It’s 2 am and the bars are closing. Too many voices on the streets of Jasper, sleep undone. From my Athabasca Hotel window I see beer-movements along Prince Street taxis humming in their quest for fares, some drinkers preferring to stagger homeward. “LF? You know somethin’?†someone shouts. “You’re ugly too,†an added bonus. Conversations […]
you thought I would hear you you opened your notebook you read your poem but I didn’t know how to hear how to hear you how to hear your poem or any poem your mistake was thinking I was one of the rare ones who hear and who can say with confidence you have been […]
the North American Review once ran Henry James like Dickens because Harper wanted a trial balloon its reader having rejected the treatment dictated to a typist and when it finally published the book Harper that is with some revisions it switched two chapters with no-one the wiser as I can the scene in memory like […]
while my hand gently grazed over the papermy pen began to tremble outside an empty car stole the silenceshooting lamps of red and whitethe horn bleating of theft when no one was here to hear it in my unfolding book of poems it is like that ~ Jerry Whalley Jerry Whalley is an aboriginal poet […]
prairie snow blows a fine veil that drifts into corners and doorways dusts crevasses of fence boards hangs virgin mantles like billowed skirts on bent spruce boughs snow sculpts curves in a roadside curls waves over driveways transforms ice into diamonds on deck railings and dog fur snow softens sun in a thin white sky […]
