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Best Canadian Poems

Below are the all-time best Canadian poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Canadian poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Canadian Poem | |

Under the Same Moon -3-Way-Collaboration-

 ~Under the Same Moon~

P.D.
Our days are different, living under the same moon
Down here in TEXAS, life carries a different tune
This world spins on its lovely axis
Listening to our Tex-Mex of our English lexis
We share a world made with the trust of God's hand
Revealing the beauty that life continue to expand
Don't underestimate our football image of our Cow Boy land
A mysterious Mockingbird only we Texans understand
Surrounded by the sweetest Pecan trees
The Northern Winters come in like a breeze and a tease
We also have them Blue Bonnet fields that come and go
Tell me about CANADA, what makes its motion flow?
Branded like a Long Horn, with my Lone Star State pride
How about you, CHRIS A. What's up on your side?

Chris D.Aechtner
Different lives, different lands, living under the same moon,
waking up to the ghostly calls of the wild loon.
Look upon mountains and forests stretching into infinity-
mighty Sequoias and tall Douglas firs stand majestically.
I could offer stereo-typical images of hockey, snow and moose,
or sockeye salmon, maple syrup and the great Canadian goose,
but we Canucks are becoming tired of idly standing by
as the rest of the world dips its fingers into our Northern pie.
We are a nation of peaceful, open-minded hospitality,
shying away from brutality by offering liberal neutrality.
Before I blow my top as my strong emotions collide,
I should definitely step away from my nationalistic pride,
and ask about the Philippines and its tropical flair-
how about you Nikko, what is happening over there?

NIKKO P.
Oceans away, here I am, living under the same moon
Sun’s rising over there; here, dish runs away with the spoon
My sleep is whacked, so I’m wide awake when you are,
amazing how we can all be in one place even if we’re all very far
Where islands form the shape of an old man, waters hug our shores
Tropical Paradise here, when you explore the great outdoors
Awesome sunsets, bountiful fiestas, the warmest smiles to greet you...
We here just love to eat when there’s nothing else to do!
Colorful rice cakes, freshest seafood, the most succulent mangoes~
Sunny days or rainy days, the creativity here just flows.
Resilient. This is a word that pops to mind when I think of us Filipinos-
We bend and bounce back, no matter how hard the wind blows.
This is just a sneak peek, but I’d love to know more about Utah
Care to share what’s on your side, my dear friend Andrea?

      ( 3 Way Collaboration )

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Popcorn Music

Pop (corn) Music


Introduction

It’s time to dance, time to tango
There’s a Canadian on the banjo
When he sees the guitar strings
Jack’s mirth grows soaring wings;
As he scans the rhapsody drums
While busy the Banjo he strums!


He strums with finger
Voice doesn’t malinger!
He strums with thumb
He’s loud, he’s not dumb!

There’s Pop Music in Poetry House
Fasten belt, tighten that blouse
Third Party Insurance will not help
Scorched, when you start to yelp!
While Archaic blows a brass horn
I’m squatted munching popcorn!

He blows the mad horn
That the Devil can dehorn
Bravura of Poetic sound
Tremulous on the ground!


Background 

Fantastic footwork by Andersen Anne Lise
Compared with my hodgepodge tango style
Her voluble Poetic twirls and untimely release
Sent me across the floor to hurtle and fly!
Supine and writhing with shyness’ disease
Miss Wattle spruced my green-horned tie!

As if mêlée was all but an esteemed order
Sis Yvette, on her protuberant poetic drum
Synchronised with Archaic’s across the Border
Non-stop, the frenzied guy continues to strum
Poetry flowing from the mental cam coder
Raving Banjo on the mercy of Jack’s thumb!

Poetry Soup is irrefutably a busy Pop House-
As Cherie Thomas beats with Conductors’ stick,
Wider goes Delysia Hendricks’ split blouse
Furiously harping with gusto and a rare trick!
To rupture of ecstasy and uproarious applause:
“This kinda stuff makes this cheeky Gal tick!”


You’d say he’ll suffocate where he’s trapped
I mean Sir Lamoreaux in a spirally saxophone
Blowing, piping poetic tremolo whilst wrapped
Breathing into the constrictor’s tail a cyclone
Heaving chest, yet poetic zest is not sapped!
Alas! He’ll not till poetic tremor is fully done!

Repeatedly blowing the Lyrical saxophone
Vicky Tsiluma, intrepid Black Queen that she is,
Across Kilimanjaro, waft her poetic tone
With intonations of peace and human bliss
In this fine cognoscenti’s vitality is borne
That Lovers of Learning cannot afford to miss!

Eileen Ghali with her fine and sombre heart
Completed the missing link in the Poetic Pop
Which she could never eschew to take part
Her poetic prowess and love writ not to flop
Cheerfully sang love lines on a pedestal chart,
With dance sending Jack’s trousers to drop!


