"canada" poems - Hello Poetry

I am from Canada drinking Guatemalan coffee in a Belgian cafe established by Americans.

0

Mar 30, 2013

Mar 30, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC

tread

globalization

I am from Canada drinking Guatemalan coffee in a Belgian cafe established by Americans.

5

Is there a difference, give us a reference, between a stalker, and a pokemon. The monger hits news, game spots and toss, time lost and chaos, with a pokemon. In Canada...... The rule breakers, cross the borders, an inadvertently walk, for a pokemon. In Guatemala city ....... The teenage boy, under the wizard, die in the cause, for a pokemon. In London....... The go players, ambushed in public, and robbed by trees, all for pokemon. In Africa..... The rumble, then scrambles, to get the last, the dusts of pokeman. In Asia........... No signs too, they tire and wait, for the nostalgia, all for pokeman. In New York..... It's a no, no, for *** offenders, or become criminals, All for pokeman. Poke me man, NO SOD OFF! It's all crazy, the apocalypse, of freaks and creatures! Poke me man! I DARE YOU NOT! Go find old cards, a bank of more funds, all for pokemon. Poke me man! I POCKET YOU! As phones hide, their lunch hunt, the herd of pokemon.

0

Aug 2, 2016

Aug 2, 2016 at 6:22 AM UTC

SassyJ

Pokemon

Is there a difference, give us a reference, between a stalker, and a pokemon. The monger hits news, game spots and toss, time lost and chaos, with a pokemon. In Canada...... The rule breakers, cross the borders, an inadvertently walk, for a pokemon. In Guatemala city ....... The teenage boy, under the wizard, die in the cause, for a pokemon. In London....... The go players, ambushed in public, and robbed by trees, all for pokemon. In Africa..... The rumble, then scrambles, to get the last, the dusts of pokeman. In Asia........... No signs too, they tire and wait, for the nostalgia, all for pokeman. In New York..... It's a no, no, for *** offenders, or become criminals, All for pokeman. Poke me man, NO SOD OFF! It's all crazy, the apocalypse, of freaks and creatures! Poke me man! I DARE YOU NOT! Go find old cards, a bank of more funds, all for pokemon. Poke me man! I POCKET YOU! As phones hide, their lunch hunt, the herd of pokemon.

53

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0

Dec 21, 2019

Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC

maxneumann

The World NEEDS HelloPoetry (Please Make A Contribution.)

196

the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that. but to get to the Northwest, Interstate 84 ain’t le route plus directe nope curve north to Ontario, wave to Bex as I cross over London and Toronto, also can’t recall which poet from Rochester hails, or did they shuffle off to Buffalo? Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all, brings to mind my mother’s birthplace, Last of the Mohicans, and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary, where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play of cowboys and Indians but by god, it made me the penitent fella I am today Look skyward to Montreal, yes, there he is, the Leo Priest, the baffled king, blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip with a smiling unsurprising hallelujah Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada, even if one forgot their passports, and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT) over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane, a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen, surely they still speak poetic English there in a twangy metering methodology - well, message me asap wow there really is a Saskatoon! the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats to help turn the plane so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver... me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High, considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial, as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a huuuuuge grin see the distant Cascades through a crack in the shuttered windows, must be close to “the coast” (as if, harrumph, there were but one) ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking must be getting close to Oregon, where poets grow on trees, woody words like **** and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea gonna drink me some poets under the table cause this trip I ain’t no driving and I am already “flying” ‘n scribing and arriving on a high tide and a good wind

0

Jun 7, 2018

Jun 7, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Songs of Going to Oregon: No. 2 But Who Knew?

