
Whose waiting rooms filled for hours
Because the doctors are too overworked
To deliver the children
Who will grow up to find
They have none of the skills
For any of the jobs

We cannot keep calm and carry on
Freedom is in peril
We must defend it with all our might
Protect what’s ours by right
The right to grow love
Not nuclear third arms
The right to be known as a people
Of bravery and longevity
Not platitudes and brevity
We have the duty to remember that we
Are the True North Strong AND FREE
Oh Canada
Your People Stand on Guard For THEE
~
NM
07/01/17
* in response to Allen Ginsburg's "America". An idea conceived after the 2014 attack on Canadian Parliament, and perfected with  Canada's sesquicentennial in 2017 in mind
Francie Lynch Nov 2018
Crosses white, poppies red,
Remember how, remember when
Pale petals fell from blooming roses,
And padded paths where freedom goes.

Fierce fires doused a would be hate,
To quench dry hearts, yours and mine.
Their love and duty burned paper chains
That shackled in war time.

Wise eyes, bright minds, aged souls, young hearts,
Traded rockers for grassy beds;
Gave up gray for blue-black youth,
Now honored among our dead.

The rose that's guarded by the thorn,
Against the reach of many hands,
Does the same in all God's lands:
Yet still the life sap flows.

This time of year is here again,
But remember how, remember when
Canadian pulses played taps then.
Remembrance Day must never end.
Nov. 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada and the Commonwealth. Same as the American Memorial Day.
Glenn Currier Nov 2018
The beauty of your body elates the eyes
mountains, streams, trees, lakes and sea
the radiant day of your first sunrise
snow and air and eagles set free.

Your people lift and delight my soul
with their peace, kindness and joy
native and creative energy unfold
and turn this old man into a boy.

Oh Canada! sadly and soon I must go
I’ll miss your freshness and peace
when I cross the border below
may my affection for you never cease.
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