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 Ruth Daniell Poem for My Body No one else rescued me. Not my father or my brother or, years later, the gentle man who became my husband. Not my mother or my best friend or any of the women who listened to me tell my story Leonard Cohen I Have Not Lingered in European Monasteries I have not lingered in European monasteries and discovered among the tall grasses tombs of knights who fell as beautifully as their ballads… Billy-Ray Belcourt Love is a Moontime Teaching love is a moontime teaching is your kookum’s crooked smile when you pick up the phone is another word for body body is another word for campfire smoke Anne Michaels From Correspondences Sometimes we are led through the doorway by a child, sometimes by a stranger, always a matter of grace changing Sonnet L'Abbé Poor Speaker I understand you. I get what you’re trying to say. What you’re trying to say is you want me to get it. I get it. You want me to understand. You want me to know Al Purdy Say the Names — say the names say the names and listen to yourself an echo in the mountains Tulameen Tulameen say them like your soul was listening and overhearing and you dreamed you dreamed El Jones Black Sheroes My Black heroes don’t drop names like Fendi Gucchi Prada My Black sheroes rock afros like Angela Davis and Assata But my sheroes are more than a trend and they’re bigger than a hairstyle M. NourbeSe Philip Salmon Courage Here at Woodlands, Moriah, these thirty-five years later, still I could smell her fear. Weyman Chan monday thaw On TV it looked like a high-speed photo of a milk drop the dying leader of the Pana Wave laboratory cult smack in the centre. Acres of white cloth streamered his followers, who Raymond Souster Lagoons, Hanlan’s Point Mornings before the sun’s liquid spilled gradually, flooding Michael Ondaatje Sweet Like a Crow For Hetti Corea, 8 years old ‘The Sinhalese are beyond a doubt one of the least musical … Roo Borson From Summer Grass The willows are thinking again about thickness, slowness, lizard skin on hot rock, and day by day this imaging transforms them Sarah Yi-Mei Tsiang Winter House My father threw his language overboard, a bag of kittens, waterlogged mewling: small hard bodies. My mother hung on to hers — Wove the words like lace, an open web Adebe D. A. Ex Libris I come from the land of Where You From? My people dispossessed of their stories and who have died again and again in a minstrelsy of afterlives, wakes, the dead who walk, waiting and Rosemary Griebel Walking with Walt Whitman Through Calgary's Eastside on a Winter Day Blue-white afternoon. The Bow river churns and smokes as the city rumbles, economy chokes and bundled homeless build cardboard homes in the snow. Yes, Walt, this is the new Sarah Tolmie 31 We’re all aware that human hair is dead Yet we spend thousands taking care of it. It’s like an endless funeral. The moment your hair hits air, it’s toast. It only lives inside the follicle. Daniel David Moses Hotel Centrale, Rotterdam I am awake between stiff sheets tonight in room thirty four, listening to the heat Afua Cooper At the Centre Today doves flew from my head and my hair grew the longing is gone from my body Gregory Scofield I’ll Teach You Cree with the tip of my spring tongue, ayîki frog your mouth will be the web catching apihkêsis words, spider Michael Prior A Hundred and Fifty Pounds In some, the luggage lies open like a mouth mid-sentence. In others, closed zippers grimace: What would you have brought? Slippers, a stuffed platypus, a gold watch Russell Thornton Letters I threw away your letters. Years ago, just like that. The tight black swirls, circles and strokes filling fine sheets — I would not see them again. The last items I had left. Dorothy Livesay Other 1 Men prefer an island With its beginning ended: Undertones of waves Trees overbended. Men prefer a road Circling, shell-like Convex and fossiled Cecily Nicholson from “Road Shoulders” power lines held by birds of prey the hostile expanse above ditches teeming floral invasive wayside fleurs late summer the shoulder sang holds breeze by Adèle Barclay RAINBOW ROCK-CLIMBING CLUB I’m a gecko on a wall that simulates a cliff with rainbow grips I’ll touch any colour that’ll have me midway is high enough wary of emotional cliff-jumping I don’t mean home- Stephanie Bolster Portrait of Alice with Elvis Queen and King, they rule side by side in golden thrones above the clouds. Her giggle and wide eyes remind him Kevin Spenst Top After learning “me” and “I” but well before my father learns a restraining order's between him and our home, we share some good times. Remember the back of his bicycle. Elise Partridge Chemo Side Effects: Memory Where is the word I want? Groping in the thicket, Shane Book World Town Entirely windless, today’s sea; of these waters’ many names the best seemed “field-of-pearl-leaves,” for it smelled like the air in the house he built entirely of doors: pink school door, Siku Allooloo Arnauqatikka i. Maybe it’s your old way kind of vision… That looking past and through Sarah Yi-Mei Tsiang Dick Pics Two dicks, sitting in my daughter’s inbox, like men without hats, waiting for any door to open. * Sighting a stranger’s penis used to be rare. Remember raincoats? Mathew Henderson Badlands Your father worked Drumheller while you ate and slept at home. He travelled the badlands, squatted below rocks, read books … Lee Maracle War In my body flows the blood of Gallic Bastille stormers and the soft, gentle ways of Salish/Cree womanhood. Louise Bernice Halfe April 30, 2014 Weeds are flattened beneath last year’s tire tracks others lay burden by the winter’s heavy snow. The crocuses labor through this thick blanket. I am sun drained from the bleakness Robert W. Service The Men That Don’t Fit In There’s a race of men that don’t fit in, A race that can’t stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, Cicely Belle Blain London I some towers are made of cladding some made of ivory some burn in the night some built by slaves wind rushes through coarse hair body aches between vertebrae P. K. Page The Blue Guitar They said, ‘You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they are.’ The man replied, ‘Things as they are… Charles G. D. Roberts The Potato Harvest A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows… Liz Howard 1992 This is our welfare half a duplex with mint green siding shrugged between Neil Surkan On High There was busy air there, air seething through the leaves so, from farther up, the tree-line shone like a single scintillating polyhedron. Still, though ravens and wrens flaked off the top, Archibald Lampman A Thunderstorm A moment the wild swallows like a flight Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high, Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky. Language English