the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that. but to get to the Northwest, Interstate 84 ain’t le route plus directe nope curve north to Ontario, wave to Bex as I cross over London and Toronto, also can’t recall which poet from Rochester hails, or did they shuffle off to Buffalo? Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all, brings to mind my mother’s birthplace, Last of the Mohicans, and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary, where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play of cowboys and Indians but by god, it made me the penitent fella I am today Look skyward to Montreal, yes, there he is, the Leo Priest, the baffled king, blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip with a smiling unsurprising hallelujah Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada, even if one forgot their passports, and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT) over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane, a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen, surely they still speak poetic English there in a twangy metering methodology - well, message me asap wow there really is a Saskatoon! the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats to help turn the plane so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver... me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High, considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial, as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a huuuuuge grin see the distant Cascades through a crack in the shuttered windows, must be close to “the coast” (as if, harrumph, there were but one) ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking must be getting close to Oregon, where poets grow on trees, woody words like **** and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea gonna drink me some poets under the table cause this trip I ain’t no driving and I am already “flying” ‘n scribing and arriving on a high tide and a good wind

53

1 What my brother-in-law said to me: *Hey, bro…glad to talk to you… I’m flying in all the way from Canada in 30 days’ time…yeah, whole family Wife and the 3 kids Hey, you ought to get leave for a week – we’ll stay in your place, and you can drive us about Victoria… it’s really my sis and you we want to see… Yeah, get back to me after you speak to the people at your workplace* 2 What I told my brother-in-law: *I asked my boss, and he said leave’s not possible… He needs me to be at work says he can’t manage without me* What my brother-in-law said back to me: *Oh, we’ll try my wife’s side then You know, the ones who live in Mauritius We’d really like to see them…* 3 What actually happened Well, to be honest, I asked my boss for the week off and he said: *You’ve let so much work hang for so long you’d need a whole year to finish Let me make it plain, you shirker: This year, you get NO days off* And I shook his hands enthusiastically, and I said to him: Thanks, boss – I knew I could always count on you ...and now I've got my bro-in-law languishing in Canada - and my boss, my colleagues tell me, feeling perplexed in his office...

0

Oct 1, 2012

Oct 1, 2012 at 3:14 AM UTC

raj-arumugam

A week off, for my bro-in-law

1 What my brother-in-law said to me: *Hey, bro…glad to talk to you… I’m flying in all the way from Canada in 30 days’ time…yeah, whole family Wife and the 3 kids Hey, you ought to get leave for a week – we’ll stay in your place, and you can drive us about Victoria… it’s really my sis and you we want to see… Yeah, get back to me after you speak to the people at your workplace* 2 What I told my brother-in-law: *I asked my boss, and he said leave’s not possible… He needs me to be at work says he can’t manage without me* What my brother-in-law said back to me: *Oh, we’ll try my wife’s side then You know, the ones who live in Mauritius We’d really like to see them…* 3 What actually happened Well, to be honest, I asked my boss for the week off and he said: *You’ve let so much work hang for so long you’d need a whole year to finish Let me make it plain, you shirker: This year, you get NO days off* And I shook his hands enthusiastically, and I said to him: Thanks, boss – I knew I could always count on you ...and now I've got my bro-in-law languishing in Canada - and my boss, my colleagues tell me, feeling perplexed in his office...

35

Classical Trumpism: Judas makes a strong and powerful betrayal. Neo-Classical-Trumpism: *Adolph is a good friend of mine. He makes a strong and powerful argument regarding purity.* Contemporary Trumpism: I love and trust my little buddy, Kim. Modern Trumpism: *Vlad, whom I trust with my marriage, makes a reel strong and powerful argument.* Trumpism: Sad, Sad, Sad. Witch hunt. There was no collusion. Neo-Trumpism: *Crooked Malia and Sasha are to blame for the collusion with Canada, Mexico and South America*.

0

Jul 23, 2018

Jul 23, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC

francie-lynch

Through the Ages

Classical Trumpism: Judas makes a strong and powerful betrayal. Neo-Classical-Trumpism: *Adolph is a good friend of mine. He makes a strong and powerful argument regarding purity.* Contemporary Trumpism: I love and trust my little buddy, Kim. Modern Trumpism: *Vlad, whom I trust with my marriage, makes a reel strong and powerful argument.* Trumpism: Sad, Sad, Sad. Witch hunt. There was no collusion. Neo-Trumpism: *Crooked Malia and Sasha are to blame for the collusion with Canada, Mexico and South America*.

