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Archive for April 25th, 2009

Edmonton, Alberta

How the Spring Came North

They soared on the sails

Of the last wind south,

They rode in the rage

Of a blizzard,

The children whose parents

Were Wilda the Wise

And Wonderful Wilfred

The Wizard.

They streaked with the wind

Over mountain snow

Toward a gilt-bordered,

Cloud-blackened sky,

And came to a place where

The wind held its breath,

In the calm of the

Hurricane’s eye.

They felt a strange power

And a wondrous awe

As they weightlessly hung

In the dome,

And each of them reached

For a handful of gold,

And a slice of the sun

To take home.

The wind said, It’s time

You must fly back now

To your home in the

Wintry cold,

But in order to catch

On the sails of the wind,

They had to let go

Of the gold.

But one of them kept

The sun’s slim slice

Tucked carefully under

His cloak,

And its magical warmth

Made the snow disappear,

And Spring welcomed

When they awoke.

artwork

Edmonton born Gwen Molnar is the author of two poetry collections for children, four first chapter booksand a new teen novel, Hate Cell and has published in several childrens magazines and in six anthologies. Her poetry has been read on the CBC and PBS and, animated on Fred Penner’s Place.

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Edmonton, Alberta

The colossal truth of everyday

The colossal truth of everyday:

I find it always at the grocery store.

Each aisle bringing me closer

to the promise that I’ll change,

and perceive, and rid myself of

hurtful presumption.


Like that crumpled woman, transparent skin

sagging, hanging from atrophied biceps

that ebb and flow from a used-to-be white shirt..

She hauls down bottle after bottle of

sickly sweet no-name brand,

like she’s stockpiling for the apocalypse.


Only here do I think of destruction

amid the GMOs and ingredients I can’t

pronounce.


A poem by Martine Partridge

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Edmonton, Alberta

Fire Tower on Nose Mountain

for Vivian Demuth

Catherine said:

she lives in the sky.

Wait and see.


The tower is perched

on the summit,

spindly metal legs

stretching up,

grass neatly trimmed

around its base.


I stand at the edge

look out into sky,

then down:

a sea of trees,

the road a rugged chord

twisting its way up here.


Some of us climb

the tower to the top

or as far as we dare.


Later

we sit in her cabin

crowd the small table

eat take-out pizza

brought from town,

talk about writing

with this poet

who is more alone

than we have ever

dreamed of being.


At the end of the day

we drive back to town

to jobs and husbands

and children and

the multitude of worries

we let go only a few

brief hours before.



We leave,

wondering what we could write

if given such solitude.

What words

would find their way

to the page

through our pens

from the sky?


Angela Kublik is an Edmonton based writer whose poetry has appeared in The Prairie Journal, Legacy, and FreeFall, as well as online at DailyHaiku.Org.  She edits blueskiespoetry.ca and co-edited the best-selling anthology Writing the Land: Alberta through its Poets with Dymphny Dronyk.  Visit blue skies poetry at http://blueskiespoetry.ca/.

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