There are several ways to earn that loonie,
Or even that toonie,
Just got to look for the right opportunity,
And it is never easy,
But that is the harsh reality.

I know that sounds heavy,
But keep listening to me.

I have a drive that pulsates within me,
And it wants to set a vibe around me,
You see,
I want to make the life,
So I can spend it with a wife,
And buy her the right ring,
And pay my parents back their earnings,
So keep watching me,
Because I am going to make sure,
That barrier will shatter,
Into forgotten matter.

When we look back
there is nothing but blotches

A faded remnants of the
brown-eyed school attendants.
Uprooted like floating log houses.
Convergent whims of the ******* children.

I'll be sure to take you down with me.
Down deep into the cellar.

I pick you up in my hand
A red apple from the cart
I turn you over and run my hands along your curves
I see your beauty
I see it speckled with imperfections
Red so deep
Like crimson
You look so sweet
But there is much you could be hiding
I toss you in the air
and catch you
I see the sun reflect off your polished surface
I see your dark spots absorb the sun
I twist your stem and take it
I smell your skin
and estimate your circumfrence
All around me they are filling their bags
to be measured
piling them full
taking so many of you without a second thought
But I have many thoughts
I wonder
and I wonder
Who you are really
I don't see you like they see you
I don't know you like they think they do
I'm not like them
at all
Are you what I am looking for?
Oh, small red apple
Will you show me who I am?
Will you help me or harm me?
Will you liberate me or cage me?
Will I find in you my identity?
Are you what I truly want?
Perhaps I will buy you,
or
Perhaps I will leave you
or
Perhaps I will continue to hold you and wonder
until we both rot away.

a great country with greater ambitions for all
i don't know where i would be if not here
a country worth fighting for
because we all wake up with smiles on our faces
we share every bit we have among us
even though our winters try to cover the rising of the sun
our sun never hesitated to rise
i have no words to express the greatness of this nation
because it's too great to find the exact words
our winters are the coldest
but somehow we always find a way to keep ourselves warm
if holding the door for you, we do it real good
if saying hello, we will be the first you hear it from
we might not be famous in the world of acting or singing
but we are famous and known for being polite
which is a million times worthy
i don't want to sound like bragging
but really this nation has stolen my heart
in a way a boy has never done before
i was not born here, nor am i a native of this ground
i have wondered looking for love and peace
and only here in this nation did i find my heart
i will not be ashamed to hold the flag of this nation
i will not be ashamed to sing the anthem of this nation
the growing of a tree tells a story in this nation
from east to west we rise every day with greater determination
the fireworks of this significant day will end today
but they will keep firing in our hearts for this nation
the smell of the grass of this nation washes away pain,
and when you step on the grass of this nation it brushes you with care
on a rainy days the sky drop low that it gives you a feeling,
and provokes you to believe you can climb
and reach the skies along with a friend.
on a sunny days, the sun gets bright that it makes you
want to talk to any stranger on the sidewalk.
I am inlove with this nation.
i came from a very far land, but this land has become my only home.
i don't care who says i don't belong because my heart say i belong

An Ode to the sweet Northwest that I once called my home:
I have loved you, from the first time I opened my infant eyes, I have loved you.
You gave me my childhood, you taught me and you raised me the only way you knew how.
And blinded by your beauty, I did as you told me, but things are different now.
Within the boundaries of your boarders I grew tall and strong
And I thought that you could teach me everything I would ever need to know,
But I was wrong.
Because just as snow covers dirt and makes it look white,
So did you, you lied to me.
But I know your deception was not of spite,
It was of shame,
Because my whole life you had lied
and told me that perfection was your name,
It’s easier to see now from on top of this mountain,
Than it was from between your trees.
I know you never meant to hurt me,
But the lies you spoke brought me to my knees.
When I was young I never questioned you,
Your lead I would follow,
My identity I found in you,
But that life I lived was hollow
And in leaving you, my love did grow,
Because I only ever saw the snow
I forgot about the dirt that lay under
And as I grew, I idolized you,
But never once did I stop to wonder
If maybe it wasn’t all true.
As the years went by,
I held you close in the back of my mind
You were still my home, my love, my future and
my past,
You were the place I would one day return;
You were my first and my last.
But one summer I excitedly ran back to you
And found dirt instead of snow
It hurt me more than I can say,
I have to admit, it was a low blow.
Because little did I suspect,
When I was far away,
That day, by day, by day
The snow had slowly melted where it lay.
So upon my return,
There was nothing left for me
And I felt disappointment
But honestly, also a bit of relieve.
Because from you I was finally free
And I could be whoever I wanted to be.
And I do still love you,
Despite it all, I know you did the best you could,
For what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful,
The bad and the good.