9

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

0

Apr 12, 2019

Apr 12, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC

bus-poet-stop

spring planting, spring harvesting, spring garlic

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

38

I pull open the door And hunt for food in the dim orange light. "There's nothing inside" Well, actually, There is something: Months old cream cheeses precariously stacked atop each other, Several mysterious bottles of brown sauces, Dried out leafy vegetables, But nothing This lazy *** can eat without preparing. I push close the door, Leaving my stomach rumbling and empty, But filling my mind with Dreams Three-fourths of the dull gray door is covered With colorful ceramic magnets From my dad’s corporate adventures To Batangas, Bohol, Bacolod, Davao, Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, Macau, Nepal, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, China, Dubai, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia Sudan, Egypt, Ethiopia, Canada, Greece, and Australia. I examine each magnet’s contour and shine, Letting its foreign dust seep into my fingers. I dream that soon I will return all those dusts to their lands And bring home more magnets of my own.

0

Dec 28, 2013

Dec 28, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC

marge-redelicia

Refrigerator

I pull open the door And hunt for food in the dim orange light. "There's nothing inside" Well, actually, There is something: Months old cream cheeses precariously stacked atop each other, Several mysterious bottles of brown sauces, Dried out leafy vegetables, But nothing This lazy *** can eat without preparing. I push close the door, Leaving my stomach rumbling and empty, But filling my mind with Dreams Three-fourths of the dull gray door is covered With colorful ceramic magnets From my dad’s corporate adventures To Batangas, Bohol, Bacolod, Davao, Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, Macau, Nepal, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, China, Dubai, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia Sudan, Egypt, Ethiopia, Canada, Greece, and Australia. I examine each magnet’s contour and shine, Letting its foreign dust seep into my fingers. I dream that soon I will return all those dusts to their lands And bring home more magnets of my own.

28

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0

Sep 9, 2015

Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC

ptanand22-ji

Husband wife dispute/girlfriend/boyfriend breakup Solution

Pt. Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Astrology or/and Vashikaran solutions are also very effective for resolving or averting extramarital affairs of husband or wife, in present and future years. Such solutions or measures can be maximally efficacious and safe if these are extended by a well-learned, well-experienced, righteous, and globally reputed astrologer or relationship vashikaran specialist, like our guru ji astrologer-cum-vashikaran specialist pt.Anand ji of India. This web-article is dedicated exclusively to offering detailed and very beneficial information over the solutions of our dignified and benevolent guru ji, for resolving or eliminating unwanted extramarital affairs of any partner of the married life, to make the domestic life smooth and succulent, peaceful, and truly opulent. The extramarital affairs of husband or wife could be caused by anyone or more of the following reasons: Astrological Factors Constantly increasing distance between husband and wife Differences in the lifestyle and priorities of the two married partners Absence of full confidence in the other partner Understanding and compatibility problems between husband and wife Easily available company of an alluring person of opposite gender Lack of marital harmony, intimacy, and succulence Issues related with financial, occupational, or social status of any INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Anand Ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problemsolution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London IN New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/ Email .. [email protected]..................... Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............

13

an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS Who has a pet IGUANA? Some people say my uncle is a ******* KANGAROOS have muscular tails Obama rhymes with LLAMA in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose a NEWT likes being in a warm environment some OCTOPI have black dye baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL RACCOONS live in rocky dens a TAPIR has a very long nose UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole WOMBATS move in a very slow manner an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA

0

Aug 21, 2013

Aug 21, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

ABC Poem (Animals)

an aging APE developed arthritis in his ankles several BATS tasted the nectar from the plum trees Jessica's CAT played with the ball of wool DINGOS were seen skulking around the camp site there are two types of ELEPHANTS the Asian and African FERRETS are sent down rabbit warrens to flush them out Helen saw a GIRAFFE at the wildlife reserve I wrote a poem titled Hilary The HIPPOPOTAMUS Who has a pet IGUANA? Some people say my uncle is a ******* KANGAROOS have muscular tails Obama rhymes with LLAMA in parts of Canada MOOSE roam on the loose a NEWT likes being in a warm environment some OCTOPI have black dye baby PANDAS are cute and cuddly in Australia we have a native bush QUAIL RACCOONS live in rocky dens a TAPIR has a very long nose UAKARI monkeys hang out in the Amazon jungle if you're looking for a VOLE you'll find him in a hole WOMBATS move in a very slow manner an XERUS is a mighty big species of squirrel the Nepalese have domesticated YAKS Doctor Dolittle has spoken to a ZEBRA

25

It's funny what you do to me, and I know funny. I go up on stage and tell ****** jokes for a living, and look super bad *** while doing it. But now you've got my *** terrified. Paranoid to breathe because I'm afraid it will be my last and you won't be there to see it. Yes, it's cliche. But you do have me listening to love songs, you do have me putting on make up, you do have me running up mountains so I can have a body you can enjoy while we make- out in your car to Beyonce songs. You once told me that I "was the more beautiful person to grace this Earth" but Lover, I see your grace in everything on this Earth. And snow makes me smile because you like to ski and I'm from Canada so my face hurts frequently. Trench mapped hands, a sign of how many battles you've fought and won, how many battles you've fought and lost, how many times you've picked yourself up off the dirt, smiled at me and said "I'm fine, are you okay?" Honestly, I have no idea how the most flawed person in the world, a girl who leaves her wet towels everywhere, a girl who puts her keys in the same place but manages to forget where they are, a girl who plays Assassin's Creed for 3 hours without blinking and wears that like a proud Metal Of Honor, how can that girl make the most perfect person in the work happy? Answer? I have no clue, but you don't have to cheat on any test, because I'll stay. As long as you want me to, I'll stay. Here for you when you get weepy, or angry, or curious to see what we can do behind closed doors. I won't say "I love you". Not because it's not true. Nothing could be more true. But if I say it, I'll cry, You'll kiss me, and I can't guarantee what will happen to our clothes after that. So instead, I'll keep making the "that's what she said" jokes, until you're reminded of snow, or maps, or breathing. And I have fallen so hard for you that stone boarders between countries couldn't stop your gravitational pull. And like willow tree roots growing into shorelines, I get wetter every time you hold me. So, I'll send you Steven King length facebook messages everyday. I'll ring up my phone bill to $500. Light candles for 3 hour skype dinners. Because, long distance relationships are hard, but not being able to call you "mine" is excruciating. Because, it's funny what you do to me. Because, I love funny.

0

Sep 3, 2012

Sep 3, 2012 at 2:19 PM UTC

hayley-simpson

Funny

It's funny what you do to me, and I know funny. I go up on stage and tell ****** jokes for a living, and look super bad *** while doing it. But now you've got my *** terrified. Paranoid to breathe because I'm afraid it will be my last and you won't be there to see it. Yes, it's cliche. But you do have me listening to love songs, you do have me putting on make up, you do have me running up mountains so I can have a body you can enjoy while we make- out in your car to Beyonce songs. You once told me that I "was the more beautiful person to grace this Earth" but Lover, I see your grace in everything on this Earth. And snow makes me smile because you like to ski and I'm from Canada so my face hurts frequently. Trench mapped hands, a sign of how many battles you've fought and won, how many battles you've fought and lost, how many times you've picked yourself up off the dirt, smiled at me and said "I'm fine, are you okay?" Honestly, I have no idea how the most flawed person in the world, a girl who leaves her wet towels everywhere, a girl who puts her keys in the same place but manages to forget where they are, a girl who plays Assassin's Creed for 3 hours without blinking and wears that like a proud Metal Of Honor, how can that girl make the most perfect person in the work happy? Answer? I have no clue, but you don't have to cheat on any test, because I'll stay. As long as you want me to, I'll stay. Here for you when you get weepy, or angry, or curious to see what we can do behind closed doors. I won't say "I love you". Not because it's not true. Nothing could be more true. But if I say it, I'll cry, You'll kiss me, and I can't guarantee what will happen to our clothes after that. So instead, I'll keep making the "that's what she said" jokes, until you're reminded of snow, or maps, or breathing. And I have fallen so hard for you that stone boarders between countries couldn't stop your gravitational pull. And like willow tree roots growing into shorelines, I get wetter every time you hold me. So, I'll send you Steven King length facebook messages everyday. I'll ring up my phone bill to $500. Light candles for 3 hour skype dinners. Because, long distance relationships are hard, but not being able to call you "mine" is excruciating. Because, it's funny what you do to me. Because, I love funny.

