Tag: poetry

A gift of Island poetry

Jack's Trail | Bren Simmers

Let’s call this paint chip 4 p.m. green. Lichen, liverwort. Moss burgeoning into topo folds enters ankles, backs of knees, hip creaks. Call this...

New collections

Bren Simmers and Laurie Brinklow launch books—May 15

Island poets Laurie Brinklow and Bren Simmers will launch their new poetry collections, My island’s the house I sleep in at night and If, When, on M...

A gift of Island poetry

EVERYTHING RETURNS, EVENTUALLY… | Laurie Brinklow

for Frank Ledwell Frank Ledwell (1930–2010) was a writer and poet who mentored thousands of Prince Edward Islanders—including me—in his role as...

A gift of Island poetry

DAYS, WEEKS, MONTHS, YEAR | Deirdre Kessler

DAYS, WEEKS, MONTHS, YEAR Individual days, weeks, months: unbound! Flung up into the air, released from meaning. Who cares for you? Alice says to t...

A gift of Island poetry

Blueberry Jam | Roderick MacDonald

BLUEBERRY JAM On a hidden shelf In a jar of heavy glass Deep, dark, and thick Preserved while time has passed In the dusty basement With heirloo...

A gift of Island poetry

If I Could Say | Leon Berrouard

IF I COULD SAY That I love you From the bottom of my heart But that would be a cliché So, instead, I love you from The bottom of my brain And a...

A gift of Island poetry

Judy Gaudet | Making the Sky

MAKING THE SKY Wet the sky thoroughly right down to the treeline. Wrap it round the strait. First add the brightness, leaving either nothing or ...

A gift of Island poetry

Bren Simmers | Off Season

OFF SEASON Tonight, I don’t have to play the crowd, tell the story of the Christmas owl who hitched a ride home on a fir trunk. Walk the trail ...

Drop the mic

Island poet Julie Bull offers online spoken word workshop

Interdisciplinary researcher, ethicist, educator, poet, and spoken-word artist Dr. Julie Bull will be facilitating an online workshop series on spoken...

A gift of Island poetry

Brent MacLaine

EARLY MORNING MIST A soft breath has come to earth. It must have paused a moment before lowering its gentle weight upon the autumn fields, before ...

A gift of Island poetry

Steve McOrmond

WE: AN APOLOGIA We loved the idea of trees and occasionally to stroll among them. We loved how quiet the city when it snowed and the view from the...

A gift of Island poetry

Yvette Doucette

Grandmothers they come from the other places the Jewish one, the Jamaican one her ancestor shipped from Africa to work cane they find her, their k...

A gift of Island poetry

Charlie Greg Sark

SEE-E-OOH that poem written twenty— … no, it was eighteen years ago. That poem, I wrote it for harper and I called it enemy tongues. Her...

A gift of Island poetry

Richard Lemm

WHAT I WANTED TO BE A dandelion and buttercup bouquet on grandmother’s vanity, the wasps in the pears, the long white jet plane’s tail in the ...

IN OUR LIFETIME

Bren Simmers

Tomatoes too thirsty, priced out of reach along with almonds, peaches. We’re running out of cheap oil—like the ivory-billed woodpecker last sp...

Bee Funeral

Sandy McCarney

In fifth grade Crybaby and Almost- Boobs hoarded curios in a Kleenex box: hunks of rock shaped like pizza slices, gel pens’ worn-out tips. Crud....

the wither poems

Catherine Edward

Catherine Edward will launch the wither poems on November 1 at 6:30 pm at Beaconsfield Carriage House, Charlottetown. the whither poems is a first p...

Tanya Davis

Change of climate

“I don’t know exactly where I’m living right now,” Tanya Davis says when we meet during her artist residency with this town is small at Upstre...

my mother

Judy Gaudet

she survives and smiles no the hail has not struck there that danced and crashed our party and the sun has reappeared chased cumulus to blue sky ...

Live Ones

Sadie McCarney

Charlottetown poet Sadie McCarney’s forthcoming debut collection, Live Ones (University of Regina Press), will be launched at Bookmark in Charlottet...

A Gift of Blueberries

Lobie Daughton

This secret place. This juice that blooms upon my lips, that coats my fingertips. This purple harvest that I search for on the briny bank beneat...

A gift of Island poetry

Bren Simmers

Strollers stake out shady maples    while kids ride noodles       in the wading pool, bob in water wings. Moms up to their    knees cool o...

St Peters Courthouse Theatre

Theatre, music, storytelling, poetry and escapes

St Peters Courthouse Theatre is located in an historic building overlooking St Peter’s Bay. Once again this year the theatre is offering a variety o...

Poetry on Tiptoes

A new project, “Poetry on Tiptoes,” is planned in the lead up to the Gold Cup & Saucer Parade, which occurs at the culmination of Charlottetow...

Pond Lullaby

Jane Ledwell

Sleep, my damselfly, wings pressed in mute prayer. Cease, my whirligig, spinning pond-skin to air. Let all water striders take rest from their strid...

How Could You Forget This?

Chris Bailey

Don’t forget where you came from. Simple. Easy like dropping a slut rock tied to a herring net off the boat’s stern, sidestepping rusted chains...

Poetry in Voice finalist

Montague Regional High School student Berry Genge has been selected as a national finalist to the Poetry In Voice national poetry reciting competition...

Return of the Wild Goose

Jane Ledwell will launch her new book Return of the Wild Goose on April 4 at 7 pm in the Beaconsfield Carriage House in Charlottetown. Jane will be jo...

professor schwarz

(eminent judge of poetry contests)

imagine a poem in which there is no funny or sad this is not that poem imagine a poem in which bear goes over the river to see what he can see ...

Julie Pellissier-Lush

True stories

When I meet her the day after her installation as the new provincial Poet Laureate, Julie Pellissier-Lush is animated. “I’m still walking on the c...

Julie Pellissier-Lush is PEI’s newest Poet Laureate

Islanders gathered recently at Fanningbank to welcome and celebrate Prince Edward Island’s new Poet Laureate Julie Pellissier-Lush. In her new role...

Storm Day

Hugh MacDonald

Our wooden house squats south face to the river. Pine and spruce fir and poplar maple and oak at our sides and backs. Somewhere over Labrador w...

The Photographer of Snowflakes

Steve McOrmond

As a boy, he tried to sketch them, but his pencil couldn’t scurry fast enough before the designs melted or sublimed in air. He wanted to hold the...

The Feet of Blue Herons

John MacKenzie

If you happen to live in another town, Or country, or even galaxy As dim and distant in time as in space From these words, this language, the narro...

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