a small paper for a small planet
Folks from every corner of the country had heard the name and knew its mission. I’ve lost count of the number of times a visitor told me their first stop during a visit to Manzanita was to CARTM.
And it came to pass all the waters of the planet roared
to the God of the Universe and Handmaiden Moon. [Read More]
Only after several years
of cottage living
did I wake up one morning,
recollecting that
when we visited my grandparents’
Georgian Bay cottage in summer
whilst the blueberries were ripe,
I’d hear my Grand-dad
going out his bedroom’s back door
22 in hand,
before dawn brightened,
to scare the pesky goundhog
near his garden plot.
“Great nations aren’t made of friendly
flowers,” tweets a vainglorious beast. His
words deal in luxuriant greed and smell like
bacon to believers.”
Four decades on, I disrobe to swim,
a lumbering seal to the reed I was, and I look
away—no longer in horror.
I will make time.
I will form it with
my hands like
bread.
[Read More]
From up here, the little village packs in more and more till tempers rise. The brown old rock looms over hunters of tranquility, rare to find elsewhere. And peace…how they look for a moment of peace. [Read More]
I hold my head and wonder,
An oasis of beauty opens in front of me,
Marshland, wetland
How little there is left.
[Read More]
A bus takes two days
to reach your destination.
Better bring pizza.
Uneven runnels between larger outcrops
deepen, getting out to the surf-spray edge,
where waves confront black rocks in loud wallops.
[Read More]
