A Poem Is Never Just a Poem
A poem is never just a poem.
It’s a peek into the soul.
It’s a gift of something that you own.
It’s a sharing to unroll.
And when you sit down to begin,
A transformation’s born,
And somehow words and feelings spring
And even rhythms form.
Sometimes it’s heavy stuff that’s there,
And other times it’s light,
But every time, it goes somewhere
And gets out something right.
I’ve written about wilderness
And hunting buddies, too,
And always with a gratefulness
for the friendships that we grew.
I’ve written about lakes and streams
And the beauties that they hold
And even of those pre-hunt dreams
That in the night unfold,
But most of all I’ve written
Just to let my heart run free
And to let my loves and passions sing
A little song for thee.
Don Pajot
Constance Bay, ON
The Human Touch
Last night
as we left the movie,
a huddled heap of humanity
hunched on the darkened cinema steps.
I didn’t notice him
until I saw my husband
bend down towards him
as he was slowly, painfully
picking up some dimes
someone had thrown,
or dropped, by his side.
My husband placed a handful
of change into his small hand.
His head came up swiftly,
Startled, surprised, incredulous.
Was it the money,
or that someone had
put it into his hand?
Muriel Squires
Thunder Bay, ON
Like to write? We’d love to print your poem. (Sorry...we can’t acknowledge or return submissions.) Send to: Poetry, Good Times, 4475 Frontenac, Montreal, QC, H2H 2S2, or goodtimes@bayardcanada.com