DAVID HASKINS

My good friend David Haskins has had his marvellous book published.  Please take a moment and read the little blurb below and consider purchasing this for your own pleasure or to give as a gift.


This House is Condemned is equal parts elegy, portraiture and exploration of a live lived at the edge of Lake Ontario. In prose both hard-hitting and heart-felt, David Haskins writes essays of immigrating to Canada and building his life as a teacher and writer. Currents of poetry run through the book, which is as touched with humour as it is with sadness. He writes of indestructible garden forks, rafts that bear him away unexpectedly and of the loves that ebb and flow throughout a life. This House is Condemned is a powerful collection that picks the reader up and places them beside the author, walking along the shores of the lake.

The book is available for $17. from Wolsak & Wynn, 280 James Street North, Hamilton; your local independent bookstore; at Chapters/Indigo and Amazon.ca; or plus shipping and HST on order from www.wolsakandwynn.ca via the shopping cart; or email the author at dchaskins@yahoo.com if Hamilton area.

http://wolsakandwynn.ca/books/130-this-house-is-condemned

WILMA SEVILLE

Since the Christmas season is fast approaching, I thought this might be appropriate for the time frame we are in.  Hope you enjoy it.  Gore Park is a downtown Hamilton park.

Christmas at Gore Park                                                

Twinkling lights on Gore Park trees

little children shout with glee

riding in miniature red train

I see them through my window pane.

Parents, grandparents, older siblings

shuffle feet to keep cold from nibbling

as the snow starts to whirl around

the little red train does its round

Faces all aglow from the cold

little children  a sight to behold

scarves wrapped around red faces

snowsuits and boots with laces

Fingers tingle in red mittens

hands and feet feel frost-bitten

Santa’s elves in North Pole

two are here playing their role

Christmas lights, falling snow

Happy faces, a bewitching hour.

Copyright©WilmaSeville2011

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.

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

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