Open Stage of poetry and music
Featured poets: Andrea Thomson & Pierre L’Abbé
Host: Bänoo Zan
Doors open: 6:15 p.m.
Sign-up for the open mic: 6:30 p.m.
Start: 7 p.m.
Admission: $5
A hero of peace flew away –
one who saw treasure beneath imperfection
to reveal God’s reincarnation in each conception.
A hero of peace flew away, but not quickly.
Not before planting two blossoms on The Farm, which multiplied into a bouquet of thousands. They’ve perfumed France, indeed the world, for over fifty years.
Their scent intensifies still.
A hero of peace flew away.
My God, let me eat you
Let me drink you in
You’re in the air
You’re in the wind
You’re in the sun
You’re in the trees
Holy communion is all around me
Praying in the beauty of Prince Edward County, Ontario.
Today I am gifted with deep peace. It’s centered deep, low in my body, in my womb. It’s birthing strength to face new challenges and forget past fears. It stills my mind; my body is tranquil. May I carry this peace all day and into tomorrow.
“You know that woman who came by herself?” said the vinegar craftsman to the server.
“You mean me?” I asked, revealing my presence, losing the chance to hear the next sentence.
Would it be that I was still there, hours later, sated with vinegar, recipes and stories?
Was it the story I told the young woman who made my pizza, of my travels seeking stories that bring peace? Her great aunt couldn’t marry a Catholic, not because of faith, but because of politics. Her cousin just married a Catholic, a sign of growing peace in Ireland.
I love my prayer corner.
Bring me here
Meet me here
Teach me here
Change me here
I love my prayer corner.
I met a man who came from away
With no friends, no money, no English
Everything against him
But he was proud
He had two hands, he wanted to work
Not accept help
This man went to Toronto and almost starved
Before he found somewhere to eat and sleep
This man has two degrees, he’s a priest, he risked his life defending human rights
He can’t go to law school because his war-torn country can’t send his degrees
How ludicrous
He could teach the truth that children should not be used as soldiers
That people who defend children should not get shot
Trees and paths
Leaves and needles
I collect burrs like badges on two wheels
Three million neighbours and no one knows I’m here
except the squirrel ignoring me in the twilight
Night falls
I climb
up hills which hid the ravine
Gentle drops and warm wind, slough off the day’s cares
as I race the downpour to my door