Tag: poem

Categories
Arts and Culture

Poetry Spotlight: Frédérique Dumouchel

Photo by Frédérique Dumouchel

You Can’t Grow Roots Where There Lies No Earth

At times of day, I carry worry

Out through the night, there lies no hurry

Boundaries quiver and ceilings dissipate

Walking along, across and apart

You find those of drift and spite

No rhythm dances alone

Even the lonely man knows

Made time unfolds and carries such hold

There lay rivers someone once told

Where flowers erode from dry land alone

One can bury hope within these fairgrounds 

And find the coast of one gone mind

Fingers cave fragile things

Pile and sculpt precious skin

To know the moon is to love the sun

For the good will be if the now is free

Categories
Arts and Culture

Poetry Spotlight: Jessica Wood

Graphic by Maya Robitaille-Lopez

I Know I Need to Move Out

I had wanted you for such a long time. 

Could have been perfect, me and you, alone. 

Don’t you know you were supposed to be mine?

My clothes in your closet, hung in a line, 

the very first day that I called you “home” 

I had wanted you for such a long time. 

So how could you let my clothes, in your confines,

be eaten by the mold your dampness had grown?

Don’t you know you were supposed to be mine?

I tried to convince myself we could be fine, 

made excuses to my mom on the phone.

I had wanted you for such a long time. 

I wish that I would have known when I signed 

your lease that you would wear me to the bone. 

Don’t you know you were supposed to be mine?

I thought living alone would be divine.

All you had to do was be my new home.

I had wanted you for such a long time.

Don’t you know you were supposed to be mine?

Categories
Arts Arts and Culture

Poetry Spotlight: Jessica Wood

Graphic by Maya Robitaille-Lopez

Prayer to Saint Anthony

my dad sent a package to me that I never received. maybe it got lost, maybe he sent it to a thief. 

I call my mom and mention it, and I don’t know what I am hoping she’ll say. she sighs his name on the phone, like it was his fault. a heavy sigh, knocks the wind out of me. 

like it was his fault.

somehow it reminds her to tell me—one lost thing leads to another, in her mind— the tree in my backyard fell yesterday. 

everyone is fine. 

my cat’s old aching bones can climb the branches once more– they fell down to the earth to meet her, they missed her enough to come kiss her hello. 

the hot tub, where I dug my wrinkling, boiled fingertips into my palms for so many evenings, and so many years, is still intact.

the gazebo, where I slept in the summers, covered in beach towels and spiders, where cigarette butts steeped like tea in jars full of rainwater, is only banged up a little bit. 

the old tree, arm choked by a rope swing tourniquet, is plunged into the earth below. grave and grave marker. branch become root. 

it was the wind that did it. a heavy sigh knocked it over, knocks the wind out of me. I sigh, my breath echoes in the phone call feedback loop, my aching lungs passed down from my mom. she sighs back. 

like it was his fault.

Categories
Arts Arts and Culture

Poetry Spotlight: Steven Gao

Orange Rain. Photo and poem by Steven Gao

Born in Jinan, China, and currently living in a small town on the west tip of the Montreal island, Steven draws inspiration from his roots and observation of the world. He writes poetry in English and sometimes in Chinese. Before starting at Concordia University, majoring in History, he graduated from CEGEP and worked full-time in marketing for two years. He participated in Twigs & Leaves (a poetry reading event, now defunct) and continues to be a regular participant in another poetry/arts event, Kafé Poe. In his free time, Steven enjoys learning history and doing scale models, as well as photography.

=UnexpecteD Flashʞɔɒd=

It was a Saturday evening

I attended a poetry event

With people

Who

Made me feel cozy

With

Fine dessert and coffee

I

then

Went back home

After

Kissing the foreheads of my beloved ones

Wine,

Unwinding.

Found my long gone love

Of

The songs

That

Give me a feeling of home

But

Also

A °F0ᴚƎigᴎ feel

While

Going through my history

Where

The revolutionary Red met

The impetuous Blue

Where

The new mƎ

Was

Born

.

.

.

