Category: Poetry

Women We Are by Leah Hall

My grandmother’s career options were a nurse an office assistant  or a teacher.  The women in my family don’t follow instructions well and we are a little bit woozy so teacher it is.  Educator it is Holders of knowledge and  molder of minds it is Givers of time it is  Drinkers of red wine it

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Depression Dishes by Katie Stolte

Depression dishes, depression dishes I’m waiting for the moment of manic motivation To move me word Move me Move me Move me word The pile is building like my stress and frustrations A curious collection of mold and stains In that one pot. word Like a pack rat within the dysfunctional comfort of its midden

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Flow by Katie stolte

Flow like a river spirit my dear child contort and shake, transcend your physical form  all that matters is the energy you bring Return to the purity of childhood innocence  with a deep understanding  of all beings that have come before Interpret the omens with a swift foot and open heart  for the creatures above

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i promise i won’t tell by kit sage

this secret,  tucked in the vault of my mind  hidden in the holes in my heart  buried behind my buttoned beak lol i promise – this will be my little secret before the water boils and bubbles over the pot –  i promise  i won’t tell i call you because  i crave your caresses  i

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bruised hearts by kit sage

beating, battered and bruised  her forlorn longing is not lost upon us  despite splotches black and blue  collected over years of affliction  lol carrying on, day by day  in an exasperated, and anguished type of way her incessant thumping, never halting,  regardless of the purple & green  that shapes mountains and valleys  along her contoured

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Glittering by Kit Sage

the snow is refracting the sun’s rays  with an indistinct yellow aura –  shades of blues and greens surround me  as i walk through these woods  block happy little trees dance in the breeze  and i long to feel as free as these tiny specs floating through the air  as the weight of the snow

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Exist by Noah ferraro

we all need a reasona quantification of joy and sufferinga futile effort to veil our desolationperpetuated by our virulent fear of all unknown circumvent the unknownexist in the futurebecome like that of the futurenothing but mereconcept a concept died todaythere was no mourningupon its death it ultimately displayed vitalityas life in abundanceflourished from decomposition I

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The Quilt by Martina Avis

I got the material from a grandmothernot my grandmother, but a womanshe had borne childrenthey had borne childrenthere was a general striding of time that was appropriate to christen the cloth to make it deep with winter, spring, summer, Death to make the threadsto thread the threadsto ply the threadsto twine the threads with the

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Slocan Valley Rail Trail by Leannah Fidler

Bare rail bed, where tracks used to runcarrying ore and dreams of wealthnorth to Slocanbefore heading to the smelter in Revelstoke.The push for expansiona railroad rushing past homesteads in the lush valleypast lonely, wild places deep in the mountains. The path disappears into bright trees far ahead of me.An autumn sun, deliciously hot on my

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