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Ottawa Changes, June 23rd,2011

If we scrapped the appointed Senate, would anyone know?
But their political appointees want to maintain the status quo,
They have good soft well paying jobs until they are nearly dead,
Or was that seventy five or eighty five - no one really read.

To listen to their news, it might be the end of the world.
Nothing like this has happened before since the flag was unfurled,
God might come down from heaven or the devil come up from hell,
Whose doing this – the prime minister or some drug cartel?

Because those of us outside of Ottawa would hardly know,
Not much concerned with distant Ottawa government overflow,
So the provinces might get a kick at the cat and all that,
Because Ottawa expects that the provinces should go to bat.

poem by James Bredin
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The LOVE Bug

That wonder bug of love makes
the world go round and round
To search nonstop for lips
that see eye to eye til found,
Oh wonder bug your wings
waft the fire of desire’s call
It bites and rides the rolling stone
that dually gathers all.
Lovers love, bitten smitten
forget the moon above
The sign is flying nigh it’s
the white winged dove of love,
Wedding rings, knots and things
are tied to build a lovely house
Off to bed we lovers tread
as quite as a mouse,
The bug of love as made
our families’ so in love’n’ happy
For on the line we all fly
the flag of a baby’s lovely nappy

[...] Read more

poem by Ken e Hall
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The Wonder bug of Love

That wonder bug of love makes
the world go round and round
To search nonstop for lips
that see eye to eye til found,
Oh wonder bug your wings
waft the fire of desire’s call
It bites and rides the rolling stone
that dually gathers all.
Lovers love, bitten smitten
forget the moon above
The sign is flying nigh it’s
the white winged dove of love,
Wedding rings, knots and things
are tied to build a lovely house
Off to bed we lovers tread
as quite as a mouse,
The bug of love as made
our families’ so in love’n’ happy
For on the line we all fly
the flag of a baby’s lovely nappy

[...] Read more

poem by Ken e Hall
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An Hour With Thee

An hour with thee! When earliest day
Dapples with gold the eastern gray,
Oh, what can frame my mind to bear
The toil and turmoil, cark and care,
New griefs, which coming hours unfold,
And sad remembrance of the old?
One hour with thee.

One hour with thee! When burning June
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon;
What shall repay the faithful swain,
His labor on the sultry plain;
And, more than cave or sheltering bough,
Cool feverish blood and throbbing brow?
One hour with thee.

One hour with thee! When sun is set,
Oh, what can teach me to forget
The thankless labors of the day;
The hopes, the wishes, flung away;

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Yellow Jacket

There is a cycle brigade that leaves bright and early every morning

I follow them through the rustic narrow strips of park

Along the scenic view before the march, of traffic

And commuter feet swallows up this pastoral symphony

And one solitary lark rises above clouds

Its song unheard beneath the din of hooting horns

And bicycle bells

I follow them further still, under the grand wellington arch

Passed the soldiers in full kit on early morning drill

Racing down lanes beneath an early morning breath of trees

[...] Read more

poem by Yvette Smith
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The Patriot's Sonnet V

O how gloriously sweet to sleep on Motherland’s chest
While the lively flag waves for love and unity at high
Where peace and hope are rising like sun in far East
And citizens, for the nation, they would gladly die,
Yet the countrymen still at confuse and ask: Why?
Why there live such persons who greed for power?
Then why there exist public servants who abuse?
Why there reigns corruption and great poverty?
Then why elect some if there’s nothing to choose?
Why war never ends from all the wrong impression?
And why tears of blood are the price for reformation?
O how gloriously sweet to wake up on Motherland’s chest
While the dying country breaks the chains of passivity
And where poverty is setting like a sun in far West.

poem by Raymond Cabrera
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The Fire I Had

I keep seeing your face everywhere I turn
I wanna escape this failure, I know I need to learn
but its just this fire inside I can't help but feel it burn
I feel like theres no way out
I wanna scream I wanna shout
this white flag isnt me giving in, its me asking for help
I don't wanna fight no more, I'm trapped inside myself
I know I raised the bar I went so far I set fire to the roof
I wish you knew, I wish you understood
I was fighting to escape the truth
I was trying to win when I knew I was going to loose
its hard to believe I was feeling so weak when I looked so strong
it looked like I was winning when I was loosing all along.
I look ahead to see a frosty road on which I go on
and when I finally fall I will know that the fire is finally gone.

poem by Daniel McCann
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A something in a summer's Day

122

A something in a summer's Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.

A something in a summer's noon—
A depth—an Azure—a perfume—
Transcending ecstasy.

And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see—

Then veil my too inspecting face
Lets such a subtle—shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me—

The wizard fingers never rest—
The purple brook within the breast

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poem by Emily Dickinson
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Homecoming Traveller

Long branches stretched over the driveway
Felled by a summer storm
On the mailbox, a red flag calling
The newspaper late on the ground
Dusky foxes fled the fading light
And squirrels clung to the sides of trees
As he approached, with shiny shoes
Teasing the stones like hide and seek

Light flickered from the house ahead
A fairy cartoon through thin veiled lace
She sat by the table, alert, fair-faced
Lightly curled hair, eating slices of pear
Oblivious to the traveller outside
Who might come home at any time
From anywhere, destined to wander
Through the swaying doors of her life

As the day took leave, trees standing guard
He paused an instant to mark the reprieve

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poem by Frank Bana
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Tribute to Gladstone

Lift up your heads; in life, in death,
God knoweth his head was high;
Quit we the coward's broken breath,
Who watched a strong man die.

If ye must say 'No more his peer
Cometh: the flag is furled,'
Stand not too near him; lest we hear
That slander on the world

The good green earth he loved and trod
Is still, with many a scar,
Writ in the chronicles of God
A giant-bearing star.

He fell: but Britain's banner swings
Above his sunken crown;
Black Death shall have his toil of kings
Before the cross goes down.

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poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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