Conclusions

By sharing Poetry for free
Other’s mind we start to see	
Lost temper, back we find
In Soup we share our mind!



**Dedicated to all the Soup Community members. I could have included all of you....space could not allow. I love you all!


JM

16th Oct’ 2013 


Details | Canadian Poem | |

Sexy

Smiling sultrily, he Struts, a tattooed Elvis, Seducing us with song. Springing from the stage, he Sweeps us into frenzy. Success seems sure when it Sounds like “J.D. Fortune.” (I first heard of this sexy Canadian singer in 2005 when I watched him win the CBS reality show: Rock Star INXS. He was then a member of INXS on and off for several years. Previous to his win, he had actually been an Elvis impersonator and I've only recently read this AFTER writing this poem!) check him out singing his famous song Pretty Vegas with Dave Navarro: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4kJhQJqr7U Written 4/25 by andrea dietrich for the Let's Pleiades Contest of nette onclaud: theme - Masquerade

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Another Glorious Autumn Is On The Way

When I look up at the pristine Colorado sky,
And see flocks of Canadian geese on the fly,
And watch squirrels hide their winter's fare in a secret cache,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the harvest moon graces the sky with its lustrous glow,
And at dawn I see Pikes Peak gleamin' with a dustin' of snow,
And view the golden leaves of aspen trees upon the distant brae,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the old ash tree on my lawn assumes its robe of amber,
Anon, strewin' the lawn with fallin' leaves t'wards late September,
And see golden punkins with a tad of frost at dawnin' of the day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the nights are cool and I need an extra blanket on the bed,
And note that the robins and all their friends to the south have fled,
And when I see anxious farmers harvestin' taters, corn and hay,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When apples are ripe for pickin' (after the worms have had their share),
And I've stored the lawn mower and at last can enjoy my rockin' chair,
And I sense that Old Sol is risin' later and settin' earlier every day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved


Details | Canadian Poem | |

Scars of Love- A True Valentine Story

War leaves scars. They are emotional. They are physical. They are spiritual.

My brother had proposed to my sister-in-law on Valentine's Day, and so it was on that fateful day, 12 years later that his and her lives would change forever.

My brother had invited his wife to the posh Phonecia Hotel in Beirut for a cosy romantic lunch date while their three kids were in school. They decided to sit at a table facing the window so they could see the beautiful view outside. They could see the azure sky touching the Mediterranean in the distance.

At first, they sat opposite each other, but feeling amorous, my brother asked Pam to sit next to him. She was facing the glass window. 

During the meal, as they chatted, little did they know that a very important government official was passing on a street close by and that this event would mark them forever. 

"On 14 February 2005, Rafic Hariri, the former Prime Minister of Lebanon, was killed, along with 21 others, when explosives equivalent of around 1,000 kilograms of TNT (2,200 pounds) were detonated as his motorcade drove near the St. George Hotel in Beirut."

This was only a short distance from where my brother and his wife were having their Valentine meal. The glass window imploded when the car bombs detonated, and my brother and his wife were thrown off their chairs.  They were soaked in blood and for a while, found it hard to see or know what had happened. They were in a daze. The extensive bleeding was caused by the shards of glass they had been peppered with as the floor to ceiling glass imploded. They looked at each other and the ghastly sight was more than they could take. 

In the mayhem that ensued, they were able to make their way outside the building with other injured people. Eventually, an ambulance rushed then to the nearby American University Hospital. It was nearby because my brother taught in the Business Department of the American University of Beirut, so they had decided to have a quick lunch in the nearby vicinity.

Extensive work was done on both their faces. My sister-in-aw had a tooth knocked out from the force of the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Her injuries were more obvious as she had been sitting facing the glass. Up to this day, my brother sometimes has pieces of glass make their way to the surface of the skin on his face, and he has to pull them out. That's how deeply they became embedded.

When later asked if they wanted cosmetic surgery done to cover up the zig zag scars on their faces, my spunky Canadian sister-in-law replied, "Why should we? This is part of our history, of what we have been through, and it gives us a great story to tell."

I wish I were as brave as she is. The three children had a hard time seeing their parents in this state. Pam had to stay in intensive care for a while and when the kids finally did get to see her, Dylan, the middle child, burst out crying and said, "Mama, I don't like what's happened to your face."

This is life in Lebanon. We have lived through the war. We have survived. We have scars that tell the stories. I have written a full article on this, and will post a few excerpts later. 

We live in a spiritual battlefield. Christ came to rescue us, the wounded and the dying. He CHOSE to walk into the war zone. Jesus carries the scars in his hands and in his side of that rescue mission. He carries these marks for eternity, a sign of His great love and passion for us and for our salvation. He came to rescue the hostages of war....and "by His stripes, we are healed."