Categories
Arts Arts and Culture

Poetry Spotlight: Jessica Wood

Graphic by Maya Robitaille-Lopez

Jessica Wood is a second-year student in creative writing at Concordia University. A writer her whole life, she particularly enjoys writing creative non-fiction, poetry, and autofiction.

Hopeful Romantic

it’s the arms in my heart reaching out to hug the unfamiliar shape of a new friend. 

it’s laughing so hard my “waterproof” mascara runs down my cheeks in the shape of joy.

it’s standing with a friend on a train platform, singing along to the busker playing Sweet Caroline. 

it’s a lipstick shade named Caroline! 

it’s nodding, listening, as my best friend speaks, as her thoughts cross her face. 

it’s learning that hope is a strength. poison is bitter, but so is medicine.

it’s reaching out to new people. 

it’s not reaching out to someone you thought you’d always need. 

                                                (I wish I had two hearts. 

                                                one for the good times I have had, 

                                                and one to keep in a box and only use on special occasions, 

                                                like the fancy soap I bought in Paris when I was fourteen 

                                                and only used for the first time last month. 

                                                one heart that stays safe from the wear and tear of everyday use,

                                                and one to run ragged.)

anyway, I don’t know what it is, but it’s nice. 

I’m a hopeful romantic!

Categories
Arts Arts and Culture Student Life

Poetry Spotlight: Jessica Wood

Detail. Graphic by Maya Robitaille-Lopez

Jessica Wood is a second-year in creative writing student at Concordia University. A writer her whole life, she particularly enjoys writing creative non-fiction, poetry, and autofiction.

Originally from Vancouver Island, BC, she has been in Montreal for a year and a half and has loved every minute of it. This is the first publication of her writing, and she hopes it will be the first of many.

Graphic by Maya Robitaille-Lopez

In the Dead of Winter (I Can Feel Okay Again!)

maybe 

in the dead of winter I can feel okay again. 

this week is already better! I’m tentatively hopeful, and defiantly confident that 

in the dead of winter, I can feel okay again. 

sure, my heating bill is higher than my friends, who warm their hands on a shared joint, shivering together like molecules as they puff and pass. 

and even though I don’t smoke, I’m standing out there too 

in the dead of winter. I can feel okay again! 

even though 

-my laundry freezes on the walk home (the laundromat dryers eat my quarters and spit out no hot air in return) 

-there’s salt water rings around my boots (I am using all of my towels to block off drafty windows) 

-I have to shovel the stairs if I want to get groceries (I pretend I’m a penguin, imploring myself to laugh when I slip on the sidewalk) 

I am hopeful. and I am confident. 

in the dead of winter, I can feel okay again.

Jessica Wood

Categories
Arts

Love in the First and Third Quarters: A Comparison

Graphic by Florence Yee

Emily Zuberec hails from Vancouver, BC. She is in her fourth year at Concordia, majoring in both creative writing and political science

This column was put together with help from Annah-Lauren Bloom

Love in the First and Third Quarters: A Comparison

I

Walk around.

In our favour.

How does a wasp choose where it will sting?

Almonds can be a reliable sources of protein.

Sinkholes may cause discomfort, but no one looks this way anymore.

There is no way to contain geothermal energy, so use it while you can!

Two barn swifts braid into something, avoid collision with a choke cherry that grows on a slant.

“Someone who really cares for you must have taken this picture, look at how your smile runs!”

I don’t need any of these coupons, I’m set!

That was the year brown egg sales spiked.

Blue is the widest.

Do you take card?

III

There is no way to know.

Space can change owners.

We suffered a loss when the market was flooded; too many options were presented.

All milk has been causing deep burps, but it feels good to finally release something.

I once heard about a global movement to end our consumption.

The seeds of some trees only begin to grow after there’s a fire.

Hearing plaster tumble down behind a flimsy wall. Maybe I shouldn’t put up this shelf.

I trained myself to take scalding baths and showers from a young age; I guess you didn’t.

Think of the sound fish make against wet rock.

Our return policies are seen as discouraging.

Does a spider ever give up hope when trapped under a cup?

The company is looking for a new way to invigorate its staff.

Graphic by Florence Yee

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