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Wednesday, November 27, 2013

DONNA DESMARTEAUX-GIRARD

Shaken, Not Stirred

My bones need to rattle
a test of their ageing strength,
the bits that chip off
no longer a part of who I am.
They scatter around my feet
    like pure tiny crystals,
absorbed into the firm ground
to disappear forever.

DONNA DESMARTEAUX-GIRARD


I ache with questions
to which the answers don’t
really matter,
when knowing won’t change
what is.

Memories are just softly polished
versions of truth,
to be tucked away once
sharp edges are smoothed
to one’s perception of what was.

If I was turned inside out,
tender innards brutally exposed,
they would tumble out in the
shape of bones
with bits of cartilage thinly attached
to my former self.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

ED WOODS

Pride
my heart beats proudly
alone on this ridge horizon
blue skies suspending clouds
across my heritage
our failing chief
praised higher spirits
for accepting his choice
I become tribal leader
invaders never conquered our beliefs
or this place of natural life
night howls of a solitary wolf
ice sheets reflecting stars
roaming dusty herds
bears in plentiful rapids
teaching their young
springtime fishing rights
I recall life and times of when
this land was full of movement
until the roaming sole predator
of man and bears
seeking riches and trophies
from the buffalo hunt
arrived on iron rails
holding a long rifle of change
powerful is my pride
welcoming new challenges
respectful in decisions
fearless and brave
our people trust
future plans
in time great spirits
will accept my soul
from a fiery tribute
into the night sky
as the next proud chief
will stand on this sacred land
to lead our people in honour

Monday, November 18, 2013

ALBERTO MAGSUCI

Two Souls Meet


My heart is pounding
its beat irregular
we’re on the way to
the airport to pick up
a small boy with his mother.

there he is, I call out his name
his eyes round with wonder
he turns his back and snuggles
in his mother’s lap

once again, our eyes meet
I sense deep inside
that he recognizes me
as a kindred soul

I pick him up, his head rests on my shoulder
at that moment I know, from the throbbing of  my heart
that I have not made a mistake
he is indeed destined to be my son

the cord of love binds us together

two souls become as one.

Alberto Magsuci
Bahrain, November 2013

WILMA SEVILLE

Poetry Pick



FLOATING

by Wilma Seville

Minnows swim around pink runners
As I forge ahead into deeper water
Shades of green and blue shimmer
Sun beats down on bathing cap
St. Lawrence River feels cool
On such a hot and steamy day
I float upon my back
Eyes closed against the sun
Water laps gently over supine body
Arms move up and down to gentle rhythm
Feet flutter as I lazily float
Movements calm but deliberate
At peace with my little world
All anxieties at bay
One with the water
One with the world

From Tower Poetry, Vol. 59 #1, Summer 2010


Friday, November 15, 2013

ELLEN JAFFE




VIET NAM , August 11, 1966    

11 people die, 187 are wounded
it is a tragedy
because
they are civilian

11 people die, 187 are wounded
it is a victory
because
they are the enemy

11 people die, 187 are wounded
it is an atrocity
because
they are ours

skin off the labels,
taste the darkness beneath
ask a leg if it is civilian
an arm if it is the enemy
an eye if it is ours




Ellen S. Jaffe, published in Crossing Lines: Poets Who Came to Canada in the Vietnam War Era.  Ed. Allan Briesmaster and Steven Michael Berzensky, Seraphim Editions: Hamilton, 2008.
Ellen and Steven talked to Steve Paikin of TVO’s The Agenda about this book in February 2011 as a webcast feature. You can watch the interview, in which Ellen reads this poem, at http://bit.ly/gwR83k

Thursday, November 14, 2013

ALBERTO MAGSUCI

A Poem for my son, Aldi


I hold you in my arms
hug you close to my breast
my inner voice whispers
to love you with all of my heart,
this moment of joy I feel
I know it will last.


I've enjoyed life,
I can write prose to a beautiful rose;
paint in canvas with greens and blues
something is missing - a father's longing
for the smile of an innocent
love is  purest at infancy.


Time quickly passes
my hair is now grey
I ask for something
to find the joy that lasts
in what remains of my life


God is great!  
the gift of life
Aldi my son, enters my life
my happiness knows no boundries
bright like the stars shining in the night
the best gift I ever have,
the gift of life with Aldi..


I am old,perhaps I will not see the
day of his maturity
everyday the innocent smile
of my son I always see
which brings out the best in me,


This poem I write
shows the inside of my heart
I will always love him
this happinekss will last till the end of my life.



by: Alberto Magsuci
Nov. 11, 2013
Bahrain



Editor's note: Alberto and his wife live in Bahrain along with their little son Aldi. Here is a picture of their little son.

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WILMA SEVILLE

Deported                                                                         

Fifteen years of waiting, living in suspense  
my freedom about to be dashed
the day has arrived – the day I dread
Forced to leave the only home I know

Pounding at the front door vibrates in my head
echoes in my ears, jerks me awake – afraid!
In her sleep, Maadar cries out in Farsi

The banging continues, it will not stop
I cling to my pillow as  a life raft
I am in the sea, surrounded by sharks.