Isaiah 53: 5- 

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed

Details | Canadian Poem | |

The Rail Ties That Bind

A little girl
She comes to a land of ghosts
Almost empty streets
She wonders
Where are all the people
No one here looks like her
Within her heart
Emotions stir

It is so cold
Foreign 
Lonely
Where oh where, is the mountain of gold
Her mom and dad they are so bold
Pioneers
Adventures
People of action
Not of words

Hong Kong 
Left behind
A new future to find
They endured the sad
A world not kind

Their crowded apartment
A benevolent uncle stole
To leave the country they paid a toll
Plane tickets in her fathers hand
Brought his family to a new land
The little girl did not understand

The language she knew
Was Chinese
She spoke it with such ease
She thought, she must throw it away
The bits of her culture slowly stripped day by day

Forced to grow up, with blinding speed
She looks after, siblings needs
No time for her
She couldn't play
Duty and honour
The Chinese way

Mom and dad, working night and day
They do so much, for little pay
Food on the table
Their sacrifice
A warm home 
Within a land of ice

Through the years
A life is built
Yet the little girl, she is filled with guilt
She knows, there's been a sacrifice
Beneath the surface, of all that's nice

Many, many, years ago
Her grandfather was here
Away from her dad, for many years
Cooking for men, who worked the rail line
A small comfort when they would dine

Disposable humans
They took the risk
The horrors so many
To long too list
They needed their families
So far away
Yet the politicians, turned them away

The abuse he suffered
With all his friends
It seems now the Government 
wants to make amends
The past and future, are combined
You can't move forward
Without looking behind

The little girl, now grown up
For the past, she gives her thanks
Dreams from ties
She rides their rails
Blood and sweat 
from hammering nails
She hears echoes, from the past
It seems their gifts, were forged to last



My wife went to a forum where the government 
apologized for the awful things that were done
to the Chinese people who came to work in
Canada. So many Chinese men left their homes
in search of a better life for their families. They
were forced into slave like labour to build our
cross country railway. Many of them lost their 
lives in the process. They were not allowed to
bring their families. When the earlier generations 
came they were charged a head tax to move to Canada.
This discrimination was exclusive to Asian people.
This is a sad chapter in our Canadian History.














Details | Canadian Poem | |

Evacuation and Loss

The night shone for the full moon,
Sky brewing a coarse monsoon,
Bolted were windows, locked were doors,
The frequency of death frighteningly soared.
But who was this infant high upon the hill?
He denied the storm and just stood stone still,
Eyes shut like blinds and fingers dug into ground,
Felt he could move no muscle, for was sadly street bound.
Shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tight round
His skinny body, battered and browned
Praying for the sake of friends, family and all
However imaginary, he imagined them call
 “Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry, remember our love”
Joining their gaze in the beyond above,
He softly mumbled a song to forget,
The once daily song that was always a duet,
Alone on that hill without any feel,
Of an afterlife he finally accepted, wasn’t real
Tears met the floor, now bathed in yellow light,
As lightning struck him too quick to fright,
Child lay on the floor, dismembered and black,
Though his mouth was smiling and his happiness had come back,
As re-joined with family, head held high, 
He waved his tortured existence goodbye.
Hugging his mum and his dad the same,
Somehow put an end to the incessant rain,
The natives emerged from their homes, safe and sound,
The boy crying for happiness at the new life he had found.
Soul peering at his body, dead at age eleven,
Holding family’s hands they could finally pass on and join heaven. 
The touch of their skin brought old emotion,
 Parents who were torn betwixt war and devotion,
A child whom they gave their best shot,
By train to board and bomb to not.
The grave of the boy with the electric crown,
Who carried a burden he couldn’t live down,
Stood proud in the yard of cobbles and stones,
For everyone knew those were a heroes bones,
When you look into the sky on a stormy night,
Remind yourself of the boy’s plight.
As he is the clouds that damper weather,
Out to protect his town, children altogether,
He wanted a life for them around,
That didn’t consist of being mentally wound,
A life that he could never possess,
But he did not bathe in spiralling depress.
Life is sacred, upon that hill,
Those cobbles and stones bring great goodwill,
For the sun only shines on that grassy land,
Still holding marks of the boy’s humble hand,
Some say that the yearly rain,
Is him up above, the tears of a chain.
The chain of the tears shed on that night,
Of the fear and happiness’ conventional recite,
Up above, being tucked under the covers,
Is a little boy with an injury he recovers,
Mother kisses his head and says her goodnight,
Father over bed, comforting a nightmare fright.
Drifting off, the boy could hear,
A little rhyme to calm his fear,
“Boy, come to us we love you most”
“Our love for you is bigger than the Canadian coast”
“Do not cry remember our love-“
The young man rose slowly in his bed,
Opened his eyes and smiled as he said
“I’m here”

