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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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New Canadian Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Canadian poems are below this new poems list.

Canadian Bacon by Martin, Mike
CNR -Canadian National Railway- by T.M., Eve
Ode To Canadian Geese Haiku by Quinlan, Diane M
KA, The Lost Canadian Goose by Mika-Stevens, Genevieve
Canadian Jack The Poet by williams, john
Canadian Beaver by Jones, Cynthia
To be Canadian by Rossi, Carmine
The Canadian Rubber Factory by ALLISON, JAN
Being Canadian by Ellison, Jack
Canadian Beer by Loggins, James

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The Best Canadian Poems

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Under the Same Moon -3-Way-Collaboration-

 ~Under the Same Moon~

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?

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 )

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...

Details | Canadian Poem | |

The Narwhal Adventurer

Daybreak sends her glitters, and we
hours off the Canadian shore, watch eyes wide.
Oceans sends our ship to rocking,
Motion bellies churn on the rough ride.

I, of only twelve years old, bundle with 
my mothers cloak, I perch on the railings gate.
I heard the tales of unicorns of the sea,
with a camera and film, I sit ready and wait.

My mind creates spectacular swords,
upon dolphin creatures that joust and jive,
A graceful, playful, curious bunch of mammals
in the oceans cool waters they dive.

The spray upon the air tickles my skin,
I can smell the vessels fish in tow.
This journey I have only dreamed to take,
for knowledge I just have to know.

Hours rocking with the tide, my body tired aches,
Motion of the ocean, sea legs make me weary.
"come on inside, my girl" Daddy tells me twice,
but I won't give up until I photograph my query.

I start to fall asleep, the rocking like a lullaby,
Pretty is the sun that sets down on the waters crest.
I feel the playfully laughter in the clouds,
Turning, I gaze out to the northern west.

Like the beautiful creatures that make sailors swoon,
The narwhals break the surface to show off their skill.
They become the poets of the waters grace,
Upon their heads, shine in the setting sun, a quill.

Fascinated, I watched them swim,
Memorized, I couldn't help but laugh,
And as the ship sailed off to the southern east,
I took one perfect photograph.

October 07, 2015

Copyright © Casarah Nance

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Popcorn Music

Pop (corn) Music


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!


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!


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 could not allow. I love you all!


16th Oct’ 2013 

Copyright © Joseph Matose

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

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw

Details | Canadian Poem | |


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: Written 4/25 by andrea dietrich for the Let's Pleiades Contest of nette onclaud: theme - Masquerade

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

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?

Copyright © Cynthia Jones

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
Where oh where, is the mountain of gold
Her mom and dad they are so bold
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.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Canadian Poem | |

In The Forest Den

Deep in the Canadian wilderness she gave birth to four pups,
     It was a large dug out hole at the base of a tangled tree;
Her mate for life was out hunting with the pack for deer or elk,
          Some wolves remained to protect and guard her.

She was a mottled grey and resembled a domestic dog,
     Perhaps a german shepherd or a sled dog but much bigger;
Her paws were huge and she had thick fur to protect her in the cold
          But she was so gentle with the pups snuggling them.

As dusk fell she heard her mate's mournful howls in the distance,
     She knew his howls, growls and barks from all others;
They were mated for life and this was their first litter of pups,
          The pups were blind and defenceless without her.

The pack had been more than thirty-eight wolves until recently,
     But farmers had trapped, shot and poisoned many in fear;
And trappers had killed others for their beautiful thick fur,
         So these pups were so important to the packs future.

And then he was there in the den with her and nuzzled her neck,
    He was taller than she and stronger a truly majestic creature;
Crouching with his ears straightened his facial expression was love,
         She moved over so he could join them and all was peace.

                                           In the forest den . . .

April 1, 2015


For the contest, Canis Lupus the Wolf, sponsor, Shadow Hamilton

First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings

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”

Copyright © Nichola Vincent

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Memories of the Sea

Ah the lovely seasdie
Ah the lovely seaside

Childhood scents
Salt air, Salty bitter memories

Jacques had turned just seven
He dreamed to walk along the seashore
He dreamed to see the seagulls sore overhead
He most of all dreamed to leave his basement

All the windows were covered with curtains
The days, nights no matter
His life was the darkness
His momma and papa, gave away their smiles

There were many days, the lightening was eternal
Well into the night
His mother held him tight
They both absorbed the fear of the other

Many mornings, Momma, can I walk to the beach?
No Jacques my little one, you must stay here
Help is needed in the kitchen
He wondered what help. We have no food to cook?

