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 Ben Ladouceur Tractatus The sun gave our shoulder blades ulu-shaped burns, and the sun gives nothing to our sort I sleep now, and furiously Clouds excreted shadows on the shoreline, and there were no clouds John Ashbery Interesting People of Newfoundland Newfoundland is, or was, full of interesting people. Like Larry, who would make a fool of himself on street corners for a nickel. There… Fiona Tinwei Lam Weed Killer Our mother gave us a sack of weed killer the size of a toddler, and told us to spread it on the front lawn. My sister and I lugged it there. A light cloud of white powder drifted up to our nostrils Duncan Campbell Scott En Route The train has stopped for no apparent reason In the wilds; A frozen lake is level and fretted over Brandon Wint From: Incantation: Memory of Water Tonight, a strand of my great-grandmother’s hair sashes an amber beer bottle discarded by a tourist. A white thread of my grandmother’s baptismal robe is a bangle on a wrist of kelp Charlie Petch How to Tell If a Poem Is Trans or Not Look directly at the crotch Gently wave away all thoughts about how you never cared about crotches of poems before this poet Consider the subject is it about love loss Dane Swan Pride A half-hour. Thirty minutes. One thousand eight hundred seconds. They sat. Protest is not supposed to be comfortable. 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 Robin Blaser Image-Nation 21 (territory wandering to the other, wandering the spiritual realities, skilled in all ways of contending, he did not search 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. A. J. M. Smith The Lonely Land Cedar and jagged fir uplift sharp barbs against the gray Conor Kerr What Do You Believe In? Do you believe in the ghosts of aunties and uncles that drive old sin- gle-bench pickup trucks spotted with bullet-hole rust, sweetgrass and Aisha Sasha John The limpness of a bird's legs in flight. The place, the question, the question. The place, the interest, the question. There is the place. There is what you do in the place. There is your belief. Rita Joe I Lost My Talk I lost my talk The talk you took away. When I was a little girl At Shubenacadie school. You snatched it away: I speak like you I think like you I create like you Raymond Souster Lagoons, Hanlan’s Point Mornings before the sun’s liquid spilled gradually, flooding Lynn Crosbie Modestine We have each tried to read to him, with no success, except for James, who read him all of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes Sharon Thesen Mean Drunk Poem Backward & down into inbetween as Vicki says. Or as Robin teaches the gap, from which all things emerge. A left handed compliment. Bats… Pierre Nepveu Last Visit Now I set out across a minefield, space having taken all I owned, I’m starting over from a point where every pebble may explode beneath my shoe and the flowers blaze up behind my body as I gasp for air, Margaret Avison The Swimmer’s Moment For everyone The swimmer's moment at the whirlpool comes, But many at that moment will not say Lee Maracle Language Do you speak your language? I stare — I just said: how are you? I thought English was my language apparently it isn’t I thought Halkomelem was gibberish the devil’s language that’s what the nuns said Jane Munro Sonoma He totaled his blue truck — slowly spun out on an icy bridge, rammed it into a guard rail. Kayla Czaga Livejournal.com/lonelyradio We could read your words from anywhere but you felt like the only soul sitting in your swivel chair listening to your parents dream-breathing down the hall while you typed Marjorie Pickthall The Wife Living, I had no might To make you hear, Now, in the inmost night, bill bissett dont worry yr hair dont worry yr eyes dont worry yr brain man th snow is cummin th bright burds flyin highr, th Earle Birney Vancouver Lights About me the night moonless wimples the mountains wraps ocean land air and mounting sucks at the… 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, Matthew Weigel On the Boundaries of Treaty No. 6 commencing to the place of beginning; emptying; in 1959 the South Saskatchewan river was dammed; forever altering the boundary of Treaty no. 6; such that it technically no longer exists; 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 Marjorie Pickthall Père Lalement I lift the Lord on high, Under the murmuring hemlock boughs, and see The small birds of the forest lingering by Joanne Arnott world shapers creation stories are lullabies for grown-ups they remind us of all the possible ways & means that worlds… Dionne Brand Verso 3.1 At first there's no lake in the city, at first there are only elevators, at first there are only constricting office desks; there are small apartments and hamburger joints and Donato Mancini you aren't going to like what i have to say before i start i want to say you shouldn’t blame yourself there’s no point in beating around the bush there’s something we need to talk about this is the most difficult thing i’ve ever had to tell anyone Michael Ondaatje Sweet Like a Crow For Hetti Corea, 8 years old ‘The Sinhalese are beyond a doubt one of the least musical … Archibald Lampman Heat From plains that reel to southward, dim, The road runs by me white and bare; Up the steep hill it seems to swim Gwendolyn MacEwen A Breakfast for Barbarians my friends, my sweet barbarians, there is that hunger which is not for food — but an eye at the navel turns the appetite Don McKay Sometimes a Voice (1) Sometimes a voice — have you heard this? — wants not to be voice any longer, wants something whispering between the words, some El Jones Glass Hands: A Eulogy on the Anniversary of the Pandemic Hands pressed to glass Anne Michaels From Correspondences Sometimes we are led through the doorway by a child, sometimes by a stranger, always a matter of grace changing Sylvia Legris 4 Marked by Claws and Cloudburst... The calendar marred with birds and you are kik-kik-kik-kicking all the way into June. 180 days scratched with black X’s and crow’s feet: bird-of-two minds (goodandevil goodandevil); Bliss Carman Lord of My Heart’s Elation Lord of my heart’s elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Language English