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...
Tag: poetry
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...