35

Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi World War II - ADOLF ****** by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006 Austria raised a man so vile and vicious His life was dark, callous and malicious Passions of hatred engraved in his mind As he plotted to create his own mankind A soldier for Germany in World War One War to end all wars had only just begun The National Socialist Party appeared fast Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool False promises made, people he would fool Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps Without their help Germany would collapse The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone Germany's President died, he took the throne He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany And would start the worst war of the century War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact Together with Russia, Poland they attacked England and France were not ready for war Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored. Mussolini became his ally and supported him For all other countries their chances were slim Many countries were defeated in a few days the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most In defeating all his enemies he came close The Nazis would spread all across Europe But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop Communist regimes were one group he did hate Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end There was still so much for people to defend On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished ****** and fascism in Europe was abolished World War Two ended the areas were secure From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ****** - By Darien. (Canada) ..........................................................................

0

Sep 22, 2018

Sep 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC

RAJNANDY

WORLD WAR II - ADOLF ******

Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi World War II - ADOLF ****** by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006 Austria raised a man so vile and vicious His life was dark, callous and malicious Passions of hatred engraved in his mind As he plotted to create his own mankind A soldier for Germany in World War One War to end all wars had only just begun The National Socialist Party appeared fast Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool False promises made, people he would fool Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps Without their help Germany would collapse The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone Germany's President died, he took the throne He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany And would start the worst war of the century War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact Together with Russia, Poland they attacked England and France were not ready for war Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored. Mussolini became his ally and supported him For all other countries their chances were slim Many countries were defeated in a few days the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most In defeating all his enemies he came close The Nazis would spread all across Europe But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop Communist regimes were one group he did hate Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end There was still so much for people to defend On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished ****** and fascism in Europe was abolished World War Two ended the areas were secure From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ****** - By Darien. (Canada) ..........................................................................

41

"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?" "Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?" Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow, Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow. Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up. We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew. The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song, The cougars reminding us that we are strong. We are Canadian, eh? But would we really want it any other way?

0

Oct 10, 2014

Oct 10, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC

harly-coward

Prime Minister Tim Horton

"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?" "Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?" Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow, Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow. Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up. We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew. The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song, The cougars reminding us that we are strong. We are Canadian, eh? But would we really want it any other way?

12

waiting for some white winged fantasy to fall from the sky, landing half dead before my feet and lead me away to caves back to morocco to long tombs where chilled in our cartilage we could await dawn. tired from numbers, tired with names all I ever muster is to sleep, warm and alone wishing to be cold again wishing for winter, to know dark without end wishing to watch the city lights from the reservoir churning through cigarettes, heads hung and sunrise on hooks.

0

Nov 3, 2012

Nov 3, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC

j-Arturo

Back to Canada

waiting for some white winged fantasy to fall from the sky, landing half dead before my feet and lead me away to caves back to morocco to long tombs where chilled in our cartilage we could await dawn. tired from numbers, tired with names all I ever muster is to sleep, warm and alone wishing to be cold again wishing for winter, to know dark without end wishing to watch the city lights from the reservoir churning through cigarettes, heads hung and sunrise on hooks.

