School by Eden Nightingale

Perched upon a weather worn post, he watches. The field, once a pasture, has become a nest of bowing grasses. Long shadows flee the setting sun. Orange light reflects off onyx eyes of the watcher. The silhouette of birds equal in number to the blades below. The sky is darkened with their number, as they

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Autumn Tempest by Eden Nightingale

She walks down the old dirt road bare feet creating no dust. s White skinned trees hold high their garlands of gold dancing in the wind which whips dark hair across pink cheeks. s Her eyes search the sky of pale blues worn through with twisting white mists. s A rumble, more felt than heard

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Loss by Eden Nightingale

Loss is the scent of an unwashed shirt.  A last chance to save the scent of STOP space Loss tastes of blood in the back of your throat raw from the screams because  STOP space Loss is time gone, mind numbed in a desperate attempt to forget  STOP space Loss is cracked lips from lack

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Interview with Raphael Akiba

Hi, Black Bears! You are in for a treat today. I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Nelson Artist Raphael Akiba, which I know you will enjoy listening to. Raphael is raw and honest, with a great story. I first met Raphael this summer at Shambhala in Salmo, B.C. where I purchased a piece of his

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Vectors by Claire Fantus

They are splashing in the frigid lake, my boys, dumping heaps of glacial water on top of each other’s heads with glee. Prancing in their underwear around the beach, climbing onto other people’s paddleboards and inflatable water toys. Eli, don’t touch that please. It’s not ours. Words fallen on deaf ears. They have now immersed

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Don’t Throw your Muck in my backyard by Helen paterson

“Don’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard, my backyardDon’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard’s full!”(Folk song) Steel toed, standing at the tip,A steady stream of garbage slips,Out of mind, out of sight,Forgotten to our mothers plight. Sneaky humans disguise their toxins,Paint tins and consumer sins,Just tossed,Beside the ancient riverside, to reside,For generations,Leaching

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That’s a Sure Sign of Fall by Jennifer Hammersmark

In their flannel pyjamas The couple stands roadside The school bus pulls up Their small child steps inside a A sure sign of fall The new beginning of a season Where children go to school To grow and learn how to reason On the rural flats of Salmo break Outside of town Winter preparation must

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Grief by Jennifer Hammersmark

Grief is sticky green, like gum on the bottom of my shoe break Grief is pungent, the stench hanging in the air No escape from its tendrils forever grabbing relentlessly space Grief is a stale sour lemon with mould forming on the edges creeping into my mouth break Grief is warm and inviting until I

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