I force my legs to move - to answer the door
Immigration barges in, Maadar awakes,
shrieks and cowers -  terrified –  memories vivid
of Evin Prison in Tehran - torture

Stern faces gaze at us, show no mercy
here to escort us to the plane
shipped back to a country I don’t know
my education in English – not equipped for life
in a country with foreign ways and  tongue.
©WilmaSeville2013

Monday, November 11, 2013

DONNA DESMARTEAUX-GIRARD


 Crossroads



I stumble along, unsteady and unsure, weaving from side to side. Looking back, my footprints mimic the map of some crazy new dance step in the loose dirt covering the unpaved road. The sun beats down, hot and steady, and my shadow weighs a ton. In my left hand I clutch the smooth neck of the near empty bottle, remnants of last night’s mind numbing session. My right hand is empty, consequent of a subtle but progressive tremor. My scattered thoughts are as blurred and woolly as my head feels.

My foot hits cement, jarring my unfocused brain into reaction as I pitch forward, slamming into a brick wall. The Town Hall. As formidable and unyielding as the brick wall surrounding it. It was the first building you happened upon entering this shithole of a town at the end of the dirt road. Clever and insightful planning by the town forefathers and founders. A dead end.

With my back to the wall I slowly, painfully turn my head, looking right. A few steps away, loud slurred voices emanated through the open door of the local pub. Pounding music merged with the sounds of a drunken heated argument, making an indistinguishable cacophony of noise. The stale smell of a thousand cigarettes mingled with the sour stench of unwashed bodies drifted my way, marring the sweet scented breath of wind ruffling my hair. In a rush, my rank cotton-dry mouth watered, craving the liquid relief a cold one would bring.

Suddenly my head snaps to the left at the sound of a car horn blaring down the street. Tall majestic maples line both sides of the street, shading clipped green lawns from the early morning sun. The faint echo of children’s high spirited play floats from the direction of the local park, filling me with a half buried longing. The subtle odor of  bacon cooking tickles my nostrils, stirrings unfamiliar pangs in the pit of my stomach.
- 2 -
My hazy vision catches the vague, distant shadow of a figure walking towards me. I step forward. A flash of recognition momentarily lifts me from my stupor as I focus on the sultry parted lips lifted in an unconsciously sensuous smile. I had forgotten how beautiful he was. I walk towards him, last night’s remedy slipping from my hand and smashing on the cement sidewalk. He clasps my trembling hand in his and pulls me alongside of him, never breaking stride. We walk past the brick wall, where, moments before I had stood rooted in indecision.

We enter the dim, smoke-filled bar, together.



(c)copyrightdonnadesmarteaux-girard 2005


Editor's note:  Donna and her family live in the Laurentian Mountains in the province of Quebec. She is originally from Montreal.


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Donna Desmarteaux-Girard

Sunday, November 10, 2013

ELLEN S. JAFFE


THE SUMMER THE CAT

The summer before the cat died,
she clumped up and down the stairs,
an old woman with arthritis,
and gave long, longing looks
into the garden.  We took her outside,
let her brush against iris and daffodil,
snooze on the unmowed grass, let her dream
of chasing birds again, and climbing trees.
Then she woke up startled, needing to be loved.
We gave her cheesecake for her birthday,
chicken hearts, and vitamins.
All that summer, we remembered her as a kitten,
the colour of freestone peaches.
We didn’t know she’d live with us for years,
familiar and strange.

Next summer Peaches was dying,
though for months she ate sunshine and rain.



Ellen S. Jaffe

published in Water Children. Hamilton: Mini Mocho Press, 2002.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

DUNDAS ART WALK - CARNEGIE GALLERY AND TOWER POETRY SOCIETY


In September, Tower poets were invited to go out to Dundas to pick a picture to write a poem about.  I participated and picked out a lovely picture and wrote a poem.

We got there early enough to go on the art walk which began at 1 p.m.  Jeff Seffinga and Fran Figge were the leaders on this walk and at each store that had exhibited the work, they stopped and read the poetry aloud.  It was very nice indeed to have it read so well.

After the art walk, we all went into the Carnegie Gallery which is now wheelchair accessible with a new elevator. 

Our eyes fell on pottery, jewellery, felt work and art on the walls as we entered this lovely spot.  There was a tea table set up  with several types of tea provided by a local tea shop.   The lady was very gracious as she served this elegant beverage in delicate English tea cups.  The name of the company which provided the tea is Coco Tea, and it is on 63 Main Street in Dundas, Ontario.  Their telephone number is 905-627-7322.

People were encouraged to partake of the light refreshments provided by the Gallery - different types of cheeses, a fruit platter and different types of sweets including shortbread cookies.

The readings started shortly after 2 p.m.


Jeff reading a poet's work on King Street.   Photo credit  Ed Woods
Fran Figge - co-leader of walk    Photo credit Ed Woods

Carnegie Gallery - across the street.   Photo Credit Ed Woods
Art Walk - Jeff reading.  Photo credit Ed Woods

Gaiyle Connally
Valerie Nielsen - past President of Tower

Wilma Seville - past secretary of Tower

Jennifer Tan 

Soraya Erian

Marianne Vespry

Ellen Ryan

Fran Figge


Jeff Seffinga


Jim Tomkins

Ed Woods
The refreshment table - observe the wonderful flowers