14

Poems come from our inner pain, Bleeding out and down the drain, Pulling readers into our woe, Chilling hearts like falling snow. I will rebel against this trend And bring my whining to an end By listing blessings yet untold While I am well and growing old. First, let me thank the Lord above For giving wife and children that I love, And then for parents, growing old Who gave me principles to hold. And then for friends for staying true Across the years and distance, too. For work I've always found rewarding And health to work from early morning. For homes I've run to, needing rest, And roads to travel in the West, And opportunities to fly the distant breeze: Canada and China, West Coast and Belize. For clothing and for food in easy reach, For education and for students to teach, For restful nights and active days, For knowing where to send my praise.... Forgive me, Lord, ungrateful as I often am, And thank you, Father, once again, For grace and mercy, joy and peace And time to thank you for life's lease. Impossible for me to e'er repay, My thankfulness goes up today.

0

Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC

don-bouchard

Thankful!

Poems come from our inner pain, Bleeding out and down the drain, Pulling readers into our woe, Chilling hearts like falling snow. I will rebel against this trend And bring my whining to an end By listing blessings yet untold While I am well and growing old. First, let me thank the Lord above For giving wife and children that I love, And then for parents, growing old Who gave me principles to hold. And then for friends for staying true Across the years and distance, too. For work I've always found rewarding And health to work from early morning. For homes I've run to, needing rest, And roads to travel in the West, And opportunities to fly the distant breeze: Canada and China, West Coast and Belize. For clothing and for food in easy reach, For education and for students to teach, For restful nights and active days, For knowing where to send my praise.... Forgive me, Lord, ungrateful as I often am, And thank you, Father, once again, For grace and mercy, joy and peace And time to thank you for life's lease. Impossible for me to e'er repay, My thankfulness goes up today.

30

By A Foreigner I like Canadians. They are so unlike Americans. They go home at night. Their cigarettes don't smell bad. Their hats fit. They really believe that they won the war. They don't believe in Literature. They think Art has been exaggerated. But they are wonderful on ice skates. A few of them are very rich. But when they are rich they buy more horses Than motor cars. Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town. But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal In Chicago. Nobody works on Sunday. Nobody. That doesn't make me mad. There is only one Woodbine. But were you ever at Blue Bonnets? If you **** somebody with a motor car in Ontario You are liable to go to jail. So it isn't done. There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars In Chicago So far this year. It is hard to get rich in Canada. But it is easy to make money. There are too many tea rooms. But, then, there are no cabarets. If you tip a waiter a quarter He says "Thank you." Instead of calling the bouncer. They let women stand up in the street cars. Even if they are good-looking. They are all in a hurry to get home to supper And their radio sets. They are a fine people. I like them.

0

5.4k

Ernest Hemingway

I Like Canadians

By A Foreigner I like Canadians. They are so unlike Americans. They go home at night. Their cigarettes don't smell bad. Their hats fit. They really believe that they won the war. They don't believe in Literature. They think Art has been exaggerated. But they are wonderful on ice skates. A few of them are very rich. But when they are rich they buy more horses Than motor cars. Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town. But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal In Chicago. Nobody works on Sunday. Nobody. That doesn't make me mad. There is only one Woodbine. But were you ever at Blue Bonnets? If you **** somebody with a motor car in Ontario You are liable to go to jail. So it isn't done. There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars In Chicago So far this year. It is hard to get rich in Canada. But it is easy to make money. There are too many tea rooms. But, then, there are no cabarets. If you tip a waiter a quarter He says "Thank you." Instead of calling the bouncer. They let women stand up in the street cars. Even if they are good-looking. They are all in a hurry to get home to supper And their radio sets. They are a fine people. I like them.

