Poem of the Month

I wake up inside my fog, but no matter, 
Good morning, Siri, I say, is it raining
in Berlin? Is it snowing in Mile End? Will I

need an umbrella today? Will I need a hat?
How long before a domestic jet pack is possible? Should I apply sunscreen? Can you tell me

I detail the verbal exchanges with the affronted voyager on distant terraces, each equivalent in the space of the citation. Attempt in the morning: the magnolia garden inspecting its blue lack. Through the telescope, beautiful women make jewellery and dissolve in water.

On the Jungle of Screaming Souls,
helicopters dropped napalm bombs.
The battalion of men beneath
ran in every direction, on fire. 
Scattershot blasts, and one by one
machine guns cut them down
until there were only ten.

Goodbye, Romans said at interments,
Goodbye, and Goodbye. Hired clowns
imitated the dead, mocking
and reminding among the mourners.

I moat myself with winter sea,
I bury myself in woods.

By Lee Maracle

I know ...

We’ve given up the long rise to the look-out, and your
favourite, fox-frequented path ...

First, we’re expelled from the garden, then 
slavery, the ten plagues ...

1 God said, Let there be byssus, and out sprouted the first blond trees of Sorrento. We sun our ...

Before Records or RAM, radio, radiation We had slowness. A real root directory. We were tight with the ...

We live on an island
I mean I don’t know all the history
It’s never ...

walking the seawall. a figure walks toward me balanced on the gray boundary, she steps into focus and we ...

We are not as elegant as marble But we are trying Living our fantasies together In public parks The erection of ...