Category: Issue 2 Poetry

  • Sisyphus Cannot Smile All the Time

    Sisyphus Cannot Smile All the Time

    There are days I kiss my boulder and leave bloody prints of my love on it.

    The boulder is rough, but my lips are bleeding for me.

    I chew them away till they are soft enough for my boulder.

    There are days I punch my boulder, and leave bloody prints of my hatred on it.

    The boulder is rough, and my hands bleed because of it.

    Yet while I grit my teeth and propel the boulder with my fury, I find I am smiling.

    Nick McKay is a 22 year old English major in their 4th year at Carleton University. They are a non-binary and pansexual poet, but enjoys writing in all its forms, from criticisms to fiction to poetry. While they have written many pieces, they are only at the beginning of what they hope to become a long journey of being published in many different spaces.

     

  • Putrid Smoke

    Putrid Smoke

    the sky’s the colour of canned salmon 

    when i see that you’ve posted a poem 

    for the first time since our last text exchange

    which ended like a cigarette being put out

    an easy-to-smoke menthol cigarette 

    its papery exoskeleton twitching noiselessly 

    your stanzas are like carefully painted blood draining straight out of a frida kahlo self-portrait

    your speech bubbles look to me like wooden alphabet blocks that spell out 

    something along the lines of “i swear i’m all grown up”

    the sky is past its expiration date 

    swirling bruise-purple accumulations

    choke the construction-crane-ridden horizon 

    the highway roaring with jealousy 

    stuck in its unilateral dimension

    a small tendril of greenery reaches out to a pool of motor oil because it looks like a rainbow.

    then it recoils, reminded once again.

    Li Conde (they/them), a nonbinary amateur artist and writer, submitted three short poems: Coming of age in manic depression, Trying to moult when young, and It’s maybe 30% trauma. These works offer a glimpse of their life after having been diagnosed with type one manic depression (bipolar disorder) in September of 2021, at eighteen, after suffering a psychotic episode and being hospitalized for it. What followed was the pressures resulting from being sub-textually told they were insane by the medical establishment. Their attitude to writing and art is a therapeutic one. They ask: how can we increase our aliveness in a system that tells us we can never heal? How can young, queer, mentally ill people be finally allowed to be treated more like adults when no one trusts them? How do we “fix” lifelong diagnoses and gender dysphoria that are not supposed to be fixable? 

    Conde’s poetry is meant to be meticulously paced and easy to absorb. They strive to create art moments that are meaningful to everyone, and are fostering an impulse of imbibing their life with as much art and literature as possible.

     

  • Buenos Aires Blues

    Buenos Aires Blues

    Translations to best understand the poem:

    Diarios = newspapers

    Revistas = magazines

    Boliches = little kiosks that sell food

    the airport kiosk has lied to you;

    despite the sign above it 

    “diarios y revistas” 

    it’s piled high with as many revistas as will fit

    and you are filled too

    with your memories of boliches and taxis

    lining and reviving the streets in your mind

    you look behind and see it all alive 

    and here it is today

    alive in a different way

    keep walking at a leisurely pace 

    to your place on parkdale avenue

    you will always maintain a trace, fainter and fainter but still solid and in some ways new, 

    of this pizza place and 

    of that young face

    Li Conde (they/them), a nonbinary amateur artist and writer, submitted three short poems: Coming of age in manic depression, Trying to moult when young, and It’s maybe 30% trauma. These works offer a glimpse of their life after having been diagnosed with type one manic depression (bipolar disorder) in September of 2021, at eighteen, after suffering a psychotic episode and being hospitalized for it. What followed was the pressures resulting from being sub-textually told they were insane by the medical establishment. Their attitude to writing and art is a therapeutic one. They ask: how can we increase our aliveness in a system that tells us we can never heal? How can young, queer, mentally ill people be finally allowed to be treated more like adults when no one trusts them? How do we “fix” lifelong diagnoses and gender dysphoria that are not supposed to be fixable? 

    Conde’s poetry is meant to be meticulously paced and easy to absorb. They strive to create art moments that are meaningful to everyone, and are fostering an impulse of imbibing their life with as much art and literature as possible.

