Tom Thomson (1887-1917) Group of 7: Pines on Georgian Bay
Daybreaks & everyone is framed
as well as the exile who does not belong,
no one is chosen, no one is saved
& a single thought lacks to Marché on.
Those who weep be brave, your tears
are rivers & all rivers flow to the sea,
to the sea so far, to the sea so near
you on the shore, almost as solitary
as the ridge pine helpless before & against
the forces it rails over the valley below,
where its brothers stand like paper saints.
Or perhaps your tears do not so flow
& only water them their years from fears
to escape from freedom once held so dear.
© by Robin Ouzman Hislop, 2003
I gaze upon thine inner face;
A world of love-bound glee.
I tremble as my steps retrace
And fingers touch thy knee.
Thy treasures are a myriad
Of pleasures quite astounding.
Our labyrinthal Illiad
With lust and love abounding.
We approach each other quietly,
The night shades us from harm.
I caress thy tresses piously
And raise thy soft alarm.
Those lips were soaked in honey-wine,
Mellow fingers linger long.
Kisses placed; a coded sign,
My buoyancy grows strong.
Invited to thy warmest embrace
We shiver a quiver divine.
Our rhythms quicken, then retrace
And glide along the spine.
Thoughts collide, turn inside out,
Worlds stretch while stars ignite.
Our bodies prove to be devout,
Exchanging liquid pearls of light.
Later, as the twilight groans,
We willingly surrender.
I watch her as her dreaming moans,
Vow always to defend her.
© by Richard James van der Draaij
Evelyn de Morgan
Helen of Troy
1898
hristmas for Harley sometimes must take place
Within the confines of a cat hotel
But when we stay at home, life changes pace
And Christmas is a time of living well.
He dines on turkey, chicken or pork pie
Comes in and out, or sleeps on peacefully;
With sometimes pause to wonder, why oh why
Do humans gather round a plastic tree?
The tinsel's good for laughs, the balls will roll,
But golden cherubs really are the dregs.
Fake trees are pretty useless, on the whole
For party animals with four short legs.
He'll watch the fibre optics with a frown,
Dreaming of when to pounce and bring them down.
© Sara L. Russell, 2003
