Fishhawks - Anne Szumigalski

my son stands in waist-high water
the salt reddens his skin
out of his face spring wiry hairs
thickening to a beard
his arms have become wide and heavy

Refreshment - Mary Electa Adams

Hast thou had hours when life seemed empty all,
And waste the garden thou wert set to till,
Like tide-swept sands that only white and still
Unanswering lay beneath the heaven's gray pall?

A Grave in Samoa - John Macfarlane

     The wild birds strangely call,
And silent dawns and purple eves are here,
Where Southern stars upon his grave look down,
     Calm-eyed and wondrous clear!

Roses - Suzanne Urbanczyk

Roses are red
Violets are blue

Not to - Tammy Stone Takahashi

Not to look to the ground, 
but to become the ground,
at times porous and trembling,
but more often than not,
steady, sturdy, nourishing.

Cowichan Bay - Charles Van Gorkom

At Cowichan Bay,
On a hot day,
Thankfully,              
I sit in the shade on an old wharf.

Ossuary VIII - Dionne Brand

Havana, Yasmine arrived one early evening,

the stem of an orange dress,

a duffle bag, limp, with no possessions

Till tomorrow - Pamelia Sarah Yule

Good night! good night! — the golden day

      Has veiled its sunset beam, 

And twilight's star its beauteous ray

      Has mirrored in the stream; — 

Low voices come from vale and height, 

And murmur soft, good night! good night!

Ripened Fruit - Thomas O'Hagan

I know not what my heart hath lost;

  I cannot strike the chords of old,

The breath that charmed my morning life

  Hath chilled each leaf within the wold.

Bright Thoughts for a Dark Day - Pamelia Sarah Yule

Will the shadows be lifted to-morrow? — 

Will the sunshine come ever again? — 

Will the clouds, that are weeping in sorrow,

Their glorious beauty regain? 

The Passing of the Year - Robert Service

My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,

My den is all a cosy glow;

And snug before the fire I sit,

And wait to feel the old year go.

On Losing A Pencil In French River (Sonnet XIII) - George Jehoshaphat Mountain

Ah! river named of France, let reason judge,

  My silver-mounted implement to thee,

If I am greatly blameable to grudge,

  Seized, swallow'd, as by ocean, plunderer free;

Refuge - Sarah Klassen

What song do we sing when the journey ends

and we find ourselves in another country

with our exhausted children, our pitiful possessions,

Alone? - Mary Electa Adams

The sunlight through the open door

Comes in, and streams along the floor,

The slant rays of a falling August sun

Well-nigh throughout its sultry circuit run;

And hushed is every sound of breeze or leaf or bird,

Save the low trill of insects, past the lattice heard,

        In the dry grass

        As the hours pass.

The Coming of Morn - Charles Heavysege

See how the Morn awakes. Along the sky

Proceeds she with her pale, increasing light,

Sermon - Eveline Maedel

Sunday morning.

Poured molasses oration,

Drizzles onto milky white canvass.

Dismissed by God’s Laugh - Don Carson

The powers of darkness descended in hate,

Maliciously, leeringly trying to bait

Their Victim, Creator, this self-emptied Man,

Committed to wrecking their Maker’s bold plan.

Strike the chords softly - Pamelia Sarah Yule

Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers, 

While, on the threshold of happiest years, 

For a brief moment fond memory lingers. 

Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears! 

Silence Number 1, Begetting - Marie-Andree Auclair

silence is stone

polished smooth

Rain and the Robin - Duncan Campbell Scott

A robin in the morning,

In the morning early,

Sang a song of warning,

"There'll be rain, there'll be rain."