No one there to wipe my tears
No one there to change my fears
No one there to kiss goodnight
No one there that I can love with all my might
No one there to make my bed
No one there to say, "I said"
No one there to give me my bear
No one there to change my swear
No one there to tell me what to wear
But there is someone there to say "Goodbye"
No one there so I can cry
Give me your shoulder so I can cry
Then I won't have to say "Goodbye "
by Jerry Logher, Grandview, Muskoka
Country Life is Great
Country life is fun and gay.
We like to ride horses through the day.
At night the horses have to be fed
And then it's time to go to bed.
The next day we run around
Picking choke cherries off the ground.
We like to climb on the hills.
Then while we eat our lunch everything is still.
I think the country is a great place to live.
by Debbie Madill, age 13, Moose Jaw
Two Poems by CATHIE JACKSON, 16 years old, from Moose Jaw
THE DUSK OF THE EVENING
Now the golden orange sun is setting
Below the soft pink clouds
with the strongly purple sky
The sky all around is getting blue-black
and also rolling hills,
plains are darkening
With many tree and bush
shadow to the grounds and gardens.
Now the sun has set
Sky all is pitch black
The great big bright
yellow half moon is
shining down with all its might
During night and early morn that's what gives gift of light to all
Now the little bright sparkle stars are gleaming too
Noticing the Dipper Twins
and can you imagine
"The cow jumped over the moon!"
All is dark enough
For children to snuggle up
For their fantastic fun time with cheerful dreams
All is quiet, calm, till
THE GEORGIA STRAIT
While the ocean green water
flows gleamfully through the strait
The shores of land bring their brightness of joy
Many a good for sight-seeing.
The shores off from the forest with sand on the beaches
are filled with golden silky sand
and gifts from the tide bring their sparkling shells.
Floating along in the bubbly water
The seaweed and many other strange plants
come to the shore with their curiosity interest gifts.
From a boat looking
down is the ocean floor beauty, barnacles, oyster shells, rock
platforms and all
Many lively little crabs
and lobsters are crawling.
Along side the sandy beach
The big rocks of great rest and warmth
People lie for sun tans
Her sun does the best
Especially after you walk in the water,
For water glistening feeling.
ERNESTINE THE PIG
ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A NICE PIG NAMED ERNESTINE. HE LIVED IN THE COUNTRY OF STY. ONE DA Y HE WAS DANCING IN THE FIELD AND ROLLING IN THE MUD. SUDDENL Y HE TURNED INTO A WILD PIG AND THE BOY EARL CAPTURED HIM AND TRAINED HIM TO BE A TRAI NED PIG.
ODE TO ERNESTINE THE PIG
ONCE UPON A TIME HE WAS A COUNTRY DOCTOR,
MINISTERING TO THE ILLS OF LESS EDUCATED PIGS.
ERNESTINE WAS A DETECTIVE, A NOTCH ABOVE MANNIX.
HE WAS A COP AND SAVED THESE INSANE PIGS OF NEW YORK CITY.
WRITTEN BY HIS MASTER, MISTER EARL T.
IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE,
COME AND TELL ME TO MY FACE.
ACTUALLY MANY WINTERS AGO,
ERNESTINE WAS A POET (LAUREATE)
AND HE WROTE THIS POEM.
BY EARL THAW
Poems by SHARON MOORE, age 19, Newmarket
I sit — alone.
No one sees me — almost as though I were invisible to their eyes.
I am still.
I listen to the sounds engulfing me. They are all directed around me; Above, below and beyond me. But never intended for my ears alone.
I concentrate on deciphering the meanings of the sounds
But I do not comprehend.
But my feeble attempts at communication are swept, Swept — swiftly into the tide of other speech. Swept — into oblivion.
I am small and defenseless against the cruelty of the adult world.
I crave companionship, understanding
But I am small.
Alone and ignored.
Very few seem to know of my existence.
And they don't care.
I am small,
And I sit still.
Inside me stronger than a train it pushes.
Demanding explanations and understanding.
Reality is non existing
Fantasy is dominating.
Trying to comprehend he loosens reality by making fantasy seem so unreal.
Unknown to him inside reality alone exists.
Pain so sharp outside it would rip me apart.
Fear unbearable it's hard not to pretend,
But he helps and he said that he would never give up.
THE UNKNOWN FEAR
Standing there in the cold dark night waiting for the bus,
Fear crawls all over me.
I can't kick it.
I fantasize about being at home and daddy being close and making it safe
But the fear of reality is much too strong.
A man walked by, I jumped
Another stopped and asked me if I wanted a ride.
Just thinking about the amount of fear I swore I would never go through it again But daddy asked me to try and change.
Tomorrow will come I will wait for the same bus with the same fear There will be but one difference I want to change and I will.
Two Poems by Judy Melnyk, Newmarket
The great earth drinks deeply of the summer sunshine
And her being is bathed in the summer sunlight
Beyond the pasture over the green
The sunbeams fall upon it in a stream
And are absorbed into the texture of the earth.
One can see the life-giving light and feel the warmth Entering the core of the earth One can feel it as the land inhales And the flowers drink deep and long.
There is the hum of summer in the air
The bird songs, the rustle of the leaves
And the whisper of swaying spring grass
It is the soul song coming from the earth itself.
A little of the flowers loveliness The wind leaves for me A few gentle thoughts of their Beautiness and happiness.
The dullness and worry of the day's toil
The darkness of the cities
Are washed away clean by the wind
And the falling of pure sunlight
I'm beginning to feel the joy of life
And the wealth of people to me.
The summer is over
And once again the world is sleeping
Of all those people who toil
How many think of the beauty
And loveliness of the earth and life.
The shuttered in towns and cities
With their colorless days
With ugly smoke clouds and gloomy buildings
Why do these people shut themselves away.
The inside feelings are so great It makes you feel strong and good Life
can be rewarding in so many ways.
The gloom has passed
The darkness has rolled away,
The veil which hung so long
Before the face of the waiting world
Is being lifted like the mist
That encircles my life.
This dark mist is
Fading away so I can
See the beauty of the day,
Beauty of people and life.
Changed is the meaning of life to me,
Deeper and deeper it goes
The future I look to,
It has great promise,
Not only for you, but for me.
The following poem was written by LESLEY HENRY, daughter of Bob Henry, director of individual and group counselling. The poem was written when the neighbours were suing to close down one of our Scarborough houses.
They are a family
helping each other
The crowds are jealous because
they want to grow, too
So they kick the family
in the teeth