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Sunshine Jan 8
Oh, little girl, that’s not nice
not nice at all
Those are not nice names
to think, Let alone say or call

Oh little boy that’s not nice
not nice at all
Thinking your 10 feet tall
bulletproof & ready to brawl

Scared girls
who just want friends
Popular girls
would much rather offend.

A frightened boy
who doesn't like sports
A tough boy
who just points and snorts.

No Bully in our school's
Isn’t that what they say?
That's a nice thought to bad
it doesn't work that way.
Gemma Davies Sep 2018
It's fun to play inside the house,
Puzzles, building blocks and more.
But playing outside is the best,
So just open up the door!

Get some mud on your trousers,
Some grass stains on your shirt.
Play around in the rain or sun,
Don't be scared of all the dirt.

Stomp around in giant puddles,
Whether it's December or July.
The best classroom has no walls,
And is roofed only by the sky.
My poem was lovingly made into a 'Me to You Bear' video:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5kw4A4J0Zg
Lou Aug 2018
We Shepard children,
we raise them on farms.
When it's time to ask them for identity, they form into clouds.

How can we ask them to identify self in an overcast?
Can you see an adult when they experience rain?

I see children in coats holding hands, Staying in line.

I see the Shepard staff,
Still at large.

Automated to wind by reaction.
Punishable and feared.

Straight line children
Along the fence

Straight line children
Group project: independence.
M-E Jul 2018
I’m the nameless, nobody
Born of a nameless, nonexistent mum
And a nameless, nonexistent dad
In a placeless city
New in town and I don’t mind
To re-shape my mind
By a town that is so ruthless,
So thoughtless and -
Maybe
I am feeble
But certainly in a new form
A new coming storm,
A cyclone,
A cyclops,
A mongrel
Annihilating,
Devastating,
Decapitating your approval and pity
I’m glass, seen through and sharp
An undecipheral writing
Meticulously weird and uncanny
I’m a boy, a girl
A maniac,
A brainiac,
A pyromaniac,
A junior granny
It’s funny
Wondering why I’m the way I am
You sculptor -
I’m leaving,
Somewhere where I will not find you
For the bullied and the forgotten generation.

Can’t we find a solution instead of demolition, intentionally or unintentionally?
Taanish Arora Jun 2018
Schooling- the best phase of our lives
Schooling- when we develop

We are told a thing is important- evolution
But we learn it the way workers did during the industrial revolution.

The “Modern” school sysem is supposd to be greater,
But truly, it’s about cramming words and becoming the topper.

We have degrees, we have information
And whatever happened to practical application.

We sit through 8 hours of lecturing each day
All of our freedom is taken away.

CGPA, exams and marks are what count. Whilst Knowledge and innovation are out somewhere roaming around.



         By- Taanish Arora
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
From the moment you are born there is someone out there ready to take you, they see you as more of a commodity than a person. They created laws so they could legally destroy you. You are left with soulless men and women who reached into your soul to try and turn you into one of them.

Their stinging words that come from the end of a switch, beating, ****** their ideology into your soul. Punishments come when you try to be yourself and as the years go by you slowly begin to disappear. And when they are done with you they toss you aside, leaving you with a lifetime of scars that never truly heal.

Generations of souls with no place to go, ending up on the streets of broken glass and towers of steel, drinking poison to dull the pain. You were taught to hate yourself by, taught to hate your people, your way of life. You continue to walk the path of broken glass and spent needles looking for your next release from the pain.

You want to give up, but you can’t for that goes against their beliefs. You try and escape with a pocket full of memories and a faint hope that the Creator is watching. You meet more lost souls on your journey all seeking to be healed. Together you begin to share stories something which is forbidden but you do it anyway. You soon discover that you are not alone and through these shared stories you have found a new family and a way to heal.

Your new found family invite you to sweat, as the heat rises your memories start to return. You share your story of the soul takers, the empty ones, the aliens who violated your world. As the heat increases, the songs get louder. Loud enough for the Great Spirit to reach down and heal you. For the first time in many years you see your mother, your family all your relations.

Like the tears flowing down your face so do the memories return to your soul, piecing you back together like a broken mirror. And though cracks remain they are there to remind you that you have lived. The Great Spirit leaves one parting lesson, go out she says, go out and find my children, bring them to the sweat , save as many as you can.

So you return to the streets of broken glass and towers of steel. You slowly bring your brothers and sisters to the sweat and together you begin to teach our youth to work together, to heal the land and it’s people. So future generations can grow into their destinies.
Inspired by the many survivors of Canada's Residential Schools
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
How many of us have to to die, go missing, be ***** before justice listens? The blood our people have spilled have wet the ground for centuries. Our children have been stolen, our families shattered and our land taken all due to the arrogance of white men.