Details | Canadian Poem | |

When Are You Coming Home, Son

When are you coming home, son? I miss your smile, you've been gone for quite some time now we haven't talked for a while. When are you coming home, son? How are things, all right? I still have that picture you gave me I look at it every day and night. When are you coming home, son? I know this war's been hard on you, I still remember the day you left I said, I loved you. When are you coming home, son? I see the plane landing there, but it's a coffin draped with the flag 'tis something I can not bare. When are you coming home, son? I remember days gone past, I now stand, looking over your gravestone you were taken from me, your life went fast. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Nov.17/2005 Being a Canadian, writing this bothered me. Thinking about the American troops in Iraq and the Canadian troops in Afghanistan. When will our governments finally see what they are doing is wrong and send our troops home?

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Another man's Clothes

The idea behind this poem came from reading a poem of the same title, written by Richard “Canadian Man-god” Lamoureux. Now, his poem went in an entirely powerful, yet other, direction than I thought it was going to go. I happily let him know that. So, he decided to have me touch upon where I thought he was going with his poem. 

Some people really need to be careful what they ask for… ;-) 

On an 8pm, Louisiana dream

Tastes of nocturnal, July humidity
Succumbs flagrant passions 
With moistened grip, they tease

Coltrane whispers annihilate tense exhales
Under concave moon

She threw Mr. So and So onto Pacific Ocean’s waterbed
As if she was a professional baseball pitcher
Down
The
Middle

His exuberance would shatter sound’s tattered walls.

Slow grinds
Chemical reactionary bliss
Similar to Neutron bombs
Minus the consequences

Her tailored skin
Ready for gripped, enigmatic resolutions

But, first,
She had to “freshen up”

“You’re already being fresh, don’t stop on my account”,
He says with Monday mourning frustration

As cedar scented bathroom door shuts with determined patience,
And running water with a mix of Celine Dion hums from her trained throat
He stands to gather his thoughts…

…until his eyes exit stage right towards her opened travel bag

A pair of satin boxers & edible, Cotton Candy hand-cuffs from Target
With a signed, perfumed gift tag,
“Can’t wait for tomorrow, Mr. Such and Such,
-Love, your Hedonistic dream”

As running water came to serenity’s halt,
She exited restroom with shedding curves.

Her strut became dislocated,
As she stared into his trembling pupils
Wiping the cotton coating from his lips

“Too bad you couldn’t chew your way out of this one”,
The other half of the handcuffs smeared in cursive signature
Against yellow-gold gift tag he hands her with unedited closure

With striking slams against Louisiana hotel door
Parallel to Mother Nature’s thunderous clap

He exits stage left
Giving almost-lover
A proverbial slap

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Reporting Live across the World

Reporting live on the soup, with Americas MOST. WANTED. POETS.
 Standing here with our host John, 
With an exclusive update on criminal poets, captured and on the run.
Switching over to you John,. "Thank you P.D., lets give thanks to all the 
P.M.W. tipsters, and our lovely F.B.I. agent Andrea Dietrich (Andy) & U.S. 
Marshal Shirley Harrison (S.H.)

Capturing 1 infamous fugitive Nikko Palmario, a comment crusader going contest crazy. 
Christopher Brantley, still at large U.S. Marshall (S.H.) says, "This brilliant fugitive leaves no 
trace." A dangerous poet posting comments longer than his poetry. Leaving a distinction of 
excellence in any short form.  P.M.W.tipsters Demand to be brought down to poetic justice.
P.M.W. Tip, led Marshall (S.H.) to the most notorious blond bombshell on the soup.
Captured on her vacation Linda Marie Bariana, lost control of her blond moment.
Paralyzing her laptop with sand. Covering to other crimes with to much poetry rhyme.
Her # 1 crime, entering a dark poet contest, to bad for this SWEET HEART who shines.         
Wanted in all nations Lynette Chachere a realistic poetic criminal against reality & dreams.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says"Our sweet Lynn, carries a weapons against all Enigma wonders."
A shameful crime to bring down a poets spirit with an intervene of her intense poetry.
F.B.I. Most wanted poetic lunatics, Billy the Kidster, with a Mental Poet Disorder.
A maniac on the rampage, a poet who lost it, with a crime slamming himself.
F.B.I. Most wanted viscous fugitive Christopher D. Aechtner, alias Vomiticus Grammaticus.
This former Canadian elusive bad boy, topping the hot list, a harmless poetic threat. 
Dakarai Cobbs, a 30 year old soups spot robbing thug. F.B.I.(Andy) Says "We offer 1 million
For the capture of this accused space invader aka the Sonnet man.
A poetic gang banger posting out of control, with a drive by of 130 hits in less than a month
Nathan Dilts, at large with the biggest search in poet history. 
A terrorizing poet implanting each poet with frightening thoughts and images so twisted.         
Making his followers absorb his evil poetic plots, while connecting center of dots.
F.B.I.(Andy) Says he is a mastermind with explosive & twisted thoughts.
Marshall (S.H.)Says "there is nothing we won't do to take his Poet License away.
  ((sorry no room for the Poet Destroyer))
Back to you P.D. "thank you John, there you have it soupers a few top criminal poets."
Reporting live on the soup P.D., all across the world enjoying our poetry security

