Poems of the Week

Some Words

Graphic Morag Rahn-Campbell

For Sandrine

By Michael Dutton

Once when I was
steadily smiling
Enamoured by the
windy fabrics of my
I chased a star
Begging it all along the
And when finally I ran
out of breath
I felt far too genuine to
comfortable rest

He Asked

By Jazmin Merhmann

We are the spaces between
All the things that we pretend to be
The slits that the light shines through
Are cranked wide by our instances of truth


By Emilee Guevera

fall in montreal
makes me cry.

crisp clear air and grey skies
softened rays of sun, grazing my thighs
I sit in a car with a stranger,
listening to classical music and watching cemeteries flash by
tracing the cree word for water on the wet window,
soft sounds, soft light, soft understanding
the fog slowly lift, revealing an unbelievable array of colour
red orange yellow,
leaves resting in defeated piles
not bright, but burnt
like the ashes they tap to the ground
in a city of smokers
and sleepers
this isn’t New York or London
this is a city where dreamers are collected
nestled in old houses with winding stairs
making love and music
hiding from the ones that say,
“there’s no time to waste”
saving up for the dream that might never come…

fall in montreal,
makes me cry.


By Jazmin Mehrmann

Will I be left
To lift
Unseen cigarettes
To my chapped
And soundless lips
And to cradle myself
The Devil chord’s resonance
When I finally drop
To rest
On minor keys


By Michael Dutton

He turned to me and wrote hey Around, a girl gets up saturnine From 9 to 9 I voice my opinion And say hi

Pink Mist

By Michael Dutton

Pink mist sun A creasant Of clouds and leaves A road made of Kashmir But wait There’s a voice screaming


By Vernon LeCraw

Confident libido!

SEX-drive, drive!


Through the fence surrounding love’s courtship

Of rejection. Bucket seats take reservations.

Thin buckle, thick buckle…

Eject them all! To evade

A dance in vain behind

A suit of armor. Lovely,

Won’t you gut me?

I fillet a corpse of glamour.

My heart swims in open-wishing water,

Growing hunger for my abductor

To shed their sun-dollars, and with my time,

Own the night.

Quickly confidence is lost, like a face in the dark.

Sex is a switch and I can’t get it on.

I’ve been shaving a hole for the next one though,

An ideal fit is what I fantasize about,

Until I realize the razor’s burn

And then when there is no one else,

I will resort to petting myself.

Cause life has a lot to do with making compromises,

Making sacrifices

And making sure the oven is off.