To this day our people have been made to live in fear, a fear that has been driven, beaten, shot, stabbed and ***** into our very bodies. In the last 500 years our identities have been bombarded by men who are called pillars of our history. Their statues litter the land, a reminder of the atrocities they committed and fawned over by their ancestors.

The schools tried to erase us, the men with white collars, callous hearts and empty souls, the sting of their violations like ripples in a pool lasting generations. They taught hate in schools, they created Gerald Stanley and Raymond Cormier and thousands like them. They created ignorance that we feel even today.

Our two faced politicians who shed tears, kiss babies and at the same time deny our children basic human rights. Their tears buying our votes with empty promises and back room deals, selling away our children, our land and our souls.

We never forgot, the generations of genocide would not let us. “A good Indian is a dead Indian” the man on the radio says, his words are like the stones thrown at women, children and elders during the Crisis. The violence we experienced that day was just another chapter in the long history of massacres, land theft, stolen children and degradation.

The change that our two faced politicians talk about is the trickle down economics of social change, I say trickle down because like every other promise it doesn’t exist. I grow tired of the fight but I know that we must continue. We are the symbol of the voice yet to be born. The words of our elders continue to lead us, guide us like they always have on the path towards growth.

We must continue to educate and fight the ignorance that permeates every corner of our society. It’s the idea that must be destroyed, the idea of white supremacy which has plagued our land for centuries. Growth cannot happen without truth and that cannot happen without honesty. To have true honesty our society will have to look in the mirror and acknowledge that of which most of them cannot, that hate exists.

We must acknowledge that white supremacy helped Gerald Stanley and Raymond Cormier commit and get away with their horrific crimes. Change will only happen when we no longer allow fear to hold us back, to keep our mouths shut. Change will happen when we look at each other as equals and help one another to heal, to grow and to teach.

We are not defined by a stereotype, we are not the alcoholic, the drug addict, the *** worker, or the homeless person. We are teachers, doctors, social workers, lawyers and Chiefs. We are actors, writers, poets, singers and Djs. But most importantly we are nations of people, people that have been the stewards of this land for a millennia.

We are people who refuse to be victims, we refuse to have child services take our children away from their mother’s breast. We refuse to be silent when our sisters go missing and are murdered and we refuse to believe that the police are doing everything they can.

We will not stay silent when the media places blame on the Coltons and Tina’s over the world, this victim blaming must stop. The white patriarchy cannot continue to own our future. We as Indigenous peoples will take back our story and we will be the ones to write the next chapter.

A chapter where our sisters do not go missing, where our youth have a future, and a chapter where our communities are thriving. I refuse to accept despair and pain, I’d rather believe in hope, growth and love. That is how we create change. When remembering the words of my late mother, a closed fist is a closed mind, while an open hand reveals an open heart.

Change is a beautiful thing, we are the masters of our own future. We will bring down the walls that divide us and together bring the change this land sorely needs.
SelinaSharday Feb 2018
Ø It ain't safe Ø
Rejoice for every missed soul a bullet fails to slaughter..
Anguish and sorrow for every soul  bullets used to masecure.
Bullets..weapons of war.. used for hunting of innocent humans.
Others giving resistence saying rights to carry over rights to live.
No Rights to be protected..from demented minds and unholy mentions.
A Country that fails to nurture and keep safe its citizens is perplexive.
Can't  relate to being (safe).. Homes Ø safe.. schools Ø safe.. work place Ø safe!
It ain't safe!.. America we aint Ø safe!
WithOut God in your Space!
By selinasharday
ma-secures, slaying shooting innocent victims, killings school shooting, work place killings assault weapons laws,
one thing in common between
the greatest books ever written
and myself was that we were
banned from the schools

we turned our backs away from this
****-poor attempt at a system of education

and we’ve been inseparable ever since
Ksjpari Aug 2017
Gems of world - all girls my pride
Are happy and make so when tried;
Drashti & Mansi – best friends tied
To another as a fly to sugar when spied.
Sanjana and Dhruvi with all stride
Ahead to make others deride.
They are my charms and pride -
Intelligently innocent, and guide
For me and class in our collide.
Lucky is a silent asteroid
Who bursts in hostel wide.
Darshana innocently flied
In hostel during Yoga allied
With Udita who always denied
To be a part of Yoga, but tried
To save skin by moving aside
When problems don’t subside.
Meshwa and Tamanna – bromide;
Burst in class if one belied.
All nine gems of Akbar’s I vied
In my sweet angels without snide
I hope they’ll never forget my bestride
For them and come in my cyanide.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style. Thanks for your inspiring, kind, soft fingers.
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