Details | Canadian Poem | |

The Ojibwa

^^^^^ My people, the Ojibwa, fierce and strong A people of stories and myths and knowledge On birch bark scrolls and stones their history told And I, a mere Ojibwa girl, write stories . . . The early Canadian explorers wrote of our warriors . . . ". . . strong arms held bows, arrows and clubs, their bodies tattooed in various fashion and design, faces painted and noses pierced, majestic feathers" Eventually, they stole our lands . . . So, I tell my stories, I dream my dreams of a time past . . . There Upon a sheer and rocky cliff The Appaloosa horse of many colors stands majestic There Under the blazing blue sky An Ojibwa warrior looks at me with great love There In the air and wind that roars His feathers earned in acts of bravery quietly move There Nestled in his strong arms My turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun There Below the Ottawa River thunders The vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon There Above in that perfect sky Eagles soar together as a symbol of Ojibwa unity There In the imagination of an Ojibwa girl The only sound the wind that moves those feathers Today, the majority of First Nation still live on reservations . . . ^^^^^ May 24, 2013 Narrative For the contest, Poems About Nationality

Details | Canadian Poem | |

To Elizabeth

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eye'd,
Such seems your beauty still. 
~ William Shakespeare


I have looked into the mirror
Looking for a trace....a trace of my youth
A trace of the girl that I used to be...
Is she there?  Buried deep? Is she still part of me?

Years can't be halted, change can't erase..
And there...in my face, are the lines of experience
Stories and time...I see staring back at me
A part of me wants to grieve for that girl
The girl that I was..   Has she vanished for good?

Oh, I do understand....
That I can't hang on to "then"..
To days long ago, when time was our friend
When summers, together,  seemed never to end
But, then............ , here by chance, we meet up once again.....

Our friendship born in childhood..so young, and carefree
You...with bright eyes, and brown hair that fell long
Around your high cheeks ...and a wide, gamin smile!
You were the one who's light shined so brightly
Who's charm, laugh, and wisdom I fondly admired
A girlhood where we danced together in sweet grass under sunny skies
And under nighttime stadium lights, to the music of the high school band

After years, that have taken us to separate worlds
In my mind, and in my dreams you have always been
The fair maiden, the one who held my hand
Two girls who made promises...who sat in the dark, under a summer sky
And talked of our "somedays", of our future, our hopes
By the light of the moon, we wished upon the stars

Now here in this moment, I have found you again
And here in this moment, I have found "me" again....
I can be that girl again....as we share our history
our moment in the sun, ....I am "her", again!..
I can be that child, I can be fifteen, I can wear a crown, upon a teenaged throne... 
And I can still dance to the sound of the drum, and the tuba,
I can sing football songs, and gossip about the boys, 
   and make fun of the stuck-up girls
     and laugh about the teachers we didn't like, 
                   and about the night of the prom, when I cried in your arms

I can hear Johnny Mathis singing "Misty", and the words will make me weep
       I can hear "Canadian Sunset" as it lulls me off to sleep

Perhaps the stars have faded a bit...but beyond the weary miles
They still shine when I look into your eyes...my dear friend, from the past...
They will shine through the ages.........where a summer will always  last....
         
                      ~                                    ~


For Frank's Contest:


Details | Canadian Poem | |

"Vietnam Veterans"

Anne Murray did have quite the flurry, voice as a brook without crooks
 Canadian born, songs of forlorn, beautiful vibes, I subscribed
Such singing as a bird, the world has never heard, she splurged
“O Little Snow Bird”,  in the words I heard, calming of Vietnam

O spread your wings and fly away, words of God’s love I heard
Mind level love, forever untrue, so what’s new, `Tis festering spew
O but little snow bird, an alpine of cleansing snow, God’s Love
Spread your wings that brings, renewing, from festered spewing

Providing for me a way to go, by a cleansing snow
 Innocence, a purity, of life’s promising security 
Some leaders said only fate, this atrocity of hate
Maimed, lamed and defamed they came, to claim their bitter fame

State side they now abide, holding inside, Our leaders lied
Leaving the lamb of their souls in Nam, for uncle Sam
Atrocities, of hate, never abate, mind’s sickening fate
The Vietnam of late, laid at the mind’s creation of hell’s gate

O beauty of little snow birds, spread your wings, fly back this way
Cleans again, the glean of mind’s sin called fate, lain at heart’s gate
Like an alpine of purity,  Love from Anne’s heart was sung
Maybe only to ease her own pain, but her  timing was plain

The answer is blowing in the wings, of even a little snow bird
The such of which the mind of itself has never learn or heard
All humanity will not learn,  but precious few will return
By their trust in Love, the snow white Dove, spewed forth from above

Anne Murray sang away I know, some of my own heart’s pain
Honoring all Vietnam veterans, be you not in fretters
From your  hearts of security your love is your surety
Let your Alpine of pure snow bird, be Love’s word you’ve heard

Dane I am sure you’ve at least heard this song that this poem is about.
It somehow caused me to think of you, as I was writing it. Therefore 
I dedicate it to you and all veterans for your service to our country. 
Sincerely, Love, Moses

12-19-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Killing me Softly

I am a duck, call me deep throat
You are killing me softly
With the food I must devour
I am a seal
You invited me to a club
And you killed me softly
I am a heifer
You will kill me softly too
You will coral me, of this I am sure
I am a pig
And for this you will kill me
Softly I am not so sure
You may even call me Canadian!
Don’t forget me!! I am a chicken
My crime was crossing the road!!!
And now you eat me!!!!
Now you humans will prepare your feasts
Fry us all to feed your desires
Please let’s not forget the salt for old wounds
Ah
We will kill you softly
Revenge is sugary sweet

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Wacko Jacko



Clear the track, here comes Jack Or Johnny Canuck to some To a bunch of friends on Poetry Soup He's that Wacko Jacko bum! He's Canadian eh! From way up north From the land of ice and snow He eats bowls of nails for breakfast Wearing manly lumberjack clothes “Good day eh! How's it goin' eh?” Are two of his favourite greets As he polishes off his morning brew With a slab of uncooked meat He's a tough old dude, that's for sure With mush instead of brains A grizzled good natured son of a gun With love running through his veins He'd give you the shirt right off his back But it's too damn cold up here For fear of freezing his nipples off Instead he's just say, “Wanna beer?” Clear the track, here comes Jack Or Johnny Canuck to some To a bunch of friends on Poetry Soup He's that Wacko Jacko bum! © Jack Ellison 2013

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Canadian Chris

There's a guy on the Soup called Chris
Captain Hook or Peter Pan is his wish
Boy his Blogs are so good
By this Canadian dude
His information sure is the Biz










http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-16.php

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Moments of Healing

* This poem was inspired by Alexa Brus and I want to dedicate it to her.  Thank you 
for the inspirational photos, Alexa.  Love you, Carolyn



day-to-day anxieties require decompression
miraculous healing powers await
courtesy of Mother Nature

strolling through the field of daisies
I make my way to an enchanted forest
flora and fauna unmatched

hiking through the shady trails
canopy of cedars above my head
remarkable wildflowers and ferns line the path

tension releases as I hear the stream
toes dip in refreshing cool waters
summer’s heat alleviates

stress disappears and calmness overcomes
beauty of a Canadian woodland
fills my spirit with peace and joy

heading home in late afternoon
I emerge from the woods
finding God’s artistry in a sky of flaming splendor

my escape
     my path
         my connection to the glory of creation

Details | Canadian Poem | |

ending the war in america step 1

if you support this copy and paste to your page, you have my permission.


problem by problem 1x1
your going to solve them.

scared straight, the television show holding your children hostage on television
that is more illigal than torture in america
they are 55 years old and sending 12 year olds to a place they wouldnt want to be.

would the closest adjacent state starting with a letter closest to A
please stand up
those are your people
in your country
in need of your aid.

send half the police force in a time span of three days
to assist your neighbors kill the people terrorising children

go to wall mart, buy a gun if you have to
show up in record numbers with your information straight
and shoot every single one of them involved in that war crime

then go home

when your there, lie about where your from, your name, etcetera

drive over there, kill them, go home and laugh...


there is also a problem in alberta
calgary and edmonton alberta
they have denied torture victoms amnesty

would british columbia please stand up
send half of your police over to help in a time span of three days
dont ask, just show up.
thats not canada, that is not canadian, that is not allowed
put it on the news
this is what they did, this is what they didnt do
these are the explanations of people who can explain themselves
and this is what we are going to do about it....

now would saskatchewan please stand up
when british columbia begins to go home, you will send in a third of your police in a period of four days.