40

Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance. She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel. Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside. Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway. “Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core." "I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up." As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman. Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

0

Apr 30, 2015

Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC

judy-smith

Sophisticated eco fashion by Murva

Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance. She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel. Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside. Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway. “Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core." "I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up." As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman. Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015

8

I hate the beach I'm eighty six and I hate the beach Hate the sand, not a fan of the surf Face it, I hate the beach Last time I went there I had just turned 18 years old June sixth, Nineteen Hundred Forty Four God, I hate the beach I was in the 5th Regiment Régiment de Maisonneuve and I've never been to a beach since I'm from Verdun, Quebec, Canada Not many beaches around there Thank the lord for that I say We'd been training for six months Operation Overlord it was called We were coming in on troop carriers It was to be a beach head landing I'd never seen a beach before At least not for real Never want to see another We arrived early June 6, 1944 I think I said that already You must forgive me, I'm 86 years old and I hate the beach fourteen thousand Canadian Troops Bursting out of armoured troop ships Like, the young, virile, brahma bulls we were Coming in, all I could hear was the waves I was in front, well...close to the front I remember, there were no birds who ever heard of that? A beach with no birds At least not at this beach I could smell the salt in the air And I knew I could hear the surf And my heart, I could **** well hear that But, no birds, I couldn't hear the birds Gunfire, nope...cannons and mortars But birds and guns, not a sound Weird huh? I remember running forward Always forward, past blocks Wood barricades and barbed wire And bodies, lots of bodies I knew that I knew some of them I just didn't have time to stop And say goodbye, I just ran Emptied my weapon at least once I only know this, because it was empty when I hit the beach God, I hate the beach You know in the movies or in those flowery books where they talk about someone being shot and how "there was a bloom or they're chest flowered red where they were hit" I never saw that, never looked back Just ran forward, saw the "bloom" in their backs Don't like red, or flowers or the beach I don't remember much after that Could still hear my heart That's a good thing, I guess I got tore up good with the wire but I never got shot Never, "bloomed" for anyone A few of my buddies were lost I toast them every year Never at the beach though I hate the beach Wife and kids used to go I never did, never will I remember the 50th anniversary though Wife and kids went back Not me, Went into Montreal to see a ball game Montreal Expos 10, Houston Astros 5 I remember Will Cordero hitting a homer It was the sixth inning, I toasted the hit I thought about that day 50 years before And went back to watching the game I hate the beach My name is Gilles Roquefort I'm eight six years old And I can still feel the sand and taste the salt On a bad day.

0

Oct 31, 2012

Oct 31, 2012 at 7:06 PM UTC

roger-turner

I hate the beach ...a recollection of war

I hate the beach I'm eighty six and I hate the beach Hate the sand, not a fan of the surf Face it, I hate the beach Last time I went there I had just turned 18 years old June sixth, Nineteen Hundred Forty Four God, I hate the beach I was in the 5th Regiment Régiment de Maisonneuve and I've never been to a beach since I'm from Verdun, Quebec, Canada Not many beaches around there Thank the lord for that I say We'd been training for six months Operation Overlord it was called We were coming in on troop carriers It was to be a beach head landing I'd never seen a beach before At least not for real Never want to see another We arrived early June 6, 1944 I think I said that already You must forgive me, I'm 86 years old and I hate the beach fourteen thousand Canadian Troops Bursting out of armoured troop ships Like, the young, virile, brahma bulls we were Coming in, all I could hear was the waves I was in front, well...close to the front I remember, there were no birds who ever heard of that? A beach with no birds At least not at this beach I could smell the salt in the air And I knew I could hear the surf And my heart, I could **** well hear that But, no birds, I couldn't hear the birds Gunfire, nope...cannons and mortars But birds and guns, not a sound Weird huh? I remember running forward Always forward, past blocks Wood barricades and barbed wire And bodies, lots of bodies I knew that I knew some of them I just didn't have time to stop And say goodbye, I just ran Emptied my weapon at least once I only know this, because it was empty when I hit the beach God, I hate the beach You know in the movies or in those flowery books where they talk about someone being shot and how "there was a bloom or they're chest flowered red where they were hit" I never saw that, never looked back Just ran forward, saw the "bloom" in their backs Don't like red, or flowers or the beach I don't remember much after that Could still hear my heart That's a good thing, I guess I got tore up good with the wire but I never got shot Never, "bloomed" for anyone A few of my buddies were lost I toast them every year Never at the beach though I hate the beach Wife and kids used to go I never did, never will I remember the 50th anniversary though Wife and kids went back Not me, Went into Montreal to see a ball game Montreal Expos 10, Houston Astros 5 I remember Will Cordero hitting a homer It was the sixth inning, I toasted the hit I thought about that day 50 years before And went back to watching the game I hate the beach My name is Gilles Roquefort I'm eight six years old And I can still feel the sand and taste the salt On a bad day.