a letter to myself:
(a reminder, rather),
I know it feels as though you are now in the trenches
the mud clinging between your toes,
the walls too inevitably high to scale,
the rain beating and pouring down on your body,
and you see everyone above the surface hovering,
watching you as you try and clasp the sides of this hollow grave, frantically trying to escape
and you want to just lie in the mud and have the rain drown you until you are nothing
but you must remember this:
you will be fine.
And I know it feels as though you have been butchered, gutted and cleaned
ready to be thrown on the grill by he who so carefully flayed you open over time and space
only to have all your guts and bones trailing behind you, and thrown into a stock *** to boil away
and I know you miss his furrowed brow
and his incessant organization
and his frigid room
and you want him to call and say
"go to where we met and I will hold you and not say anything more than I'm sorry and I want you and you're all I see"
but remember this:
you will be fine.
And right now, I know you want to cover yourself in paint
all colours, but especially red; Tabasco to be certain
and slather it on until all the marks and scuffs disappear
until you disappear
and you want to refuse to let it dry; apply layer upon layer of every shade of blue from sky to navy;
from lime to forest green,
from sunshine to mustard yellow
and all variations of pink,
and your brush becomes heavy because this paint is caking your skin,
a cast of plaster holding your true self in
until you are as frigid as a statue; you are clad in stone
immovable and impenetrable;
your shield
but please remember this:
you will be fine.
One day someone will see your statue in a square or a park,
the sunlight beaming off your sheen,
and will see past that paint:
the layers of Tabasco
and emerald
and ocean
and canary
and pink
and see you
because you are a light
you are the last piece of pie that you know you shouldn't have, but take anyway
you are a phosphene that never disappears, even when their eyes are open
and he or she will approach your statue,
in a stance of utter uncertainty and self-doubt
shoulders hunched, spine pulled in and face blank and wanting
and will see you
and will take a chisel to your stone
and break off the layers
reduce them to dust, surrounding your pedestal
brush, blow and wipe it clean
and they will suffer from the heat and labour
but they will see you
and they will chip until finally you emerge
that light
and all will be gathered in that square or park
and as you look around you realize that they are the people you love the most
and the person who has broken your mould, your shell
is the one you love most of all: you.
Because you look in the mirror and you love you
you want you
you need you
and I know it's dark
and I know there are drills and hammers and saws
and I know when you sleep you are erased
but remember this:
you will be fine.
you are alive.
you are here.
you are better.
you will rise.

Between the crosses
Row on row
John McRae

For the greater good
That's what they say

One day
For another
To succeed

One man
For another
To proceed

Oh the sorrow  
the devastation
Shots like hailstones
no tomorrow

Jubilee screams
Celebration

But the men they cry
in Depredation

Long Live Our Nation.

There once was a lad from the Lone Star State,
who dreamed of exploration and realized that just over the horizon, adventure await.

He was commissioned by the internal desire for adventure,
which burns deep inside us all, and within him grew,
so he assembled a ragtag crew to explore a land seen by few.

He set off for the ancient land- more north than he’d ever been-
whose beauty and wonder only true voyageurs and men of the wilds knew.

By air and by land, the voyageur lad traveled to his Uncle’s cabin,
nestled deep within the Harshaw Hill country.
  
This legendary cabin, was built solely by the hands of the one they call Uncle Buck-
the most amazing cabin one could ever see.

Uncle Buck is renowned and recognized throughout the land
for his merit, adventurous spirit, long grizzled beard, and skillful hand.

It was here, in the cabin’s comfort, the brave Sugar Beans (as he was fondly named)
greeted his courageous crew with a hearty, “Boozhoo!”
They were some of the finest canoeists around-
paddlers tested, tried and true.

Together they pondered, planned, and plotted the course of their adventure
for which they’d set forth;
packed their belongings, and dreamed of North.

Sugar Beans’ crew consisted of five, rugged braves-
paddlers he knew had grit and could battle the wind, rain, and waves.

Uncle Buck, a wise and grizz old guide, had seen many moons in the Northland sky.              
Respect of all living things and the song of the wild are the codes to which he ascribes.

Jonesy, a well-traveled voyageur himself and Sugar Beans’ proud dad,
had been to this land and wanted to share its magic with his brave little lad.

Joeseppi , a young blood at heart, was the lad’s loyal cousin and friend,
a trustworthy bowman, on whom all paddlers could depend.

Makwa, the newcomer- fierce as a bear and as tough as the rest-
and after day one, she gave it her best.

And last there was Pierrὲson; the lad’s other cousin and fellow adventure zealot,
who once learned his lesson and stayed away from anything that resembled an apricot.

They loaded the van, strapped on the canoes, and greeted the early morning with a boisterous “Bonjour!” and embarked North to begin The Magical Northwoods Mystery Tour.

Traversing blue highways the voyageurs meandered north, through the wilds of Wisconsin and the Land of 10,000 lakes, hoping to make the Canadian border before it was too late.

Eventually they arrived at the Magical Northwoods’ doorway- delicate and ornate.
The crew unloaded their gear and launched their canoes- confident and sure.
Each eager paddle stroke brought them closer to all the memories they would create.

And Sugar Bean and his crew created memories- some of the best.
Memories that seep into dreams and make one feel blessed.  

Memories of:

discovering a pictograph and plodding through a ****** river- just to get back on path;

stumbling upon wolf tracks and forgetting the fishing poles- but never the packs;

exploring  craggy caves and battling and paddling against the wind and waves;

hunting for ice under rock clefts out of the sun, they searched and searched but came up with none;

swimming in the warm water nearly every day and asking painted turtles if they wanted to play;

practicing the art of stalking seagulls, and on every lake, they gave greeting the glorious eagles;

dropkicking each and every single portage and of food and laughter there was no shortage.

The crew came back with fantastic tales and experienced everything a voyageur could wish.
And although his dad will try to tell you it was only by an eighth of an inch, there are pictures to prove that Sugar Beans caught the biggest fish!

So here’s a paddle rattle for you- young voyageur lad- the greatest voyageur old Quetico’s ever seen!  May your adventurous spirit continue to grow and may the waters you paddle always be serene.