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Francie Lynch Apr 30
Do you see
How all things
Have conspired
For an average ******,
Like me.

I am grateful
To evade
The poxes
Others have endured.

The cold, the hunger, the homelessness;
The hate, the fear, the lonliness.
There's more.

I have never
Stretched out
A hand or fist
In want, fear, or hate.

I held chalk, and *****, and babies.
Such things sealed my fate.
Peace and Love
Filled our waves;
No poppies and crosses
On a friend's foreign grave.

Yes, all things conspired.
And this time got it right,
To live happily ever after
In my middle-class life.
Heavy Hearted Apr 14
The alarm tolls,
On their rude device-
It's time for work
& yet still, despite
the thousand fascets
of one reality
These Newbrunswickin Chavs
Wouldn't recognize, really,
That Despite
the riddle's answer, Being  E;
& that double decade,
One might have over me,

When direct
go unanswered; The respect
I require
(now unvield)
Off, into the past
Oh, how I  become

The Whip

they crack
The Whip                        
& with
All that I am,

the past, In desperation, I forcefully trick
As the blackness, of my being
Forms a darkness,  spilling thick.
Engulfing light- mind's eye's Unseeing,  
Consumes oneself, like a candles wick -
Illuminating every route (for fleeing)
For me, the lights still on- homesick.

Forcefully, faithfully; to keep on believing, & even

just to keep the pathway lit-  by headlight, sunbeam, or doomscrolling trip-
Understand why might a human being
'S now become The Whip
Anything is possible and Nothing makes sense
Today I woke a happy fellow
Saw dancing daisies in the meadow
The sun was up to greet me so
With golden smile all aglow
Its rays of light of sparkling bliss
Did plant upon my cheek a kiss
Then wrapped me in warmful embrace
And set my beating heart apace
For springtime's grace has superseded
Savage winter which we heeded
Its colours blend a joyful soul
With heavenly palms we extol
The beautiful spring that whispers love
That fits my hand just like a glove
Today I am a happy fellow
Dancing daisies in the meadow
This was my 1st ever Print: Published in Cabin Fever Vol.3 Spring Fever Edition produced by Beth Callon. Argenta, British Columbia. (Settlement in Canada)

Beth can be found on Instagram @flowerpeoplefarm

Copyright Joshua Reece Wylie 2021
leolewin Jun 2023
If you want me when I’m gone,
Simply look up at the stars,
And I will twinkle back.

If you want me when I’m gone,
Simply close your eyes and listen,
For I will be singing with the birds to you.

If you want me when I’m gone,
Simple feel the earth below your feet,
I will be with you every step of the way.

If you want me when I’m gone,
Simply smell the sweet scented flower from the black locust tree.
Pause and move on with your day.
ConnectHook Feb 2022
Canucks driving trucks!
Rocking, rolling, getting DOWN !
YES ! Keep On Truckin'.
Notes from the Great White North.
Chanel Dior Jan 2022
My winters never last this long
never this brutal, never this strong
Though this snowstorm is brisk and brittle
I cant help but miss your icy blue eyes a little.
This love I store safe just for you,
Is almost as warm as the coffee you brew.

For you my dear these stars glitter and dance,
They are as beautiful as the sound of your laugh.
Even on a cloudy Winter's night,
You are as admirable as Orion in my sight.
Peaking up at The Milky Way
My galaxy is here to stay.

Holding your warm hands makes all my stars align.
When I stargaze I tend to take my time,
You remind me that love exists,
My soaring star has made its wish.
These constellations are the exemplary view,
Though not as  quintessential as my love for you.
To my beloved.
Lawrence Hall Jan 2022
Lawrence Hall

              The Great Canadian Dairy / Diary Dispute of 2022

         "Canada must now do the right thing and come into full
           compliance with its obligations on diary [sic].”

   Brady: Canadian Dairy Dispute Settlement Achieved Thanks to
  USMCA’s Improved Enforcement | U.S. House of Representatives

How many nights have Americans lost sleep
Through fear and righteous anger that in the darkness
An illegal liter of perfidious Canadian milk
Might sneak across the 49th Parallel

The lights burn late in the Pentagon tonight
While border guards watch the wicked north
Lest a stick of malicious Canadian butter
Attempt to overthrow our Constitution

We watch all our borders constantly now
Against Canadians hiding in a Trojan cow
Damon Robinson Dec 2021
There is this pair of sweatpants,
they sit in the bottom left drawer of my dresser.
I like to picture myself wearing them.

That comfortable,
snuggly feeling.
Like a warm hug
from an old friend
you used to crush on.

It's such an out there concept,
- but imagine if it happened.
wearing those sweatpants
from the bottom left drawer of my dresser.
Or that black hoodie
that my mom got me two Christmases ago
the one that she special purchased because so it'd fit just right
Or any stained shirt ever
one that you can wear for comfort at home
because finally no one is watching.

I learned young
to button-up
so that there wouldn't be
as many eyes watching me today
so i can go and buy my favourite candy
from that gas station down the street.

And I always wondered
why some people's sunday best
was my only way to feel normal.

I was about 10
when I learned
that wearing comfortable
might get me stopped
by the police today.

I guess this is what it's like
to be true
and free.
to this day i cannot go to any store without feeling like a criminal. @DamonRobPoetry
Sharon Talbot Mar 2021
I am lately entranced by neo-noir,
The criminal mysteries of Europe
And the wilds of Canada and Britain.
There is rarely running, screaming
Or endless car chases through
London, Ottawa or Ystad,
Unlike the reckless pursuits
In Manhattan or L.A. streets.
These detectives don’t sashay
In long coats or wear black leather,
(Except for a couple).
They wake up hung over,
Like Wallander, or grieving
Like Perez from Fair Isle
And Matthias, self-exiled to Wales.

Bodies surface or are found
In gorgeous forests.
The detectives overcome depression
To quarrel with irrational superiors
(Who may themselves be guilty),
Yet they don’t yell like sergeants
In the gritty precincts of NYC.
They drive their Volvos through
Rolling fields of rye and rapeseed.
And even the mysterious quarries
Where bodies are found in Poland and Wales
Are beautiful—not like the junkyards
Of Barstow or east coast borderlands.
Some detectives are lucky, like Matthias,
In hiding in Hinterland.
He walks the shores of Aberstwyth
As Wallander does the fields of Malmo.
When suspects are caught, they aren’t beaten.
Their jails are neat and clean;
The prisoners get mattresses, pillows and TV!
The police question suspects casually,
As if they would rather be in bed.
The female cops are clever and quiet;
They rarely show their anger
When chided or ignored,
But carry on with dignity
And show the others
How work is really done.

At last, the assailant is charged,
Sun sets through the mist,
Sheep graze on manicured fields.
Village streets glow with low light
Reflected off rain-washed stone.
But despite the ambiance, people die
In weird ways: falling off of towers,
Shot while picnicking in costumes,
Lynched by a group of church goers
Floating past in a lake or river,
Or set on fire in a flowery field.
It’s as if the deaths are staged,
To match the serenity of the old world.
The slow machinations of justice
And drained eyes of the officers
Comfort me like a sedative
Always there, watching over their flock
As soothing as a soft, wool blanket
Hiding a frightened child.
When I am asleep, let
Matthias run along the cliff,
Let Wallander drink his wine
While Endeavour swoons to opera
And Cardinal stands in the birch grove,
All as semi-sedated sentinels
In the dusk or midnight sun.
I only ask that American blues
Take a page from these good constables
Across the sea or north of the border;
Imagine the settling peace
In the wide, new world,
If people of color were never smothered,
Or shot when carrying a phone
And people protesting were not gassed,
But spoken to with weary eyes
And a mind prompting peace officers
To listen, protect and serve.
There is something about the ****** mysteries of other countries than the U.S. In Canada, Great Britain and Sweden, for example, the police seem to hunt criminals in a relaxed, sometimes depressed way (Wallander!)  that fascinates me...even mesmerizes me!
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