     

  • The Prayer of a Sinner

    The Prayer of a Sinner

    Oh my god, 

    Forgive the blood on my hands, 

    Forgive the blood on my lips. 

    I am tainted—oh my god, I didn’t write “God” with a big G.

    Oh my GOD, 

    Forgive the blood on my hands, 

    Forgive the blood on my lips. 

    I am tainted, stained, and twisted. 

    I ask for your love once more. 

    I promise I won’t do it again, 

    I won’t live in sin.

    I’ll sing a symphony slowly, 

    So you can love me properly. 

    I have fallen, rotten, 

    An apple forgotten. 

    I’m moldy, filthy, 

    Green fuzz with small worms eating my core. An apple falling apart, 

    Luscious red becoming wrinkled papers, 

    Like the veins on my mother’s neck when she yells

    That I am a sinner.

    Danie Maxelus, a fourth-year English student and dedicated advocate for women’s rights, is a black immigrant Haitian woman with a profound passion for writing and reading.  Danie Maxelus developed an interest in Carleton University’s writing program when she immigrated to Canada, and as a student, she continues to pursue her passion for writing. Beyond academic pursuits, Danie aspires to contribute to the university community through her advocacy, seamlessly integrated into her writing. Enclosed are three pieces that showcase her creativity and commitment to storytelling, the first is Ancestral Song. The second is The Story of my Fall. And last, The Prayer of a Sinner. Despite lacking prior published works, she is enthusiastic about learning and evolving as a writer within the Carleton community.

     

  • Ancestral Song

    Ancestral Song

    I am not happy in this church 

    My mother prays for a miracle 

    Day by day with the same mundane cry 

    As her voice hides behind songs and repetitive prayers

    She repeats a language I cannot understand 

    One my enslaved family had to mutter 

    Because all they had was hope. 

    Generations have passed 

    And we are still speaking 

    Speaking through songs 

    Speaking in tongues 

    Speaking together and praying alone 

    As we crossed rivers and revolution 

    All we had was hope.

    Generations have passed 

    And my people endure by walking 

    On hot soil stitching memories under their feet 

    My great-grandmother one of them 

    Humming the tune “wade in the water, children”

    Against our slave master 

    Asking for a new Moses, a new Elijah, the return of Christ

    Hope.

    Generations have passed 

    And my grandmother continues humming 

    The same melody—a melancholy pain 

    Still constrained living as a domesticated black woman

    My grandmother never prayed 

    But she had hope.

    Generations have gone by 

    And now my mom starts humming 

    Like my grandmother and 

    My great-grandmother and 

    My great-great-great-grandmother 

    She stays begging for hope.

    My mom tried to teach me this ancestral song

    But I don’t sing 

    I’m sorry father I haven’t been singing

    I haven’t been hoping or longing 

    I have been hating, avenging and writing

    I will elevate my voice higher on these canvases

    Rewriting our histories—one we can finally read

    And the fact that I’m still rebelling 

    Whereas the women in my life 

    Have only been hoping for scraps beneath their feet

    Is testimony that we have removed ourselves 

    From your grace to be your slaves

    Father in heaven, forgive me, 

    Amen.

    Danie Maxelus, a fourth-year English student and dedicated advocate for women’s rights, is a black immigrant Haitian woman with a profound passion for writing and reading.  Danie Maxelus developed an interest in Carleton University’s writing program when she immigrated to Canada, and as a student, she continues to pursue her passion for writing. Beyond academic pursuits, Danie aspires to contribute to the university community through her advocacy, seamlessly integrated into her writing. Enclosed are three pieces that showcase her creativity and commitment to storytelling, the first is Ancestral Song. The second is The Story of my Fall. And last, The Prayer of a Sinner. Despite lacking prior published works, she is enthusiastic about learning and evolving as a writer within the Carleton community.