Many a day when no one was watching him
He would peek out the window, longing
The beach was simply down the street and to the left
Oh how he dreamed to run and play and splash in the waves

Summer was warming up his heart
He knew his momma and papa loved him
He knew these were bad times
Even so, he decided, tomorrow, yes tomorrow

So on the night of June the 5th
He planned well, hiding his boots out back
Made a small backpack for snacks and his jacket
He fell into a deep sleep, so very pleased

Up early he snuck out of the house
Past the bakers and in between soldiers patrolling
Quite easily he found the path down to the beach
Little did poor Jacques know he was to become a part of history

He ran from a little inlet out onto the beach
Jumping and dancing and gleefully singing to the seagulls
As he observed boats of all shapes and sizes and sailing to shore
His spine tingled, with a foreboding

The seaside
Became hell
Darkness clouded Jacques world
Bombs and gunfire rained down from all sides

Jacques tried to run, but his feet became heavy
He stumbles and fell to the sand
Thousands of solders emerged from the sea
Racing towards him, some running, some falling

A young Canadian man, Victor was his name
Firing his rifle, and racing for the shore saw the young boy
He had a new born baby back home, named him jack
Well he ran and fell atop the young boy, yelling above the fray

Stay quiet young man, don’t move
I will protect you, fear not
Even fear was the meal of the day
As the seaside became Dante’s eternal hell

The Germans above, fired all they had towards the beach
Machine gunners fired, mortars rained and snipers took aim
A young German man with a rifle was shooting anyone
Whom by miracle was still moving

His sites were set on that particular Canadian soldier
He took aim then saw a boy underneath the soldier
Well at the end of the battle, that young German soldier
Had one bullet left in his rifle

He could not fire
In the heat of battle
He pulled out a photo of his young boy Erik
He kissed the photo, and wept

It was the Germans last thought
As a bullet ripped of his head
The Canadian soldier was staring at this exact moment
Pain ripped his heart, as if he too was dead

Miraculously Jacques survived that day
When he made his way back home
His momma and papa hugged him so tight
They almost strangled him

For the rest his life
Jacques never went by the seaside, not once
For him he tasted the bitter smell of cordite death 
He lived his life in the vineyards, far from the sea

One may wonder now
How do I know all of this?
Well I work at an old folk’s home as an orderly
I take care of poor old Jacques

I remind him daily
No Jacques we will not be going to the seaside
Somehow, I feel obligated to this old man
As did my grandfather those many years ago

Who saved the life of a little boy named Jacques
June 6, 1944


Erik and Jacques both developed a passion for wines and vineyards and became the best of friends

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Canadian Poem | |

A Day In My Life

Not sure what I do but I sure am exhausted at the end of the day, so I decided to think about it and made this list . . . I sleep (not enough, probably) I eat to much, sometimes Write poetry that sooths my soul (every day) Print out and file said poetry Spend too much time on poetry soup (reading and commenting) Love it, love it, my safe haven forever Work (gurrrrrrr) honestly my job is too stressful Watch way too much TV Check out Facebook Watch Utube videos Listen to the news, Local, Canadian, World Play with my cat, oh, that I like, here kitty, kitty Read the newspaper Cook a meal and invite a friend, sometimes Work on my scrap book (endless project) Sew, well I have the sewing machine ready for action Go for a walk with my camera(new hobby) Talk to my friends and family each day Take a walk to art gallery for inspiration Do the dishes Tidy up my nest (my sister says I made a nest for myself) Take a bubble bath or shower Wash my long hair (many steps involved, girls understand that) Listen to music (and dance around) Water my wilting plants Meditate Read Put the rugs back in place, (stop it Pearl Smudges) Have a nap Sometimes, I make jewellery Look at my clothes, why not Laundry if I feel strong Sweep and dust the nest Drink tea or perhaps a café I have been known to have a chocolate bar at 3 pm Feed Pearl Smudges some sardines (stinky) Clean her litter box (yukky) Re-arrange my jewellery (means put it away) Iron a uniform for next day (nurse) Think and ponder life in general Sometimes, often, I go shopping for stuff Go for a coffee with my cell phone Look in the mirror and decide make-up is needed Tidy up my desk of dictionaries and papers and cups Take out the garbage (how can one girl have so much) Stand and look at my art hanging on the wall Recall memories with tears (not a day goes by) Re-arrange the furniture, it never seems right Just sit and relax Well, very sure there must be more but now I know why I am exhausted, at the end of each day, however, I would not change one thing . . . _____________________ April 27, 2015 List Submitted to the contest, Today I Accomplished, sponsor Sara Kendrick First Place Poem Of The Day, April 29, 2015

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Canadian Poem | |

Winter Divinity

First snow on tree tops,
Canadian pristine . . .
Nature's own beauty
Of spirit supreme.