get your information right on the news as it goes, dont do it underground all sneaky
do it right in their face with a huge thats not how i run my ship

then your coming to alberta and you are going to murder the police and doctors
involved in the torture and terrorism of myself
that took place over the past 17 years

please check out my youtube page http://www.youtube.com/troynelson2011

Details | Canadian Poem | |

this single kiss

with one arm i draw you near, entwine
and on your lips tenderly i place mine
i hold you tight
i kiss you light

i  tie you in prepare you for the ride
i kiss you deep  and slowly glide inside 
swallow your doubts
engage our mouths
use our tongues, a clean slate
i kiss you all, like a life long mate

we circle over and over the hemisphere. visit the ancient gardens of babylon 
here. refresh our bodies under a canadian waterfall. view the coral reefs in the 
pink waters of belize submerged and all.

we monopolize the star covered night. spread our towels out of sight. sink into 
the  mink sifted warmth each of  a white sand beach.

still our lips glued
our  passions ruled
happily lost and unthinking 
content to let the bell ring
dwell together in this abyss
 relish this  ongoing kiss.

still two stranger's grips
willing to share naked lips
though we know when we leave this terrain
that will be it never to see each other again

with nothing to object
convinced this kiss perfect.


Details | Canadian Poem | |

Hockey

In Canada we do not cower
On ice we have a lot of power
When we're young we know our fates
No booties for us we wear ice skates

We dream of scoring goals galore
We pass the puck we shoot it more
We do not like our politics
In bed we hug our hockey sticks

Our country built around a game
Become a pro and get some fame
My seond home the ice arena
I skate and play so very keena

It's Hockey so Canadian
Some players are Arcadian
The game now ends lets shout it out
Winners cheer and losers pout


Hockey is a national institution in Canada.

Details | Canadian Poem | |

On Frozen Pond

Caleb Smith's “Echoes of the Heart” has inspired me to recall those halcyon days long ago on the frozen ponds of my youth.

It was hockey from early morn to the darkening shades of late afternoon with only a short break for a quickly devoured Campbell's Vegetable Soup for lunch. My closest friend was Ken. You very rarely saw one of us without the other, we were inseparable. Our hockey sticks were battered and thin and only bore a slight resemblance to hockey sticks we got each year for Christmas. The pond was a wide frozen body of water beside a well traveled highway to the distant land called the United States. But in our minds it was The Montreal Forum filled with screaming fans cheering on our every move. We would take turns being the great Maurice “The Rocket” Richard while the other would be all-star goalie Jacques Plante! It could have been minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit but we never felt the cold and icy winds... we were superstars.

On a few occasions I have revisited that hallowed ground where we spent hour upon hour, oblivious to time, our faces frozen as well as our ears and our toes! The cheering of the imaginary crowds was all the inspiration we needed to fire a blistering shot through the imaginary pads each other was wearing. At the end of the day, we literally had to crawl home on our hands and knees, our ankles no longer being able to support our tired legs. 

Those sweet memories have stayed with me for a lifetime. I'm sure with my last breath of life, the vision of Ken and me will flash before my eyes. Ah yes, hockey, it was what young Canadian boys lived for back then!

© Jack Ellison 2013

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TIM HORTONS: A CANADIAN THING

As Canadian as hockey,
Beer or maple syrup and 
More than a donut shop,
A deli or a café, 
Tim Horton’s is
A commons.

Where tired people
Slide into seats
Then loudly sigh.
The vinyl is still
Warm, thanks to 
The last customer.

Some chat or
Argue about the weather.

Two meet, a first date,
Eyeball a couple having a spat
Across the restaurant,
Then nervously eat soup,
Over crumble their crackers,
Choose to say nothing.

A student works on her thesis,
Her laptop perched on the
Small table beside a 
Forgotten bagel. 

A man, about eighty,
Flirts with a younger woman
In her seventies.

Others read newspapers,
Circle want ads,
Read obits out loud,
Share comics.

We gather here
Before church and
After funerals,
During rain squalls
And snowstorms.

It’s open
24 hours a day,
7 days a week.

I once saw a groom
Snazzy in his tux
Stop for a double-double.

You can easily find one.
I counted four
In a five minute drive,
Some are within
Walking distance to 
Each other.

They are in hospitals.

A woman, empty-eyed
Faces a black 2 a.m. window.
That paper cup she’s holding
Is filled with tea and shock
Both grow cold 
In her even colder hand
While in the seat
Across from her
A new dad beams
As he gobbles
Tim Bits.

Canadian soldiers
In Kandahar cheered
When Tim Hortons
Set up shop on 
Their base.

For them,
For us,
It is the taste
Of home.

We LIVE
Here.

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Hoosier Hoopla!

O'er the undulating prairie where grows soy beans and corn,
Generations of premier basketball players have been born.
The Hoosier State of Indiana, where budding talent is so replete,
Where small towns can conquer titans, shocking them in defeat!

Long before lads and lassies leave the cradle to crawl upon the floor,
Dads have hung a backboard and hoop above every garage door.
Seldom is seen a Hoosier home without this indigenous adornment!
The flame begins early in Indiana, stirring souls with excitement!