     

  • Please Hold

    Please Hold

    please press ‘0’ if you wish to speak to an underpaid clerk 

    who is studying philosophy part time

    please be careful

    please have a seat

    PLEASE FASTEN YOUR SEATBELT

    please refrain from smoking at this time (heroin is just fine) 

    please complete your timesheet by end of day

    please make sure you have all your belongings with you

    please make sure your ID is visible at all times

    please continue to hold the safety bar at all times

    please get undressed from the waist down

    please ensure all baggage is stowed 

    and your personality is in an upright position

    please keep to the left

    please keep the left from being too right

    please ensure you have your ticket

    please pay at the parking station

    PLEASE DISREGARD ALL PREVIOUS PLEASES

    please stop trying to please everyone

    please make sure all abstract art is hung upside down

    please continue to hold the chicken between your knees

    please don’t worry about it, it’s nothing at all

    please forward this message to your team

    please face forward

    please face the wall and put your hands on your head

    PLEASE WATCH YOUR HEAD

    please watch the time

    please watch your watch

    please follow the guidelines

    please continue to hold and take a deep breath 

    please guide yourselves towards the exit at the end of the show

    please show them out

    please know there is no pleasing them 

    please ensure your existence isn’t left behind

    please try again at reincarnation 

    please

    please 

    PLEASE CONTINUE TO HOLD

    Christian McPherson is a poet and novelist. He lives in Ottawa with his wife and their two kids. He has written a bunch of books including, The Cube People, Saving Her, and My Life in Pictures. If he isn’t out walking his dogs, he is usually sneaking off to the movies.

     

  • Battleground

    Battleground

    We are torn and ripped apart

    until all that’s left

    is husk and shell

    on the floor of existence

    the memories of what we endured

    our hands calloused

    from picket signs and shovels

    from wrestling alligator politicians 

    from fighting the price wars

    retail box store cage match

    bloody clean up on aisle seven

    enough to make you crazy

                    for gravy

                             on the side

    off your diet grease bucket

    advertising all organic plastic

    drilled into our heads

    by underwear models and the genius of editing

    we plug the holes

    with coupons

    and discount punch cards

    purchase ten and the eleventh

    gelatinous mound of goo is free   

    so much we have fought

    so much more to fight

    come to me let me hug you

    let me absorb some of this

    pain and hatred

    take a pause

    cry

           then

    when you’re ready

    grab your grenades of intellect

    put the saddle back on the beast

    prepare yourself

    because we are going back in

    armed to the teeth with empathy

    rocket launchers of understanding

    and bulldozers of compassion

    we have love on our side

    and that shit is napalm 

    and we will bomb the hell

    out of them all!

    Christian McPherson is a poet and novelist. He lives in Ottawa with his wife and their two kids. He has written a bunch of books including, The Cube People, Saving Her, and My Life in Pictures. If he isn’t out walking his dogs, he is usually sneaking off to the movies.

     

  • Spring

    Spring

    A tear trickles down a glacier,

    Growing the grass and my hope.

    I fell in love with spring

    When it melted bitterness and frost,

    Its raindrops sliding down windowpanes

    And mourning the earth below.

    Ally is a third-year English and history student at Carleton University. They are a queer, autistic writer and painter with a love of whimsy and melancholy alike. In the poems “Spring” and “The Time-Honoured Tradition of Moving Away and Losing Touch,” they express a mixture of these two opposing aesthetics. In “Roommate,” they explore a much more playful perspective while writing of something that could be seen as sinister. They have never had their work published but are grateful for the opportunity.

     

  • Roommate

    Roommate

    The ethereal tenant

    Is surprisingly friendly,

    Opening doors and windows

    When they find it too warm

    In the middle of January;

    Making sure I turn off the light

    Before I finish

    And on again just to be sure;

    Leaving me notes

    On the bathroom mirror

    And on the bedroom wall.

    They’re unemployed

    Only in the traditional sense,

    My incorporeal companion.

    Ally is a third-year English and history student at Carleton University. They are a queer, autistic writer and painter with a love of whimsy and melancholy alike. In the poems “Spring” and “The Time-Honoured Tradition of Moving Away and Losing Touch,” they express a mixture of these two opposing aesthetics. In “Roommate,” they explore a much more playful perspective while writing of something that could be seen as sinister. They have never had their work published but are grateful for the opportunity.