Cascading waters
Of crystal clear birth
Instill serene pleasure
From heaven to earth.

As the lake mirrors mountains
And deep azure sky,
We commune together,
My God and I.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong

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

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

Copyright © Drake 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

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

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

Copyright © Broken Wings

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


Copyright © john freeman

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 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 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 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 dear friend, from the past...
They will shine through the ages.........where a summer will always  last....
                      ~                                    ~

For Frank's Contest:

Copyright © Carrie Richards

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

Copyright © Jack Ellison

Details | Canadian Poem | |

geese honk

geese honk surround sound spring's emissary head north... invisible ghost
For PD On Saturday I could hear Canadian Geese honking while inside the house..I walked out to see them and it was like surround sound on a stereo almost as if they were in the trees but I could not see a goose anywhere..Sign that spring is here though.

Copyright © Sara Kendrick

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
We will kill you softly
Revenge is sugary sweet

Copyright © arthur vaso

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

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Canadian Poem | |

An Ojibwa Girl - My Spirit

My people the Ojibwa are fierce and strong. A people of stories, myths and
knowledge.  On birch bark scrolls and stones their history is told. And I,
a mere Ojibwa girl writes stories.  The early Canadian explorers wrote of
our fierce warriors.  "Strong arms held bows, arrows and clubs, their bodies
tattooed in various fashion and design, faces painted and noses pierced."
Eventually they stole our land, so I fight for the rights of my people.

                      I tell my stories
                      keeping the warriors alive -
                      their strength and spirit

And there upon a sheer and rocky cliff a black stallion stands majestic under a 
blazing sun. My Ojibwa warrior looks at me with great love.  In the air and wind
that roars, his feathers earned in acts of bravery flutter.  I am nestled within his
strong arms.  My turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun.  Far below
the Ottawa River thunders.  The vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon. Up
above in the azure, many eagles soar, as a symbol of Ojibwa unity.  The Spirit
Fathers approve of this love. And in this dreamy dream the imagination of this
Ojibwa girl moves his majestic feathers.  The beauty will never fade in stories.

                       wild water echoes
                       of land as far as the eye -
                       and tribes brave and fierce

May 1, 2015


Submitted to the contest, Show Me Your Spirit, sponsor, FJ Thomas

Honorable Mention

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Canadian Poem | |


At the end of summer as the days light grows shorter,
I’ll pack up the last pains of trouble, and live every tranquil
Moment of splendors warmth that I can!
In the burnet rays of sunshine, I’ll walk serenities beach soaking
Up the sunsets, and drinking them within deeply, the color palate
Array as it splashing against the distant horizon!
Listen dearest friend can you hear the waves lapping, playfully
Snapping at the boulders of the lake, as the rippling white tides,
Seamlessly rush against the sandy shores!
In the city parks the grills sizzle with the smells of masque,
As children’s laughter fills the echoing woods with the sounds
Of childhood frolic, and the smoke of gray deliciousness calls
To their inner scenes of hunger!
Sometimes I’ll go and just watch them, and remember those simpler
Days when I was young myself, what a time of true wonderment that
Was so many years ago, I can almost hear my mother’s voice calling me,
Saying it’s time for dinner, back then in those far faded shadows not
So long ago, but it is the end of summer now!
The Canadian geese are flying south for the winter,
Stopping by for a refuel not far from the many ponds, and lakes
Nearby, how I wish I could join in those led lines so close to heaven,
To behold the magic they’ve seen on their many adventures of flight!
Many leaves begin the slow change of colors, soon autumn will be
Darning a new gown of splendors magnificence, my camera lens
Will shutter and click, to capture the wondrous changes
That Mother Nature exposes to the eyes of humanity!
In my photo album of seasons, I’ll look backwards and
Remember these special times of natural glory,
The quiet walks of solitude through the wilderness,
Those moments of special tranquility in the stilled hush
Just before sunrise!
Listening carefully, I can almost hear the songs of the morning
 Sparrows awakening the birth of a new days dawning,
As it rustles in the forest pines, at the end of summer,
These are the vivid visions I will maintain always!
The chill in the winds tells me it will soon be here,
And the wintery white powder hangs heavy within
The autumn air!
Oh why does summer have to end so quickly?
My heart wishes it would last forever and a day,
But at least I have my pictures of beauty to remind me,
Of those light hearted days gone by, until the next
Year’s warmth caress my face once more.
I’ll sit here in my easy chair of remembrances, turning my
Pages of freeze frames photographs, and tenderly
Drift backwards into thoughts of warmth and laughter,
Enjoying these memories of the end of summer’s reflections!


Copyright © cherl dunn

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

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire