Search Categories - Any -25 Lines or FewerCanadaPre 21st Century21st Century Grade levels - Any -Grades 7-9 / Sec. 1-3Grades 10-12 / Sec. 4 & 5 / CEGEP 1 Sort by RandomNewestMost popularA -> ZZ -> A Apply Kevin Irie Current The sludge-slow flow of the visible current opens a path we can’t continue, tugs at what no hand can pull along. It’s how even water loses memory, travels a direction it cannot find, Jessie Jones Eclipse In every which way, I am living for potential. I’ve mined cadmium enough to roulette with Death and Mars, bloodshot brute, is swollen in my honour. My function is action — to pummel through concrete Tina Cane Imaginary Dad Was so imaginary he ceased to exist he wasn’t sleeping in a treehouse or stalking the woods in fatigues cheeks smeared green with camouflage grease Geffrey Davis Unfledged Weekends too my father roofed poor neighborhoods, at prices only his back could carry into profit. In the name of labor’s virtue—or was it another bill collector’s callous Chimwemwe Undi A History of Houses Built Out of Spite Fariha Róisín the many descriptions of being brown White people tell you to apologize for yourself through gestures, through small talk, through the ways in which they ask, “Where are you from?” and then again, unresolved: “No, I mean...Where are you Titilope Sonuga I Am l am gap tooth black girl back corner of class scribbling left-handed poetry on blank paper save the school's curriculum for later I am Ian Keteku Moment One I remember my birth like it was tomorrow, the unholy sensation Gwendolyn Brooks kitchenette building Rowan Ricardo Phillips Little Song Both guitars run trebly. One noodles Over a groove. The other slushes chords. Then they switch. It’s quite an earnest affair. Katherena Vermette mixed tape side a: 1. 18 and Life her friend takes her to Matthew Walsh Garbage Box with Black Loons My father's speech was slurred most of my childhood — but it's a rite of passage for many Maritime Canadians 'cause I heard from a friend of a friend that linguists say our accent Robin Coste-Lewis Mother Church #3 KIN KLETSO/YELLOW HOUSE CHACO CANYON, SAN JUAN COUNTY, NEW MEXICO ANASAZI RUINS, AD 1125-1130 For Henri, at 2 Norman Dubie The Novel As Manuscript An ars poetica I remember the death, in Russia, of postage stamps Noor Naga Sharing Joanne Kyger A Story from Easter: He Has Risen There is a mouse under the sink Little mouse turds around in the kitchen drawers It is raining, storming The refrigerator has gone to the dump Donald's back Gregory Scofield I’ll Teach You Cree with the tip of my spring tongue, ayîki your mouth will be the web catching apihkêsis words, Kate Hall Insomnia If I were to sleep, it would be on an iron bed, bolted to the floor in a bomb-proof concrete room with twelve locks on the door. Craig Santos Perez One fish, Two fish, Plastics, Dead fish recycling Dr. Seuss Some fish are sold for sashimi, some are sold to canneries, and some are caught by hungry slaves to feed what wealthy tourists crave! Jason Purcell Men in the Gut Scrape the inside of sleep the belly wall tasting like yoghurt cooked broccoli its emptiness leaving something on the tongue. Escaping the body that wants to quit from the inside. Joshua Whitehead Full Metal Oji-Cree this is the transsensorium there are indo-robo-women fighting cowboys on the frontier & winning finally the premodern is a foundation for the postmodern wintermute, tessier-ashpool, armitage Megan Fernandes Conversion sam says you can’t name your book good boys without a dog but sam doesn’t know that i am the dog i am the ultimate mutt and i am telling him this story Lorna Goodison Ideas of Home i Winter has landed; my boot bucks on a stone surrounded by snow; I swear, I murmur Oracabessa. “The rock” is what I call home, all islanders do, and I’m in blessed Ann Arbour, Abigail Chabitnoy Qawanguq with Fox I was walking up some stairs in a building Inside parts of the building were new but no one lived there anymore I passed a lucky fox head on the stairs— Soraya Peerbaye Tide Would I have seen her? The tide tugging her gently past the Comfort Inn; houses, tall and gabled, Tiana Clark The Ayes Have It When I think of Trayvon Martin, I think of Emmett Till, when I think of Emmett Till, I think of young, black men in the South, then I think of young, white men in the South. Eve Joseph You knock on the door Ron Padgett Prose Poem (“The morning coffee.”) The morning coffee. I’m not sure why I drink it. Maybe it’s the ritual of the cup, the spoon, the hot water, the milk, and the little heap of brown grit, the way they come together to form a nail I can hang the Canisia Lubrin Sons of Orion for Alton Sterling, Andrew Loku, Philando Castile, et al. I wanna live, son. But which son are you? There where the rivers are made of moonshine and the lights still wait, Ted Berrigan Hall of Mirrors To Kristin Lems We miss something now as we think about it Naomi Shihab Nye Kindness Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, Tyler B. Perry FLOOD The hallway is an empty riverbed, smooth and barren. At three o’clock classroom doors open like dams. Gullies of teens stream out, to become one flowing body. A torrent Harry Baker Paper People I like people. I’d like some paper people. They’d be purple paper people. Maybe pop-up purple paper people. Proper pop-up purple paper people. Etel Adnan voyage, oh voyage! voyage, oh voyage! the final fire that ravages the air unveils the soil on which we walk aimlessly and tirelessly the hypocrisy of the strong protects us Stuart Ross I Have Something to Tell You I’ve come to talk to you about shaving cuts I was waiting across the road right over there for the light to turn and you were on the other side fumbling with change at the newspaper box Lillian Allen I saw a perfect tree today I saw a perfect tree today From my cabin bed on a Via Rail train Through the North of Ontario I saw a perfect tree today It was tall and thin and scraggly and prim Then I saw another just as perfect Douglas Walbourne-Gough Ella Josephine Campbell Slim, slight. Sinew and bird bones. Cords of her hands like spruce roots. Came from Ship Cove to Crow Gulch with little more than the child inside her, landed in a small shack flanked by Nicole Brossard Smooth Horizon of the Verb Love 1 an urban image from the eighties when we hung out at Chez Madame Arthur Donika Kelly From the Catalogue of Cruelty Once, I slapped my sister with the back of my hand. We were so small, but I wanted to know how it felt: my hand raised high across the opposite shoulder, slicing down like a trapeze. George Murray Cowboy Story The books sit on the shelf, a row of coma patients in a ward, a series of selves no longer able to learn and trapped at the point of injury: the last page. Language English