Thank you, thank you, merci, merci mes amis

Sunny ways, positive politics can do


Canadians, Canadians from across Canada

Can make things happen


Thank you, merci, Gerald and Katie

Tough and hardworking and a shared vision


Tonight, my good friends, it was proven

Public life isn’t a naïve dream


Volunteers, hearts, thank you

Even to those across the aisle

Mr. Harper, Mr. Mulcair

Faith, in yourselves, in your country

Minds and hard work


You did, you put me here

Creating jobs and devotion

Middle Class

Country Strong, differences, because of them

I understand openness and transparency


St. Catharines, Ontario, young mom

Muslim, making her own choices


A Canadian is a Canadian is a Canadian

We beat fear with hope

Merci, Merci, Merci


I Am My Own Worst Enemy

All I hear..

You are so good..

You need to write more..

Start writing those books..

I sit in front of my computer..

I hear your words..

I think about my dishes, my weight, my failures..

My bills, my mom, my floors..

You see I am my own worst enemy..

My brain doesn’t work like yours..

You say I am good, and at times I agree.

But I would rather do dishes, than just be..

I Am My Own Worst Enemy

My FIrst Attempt at Something Resembling Poetry

untitled THINGS

41 things for 41 years

So many memories full of some hopes and some fears

My tattered pink teddy bear, thread barren and scarred

That note Tim gave me that made me cry so very hard.

That tiny little Buddha my mom treasured like gold

My first velour onesie, and red Christmas stocking

So precious, so old

Perhaps it’s my journals that make my memories so clear

Perhaps it’s my unclear recollection that make memories I fear

I am sure I still have my old, worn out cassettes

There was U2, Madonna, Wham, and of course there was Bette

Strawberry Shortcake was my favorite

I will never forget

How she sat on the shelf with Barbie, Raggedy Ann, Andy, and Corvette

Every night I stare at those pictures of Effie and Wy

They sit next to those ones of me and Wade when I was five

Behind them are my books I brought with me here

There is bell hooks, Margaret Atwood. Salinger, and that one about that girl

That started with Dear

Those bracelets I have that were passed to me from before

Are sitting in my jewelry box that I never open

Inside the top drawer

I wish I kept the art I first made in the stylings of Holzer

I was proud, I was woman, I was a feminist, and I made a poster.

Some things I don’t like, unfortunately remain

In the box at my brothers

In the closet with the old frames

I can’t seem to get away from those symbols of a love that no longer exists

The letters, knick knacks, dried flowers, and that old fashioned whisk

I want to forget that bear that said ‘love’

But it sits in the box with the ring and those gloves

So much to hold on to

So many more tears

Those 41 things for those 41 years

My FIrst Attempt at Something Resembling Poetry