Archives for category: poetry


In Cape Breton live Cape Bretoners from Scotland
They are there because they had to leave their home
They’re kinda bored and kinda sore about it
but in Canada there’s nothing they can do.

Oh, oh Canada
It’s so dull and boring standing guard for thee
Is there nothing else around here?
Than try to find a job and watch TV?

The Indians knew how to make it happen
Didn’t even have to borrow from the bank.
Imagine, talking to all those animals
Then this land was something, not a blank.

Our young Canadians today are running to the West
For reasons of their own and none specific
Oh Canada, now you tell them that there’s nothing out there
So they don’t go belly-up in the Pacific.

Stick it in your ear Ontario
How far from your Tower of Babel will you stoop
You’re so god damned inhibited and careful
Don’t even drop your pants to have a poop.

Oh oh Canada
It’s so dull and boring standing guard for thee
Is this really all you want of us?
To try to find a job and watch TV?

Oh. So Canada has packed its bags and left us
To build a place somewhere up in the snow
Will Canada come back here for the summers?
The newsman said last night he didn’t know.

Colin MacAdam, circa 1977|
(Happy 150th Canada, eh!)



ol MacD
Old McDonald had a farm, eeyi eeyi oh
Until big business closed him down eeyi eeyi oh
With a middle man here and a middle man there
Here a production quota, there a price freeze
Put every farmer on his knees
Old McDonald lost his shirt
And got plowed underground.

(on the occasion of an alternative food event in Peterborough, circa 1978) 



pg_20375-another-creepy-clown.pngThe sun’s come up again today.
The train went by on time
It seems this world is working still
It can do without us just fine.

Every body thinks of what to do
Tomorrow, today, and right now.
Hey, whaddaya say we all do the same thing
Let’s jump in the river and drown.

I don’t know how to work with tools
This body’s always in my way
I’m tired of waking up, and putting on clothes
Let’s kill ourselves today

All of us, everyone
Let’s smile and toss in our hats
it’s been a good time, everybody’s in tune
Just let’s see if we can take this thing to a different room.

alexamenos-graffitoI am a student
I am ignored as a cow is ignored
I am instructed and I work
Within fences and beautiful barn board stalls
I lay eggs.

As if it were afternoon, clouds grey, pink,
magenta, radiant unfurl. Each moment pauses.
Heart skips a beat unnoticed — holds its breath
to possess the now, the beauty of the trembling
incomplete on the cusp of perfection.

Now, breathe again, life must continue.

Green sings, lawn sings, trees sing, birds sing, the bees
and flowers sing and why not? It is the end of Spring.

Last moments, last remnants, the smell of fresh mown
lawn sings of summer corn to come, echoes ripped green

husks, cling of silk, the exhale of harvest, this moment sings
counterpoint to what is to come — long nights, the wane of light.

Grand skies and golden corn cannot conceal the turn of the wheel;
Spring is for the young, and all the fruit of Summer cannot replace it.

Mountain banks of fuchsia stained thunderclouds
parade by with trumpet and lightning, grand crescendo
to accompany gardens bursting with harmony in one
ineluctable song.
                            The chorus and refrain so simple,
it began with bluster of lambs roaring like lions, and now
subtle dandelions march with lamb’s ears. The land sings.
This is the source of song. Who can resist? Not bird, or soil,
or any living thing, and certainly not the sky that joyous
resounds with promises of only good things, as you
Spring stately progress to your final coda.

<it’s very hard to find info online about Chris — he died during before the net. Chris was a collagist, artist, died in his 30’s, never given the chance to grow like he was going to — his last works were break through, he started to create sections of rooms as if you had cut them out, lamps cut at the base that worked, wallpaper, pictures in frames cut in half, etc. etc. I couldn’t find any samples of his work, but there are some images on the web, please search at your leisure — if you know of any links please add them. Here’s a couple of links:
n page 146:
 his last work:

so it begins
the cycle of drought and storm
praying for the end of both
the sky majestic, silent,
does not deign to notice
our withered crops, starving
gardens, parched lawns,
and so we pray, Christ wept,
let the clouds weep for me

then the floods
then the hail
then the storms that ripped
the roof from the house
rivers that overflowed
lakes that disappeared
then a chunk of Antarctica drops off
and the thought occurs, maybe we shouldn’t
have prayed at the gas pump

sky tranquil
colour of water
the wind favourable
warm and inviting

you struggle to fly, above
you a persistent nemesis,
strikes and strikes again

your weight encumbers you
it is all you can do to fly away
from this miniature fury

if you had time,
as you seek to climb,
you would admire your fierce
prey, willing and ready
to drive you into the ground

launch themselves fearlessly
into the void; live in a medium
where there is no solid ground,
no up or down, unless you die

death demands bravery
to take wing each day not knowing
if the feather will hold
if the wind will be cruel
will my enemies find me?
will my song woo a mate?
the heart of the bird beats
faster than ours, hotter, prouder

the bravery of birds is what
makes them fly when you
surprise them; they are not
afraid of you; they flee
to where they know
you fear to follow

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