87

Many were their numbers Living in city streets and slums Brothers and sisters torn asunder Gathered up like bums Nineteenth century’s answer Created by Children’s Aid Society Indentured servants to farmers and ranchers Shipped in cattle cars like propriety Struggling in their suffering Confused used and oft’ abused Terror in their wayfaring For being parentless accused The disruptive ones placed in chains Scattered to the winds across the land The far west and the Great Plains North to Canada and south of the Rio Grande Billy here, Danny Boy there, and Sally who knows where The Children of the Orphan Trains r 13 Nov 13

0

Nov 13, 2013

Nov 13, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC

r-2

Orphan Trains

Many were their numbers Living in city streets and slums Brothers and sisters torn asunder Gathered up like bums Nineteenth century’s answer Created by Children’s Aid Society Indentured servants to farmers and ranchers Shipped in cattle cars like propriety Struggling in their suffering Confused used and oft’ abused Terror in their wayfaring For being parentless accused The disruptive ones placed in chains Scattered to the winds across the land The far west and the Great Plains North to Canada and south of the Rio Grande Billy here, Danny Boy there, and Sally who knows where The Children of the Orphan Trains r 13 Nov 13

19

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people. Where do the black trees go that drink here? Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from the water flowers. Their leaves do not wish us to hurry: They are round and flat and full of dark advice. Cold worlds shake from the oar. The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes. A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand; Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

0

4.1k

Sylvia Plath

Crossing The Water

Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people. Where do the black trees go that drink here? Their shadows must cover Canada. A little light is filtering from the water flowers. Their leaves do not wish us to hurry: They are round and flat and full of dark advice. Cold worlds shake from the oar. The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes. A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand; Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

12

If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime; the song too frozen to melt on her tongue. I am scared of all her moving on. The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight. I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here. The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane. I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak. If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her. That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes. I am scared that I am being overdramatic. I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars. Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother. I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time. If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees. Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt. Like dive bars miss blues music. When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.

0

Feb 4, 2014

Feb 4, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC

blankpoems

the first and last love poem

If you see her again before I do, tell her the way she left left me shaking like a winter windchime; the song too frozen to melt on her tongue. I am scared of all her moving on. The only serious love poems I write are about the same person who hides God in her hair and shows me the lingerie she bought while I try to unfog my glasses to look at her straight. I am too convinced that she is made up of lines that lead straight to my firework skin. There has been too many explosions here. The only way to deal with missing you is to tell you and wait and see if you feel the same. Or novacane. I imagine you taste like an acid trip... all conspiracy theories and sugary words too sober to ever speak. If you see her again before I do, tell her that I am a mess without her. That my mind only settles with her tear-stained cheeks and the only way I can see the ocean in the winter in Canada is to look into her eyes. I am scared that I am being overdramatic. I want to rub our wrists together so we can trade scars. Tell me the story of how you met your best friend and I'll tell you the story of how I fell out of loving my mother. I would rather listen to you ramble than check the time. If you see her again before I do, tell her that on the way home from her arms I counted 1200 streetlamps, 13 lovers, 3 liquor stores and 72 shakes of my knees. Tell her I miss her like Frances misses Kurt. Like dive bars miss blues music. When I see you again, lover, I'll tell you that when you told me your name two years ago, I was surprised that it wasn't Love.

15