Ah! The exuberance builds as high schools begin a brand-new season.
Not to support the hometown team is almost akin to treason!
Creative cheerleaders perfect frenzied gyrations honing their skills.
The marching bands look sharp having perfected intricate drills!

Moms, Dads and coaches take pride in their young men and women,
As they mentor, teach and train them to develop their acumen.
Young warriors opposing each other upon friendly fields of strife,
Strengthen character to meet the challenges facing them in life!

A Canadian invented the game using peach baskets and a soccer ball.
You daren't mention that to a Hoosier fan - you're apt to start a brawl!
But Hoosiers don't bother themselves about that, caring not a whit.
Basketball is an inbred thing in Indiana, everyone is happy to admit!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

Written at the request of the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame, New Castle, Indiana, 
for publication in their Winter 2004 publication, "Indiana Basketball History Magazine"

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Alouette

My Lark, whom I plucked in the Dark

Alouette, gentille alouette
Aloutte, je te plumerai

Alouette(a) we are all a wetta
Alouette(a) I will pluck you dry

Pluck you dry, pluck you dry
Ben oui,  mais ben oui,  lets look to the sky

Alouette(a), gently let me caress you
Alouette(a), these words make us  wetta

Je te plumerai le bec
Je te plumerai le bec
And a kiss
And a kiss
More more kiss
Alouette, let me kiss you oh my my

I will look you in the eyes
Avec un bec
Je suis un mec
Alouetta, let me make you wetta
Alouetta, let me hold you near

I will pluck your wings you hear?
Just to keep you close and near
Alouetta, let me keep you here my dear
And you legs
And your neck
And you your eyes
Alouetta, I caress your coeur so red
Alouette, my love will make you wetta

Et le cœur
Et le bouche 
Et les ailes
Alouetta, je te donne un bec(a)
Alouetta, je te plumerai

Alouette, je suis un beau mec (a)
Alouette, je te donne un grand bec(a)!!!!

Svp, Svp
Alouette I will make you wetta
Alouette I will make you mine!!!!

Notes and Physiologists notes!
Ok LOL where to start
Alouette is a Lark in English
"Alouette" is a popular French Canadian children's song about plucking the feathers from a lark, in retribution for being woken up by its song. Although it is in French, it is well-known among speakers of other languages

I of course used many play on words to turn this into a lyrical naughty love verse based on the song. Not only did I intermingle French and English, but some of the play on words apply, even only in French. I know many will not understand the French, however the English language is universally used for the very reason that is does incorporate so many words from other languages. Anytime you bring ideas together, you are uniting rather than dividing, a theme in many of my poems.

Alouette =  Lark, I misspelled it sometimes as Alouetta as that’s more how you would pronounce the word in English.

Je te plumerai = I will pluck you

Bec = beak in English, but in French can also mean a kiss
Ben =  is closer to how the Quebecois accent would sound
Mec = boyfriend a term more used in France
Svp = abbr for “please”

Some words I spelled phonetically for those with cell phones.

Do I really need to explain “wet-ta” ? LOL

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Highway of Heroes

They have returned, in wood splintered pine boxes
One flag traded for one life
Boys filled with bravado and hope, now coffins filled with lost dreams
They marched off in Glory, not for war
They wished a better world
A desire to defeat all what is evil
A thirst for the thrill of life
Wishing a pretty girl would see them in uniform
They have flown home
Over oceans of tears
The brave die young
The rest of us can only bow our heads
Sadness envelopes the final journey


Notes:

This poem is dedicated specifically to the Canadian men and women who lost their lives in Afghanistan, as well as to those who god bless returned home alive. 

Let me say this, this was not a War. We were not fighting an enemy in the normal sense. So you ask, then what was it? This was an intervention to bring peace, to protect the weak, to protect woman. Canadian Forces were involved in the building of roads and schools, the protection of the general population, and also education. If this breakdown in society happened inside of Canada, it would not be called a war, we would be demanding our government provide us proper police protection and law and order.

If you wish to blame this on another religion, then I say to you, Afghanistan was the same religion in the 1950’s 60’s and 70’s when woman were free to dress , to go to school and not have to cover their faces. If you were to see photos they dressed much as America did at that time. If a man tosses acid onto a woman’s face, this is not a war, this is a crime. So, because a man made boundary exists, should be turn our backs? 

You may be debate the value of this effort, the success or failure, or even agree or disagree if we should be involved. However, our men and woman in uniform gave their lives to try and make this world a better place. If you are a gardener, and you weed your garden, you will never win, the weeds always come back, yet as a gardener you never give up trying to make the flowers bloom.

What have you done today to make this world a better happier place?

Note 2  Canada has renamed a portion of the Trans Canada Highway, the "Highway of Heroes" you may google this to find out more info!