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First Place
Fred
Ford, Pickering ON
Fred
Ford is pursuing his dream of writing after retiring from the
business world. He is currently working on a novel and is also
editing the memoirs of Percy Saltzman. This summer he attended the
Humber School for Writers and is planning a new writing circle at
the Pickering Library. |
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Bound
When twilight writes the first inscription
of darkness,
two swans curl together
by the edge of the water;
luminous clouds
floating on the gloom
of dry land.
One sleeps:
like a dreaming conch on the shore.
The other pretends to groom itself,
but is watching,
always watching,
for perils and cold and fear
When it has dreamed enough,
the first swan wakes,
its head emerging from the pillow of itself,
and the other coils itself in slumber.
They take it in turns
through the night,
loving each other
with the embrace of watchfulness,
but if one should fail to wake,
will the other watch forever? |
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Second
Place
Jay
Charles Hershberg, Toronto ON
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Jay joined the R.C.A.F.
in 1942, married his Claire 1945, and raised a son and a daughter.
His daughter was the main influence in his writing poetry. Jay was
the first President of The Ontario Poetry Society when it was
founded. |
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The Captain and His Ship
(Dedicated to Captain Edwards of the H.M.C.S.
Manitoban)
Legs sprayed wide he brace himself
against the surging sea.
She’d not stay a-float for long
Her hull was tearing free.
“Abandon ship!” the cry went out.
Fear tore at every heart.
The bow rose up, the stern dropped down,
she was being torn apart.
All hands took out the longboats.
They rowed with all their might.
The captain in the wheelhouse
watched them disappear from sight.
She groaned and gave up one last heave
then slid into the deep.
Fifty fathoms to her bed,
eternally she’d sleep.
Legs spread wide and head held high
the captain stood his ground.
Along with his beloved ship
he gallantly went down.
Together, now, he and his ship
to Davy Jones had gone.
Together they’ll sail heaven’s seas
for now and from now on.
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Third Place
Marion Ruth
Anderson, Oshawa ON
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Originally born in Cape Breton, I recently chose Oshawa as home
where it is close to family. I have been writing poetry as far back
as I can remember and also paint and sketch and will be pursuing
these venues for both pleasure and a career. I have had some poetry
published, most recently in two books, one called “Sharing the dark”
and one to help raise funds for Katrina survivors called “Washing
the color golden”. |
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What if I die before I get a chance to breathe?
What if I die before I get a chance to breathe?
Feel the wind caress laughter
just before it leaves
my lips, to taste freedom
on a raindrop,
or a warm tease
of fresh sun.
What if I die before I get a chance to breathe?
Confined within
a hermit’s castle of idle dreams,
phobic of faint love
to scarce disease,
a meandering patched heart
abandoned amongst
confused density.
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