Bo's Poets Contest - 2010 ... October to the end of year 2010January, 2nd, 2011 ... Bo's judging is complete and the winners are ...
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TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
1st Place Winner!Poem 1 - by Alex ThompsonOff we plow in stern and bow,
Of noise and sick and custom too,
But good I am to know so well,
That fire can flicker and snap the air,
That blow can wrap my heading face,
Off we plow in stern and bow, |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
2nd Place Winner!The View from Lower Spectacle - by Mark ScarlettUnder brilliant blue, a solitary loon, |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
3rd Place Winner!The Wild-life - by Stewart Brownscombe
The forests and animals are not alone |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
Paddling Free - by Mike OrmsbyEasing the canoe from its resting place on the shore The sound of the water makes as it drips off the end of the paddle As you glide across a watery wonderland The morning mist now long melted away in the glow of the sun But there is much going on along these shores As you near the far shore’s portage, you feel fresh, ready to carry the canoe The cedar and canvas canoe rolls up onto your shoulders As you rest by a waterfall beside the path, you reflect on the day….on what lies ahead For each trip takes you away from the daily grind |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
The Experience - by John VandalenThe gold and silver glow ripples across the sun water as the sun,![]() Peacefully glides under the horizon. ![]() The loons, sings it to sleep and call up the moon. ![]() The waves roll unto the shore as if they seem to be reaching for the ![]() wind blown trees, farther up on the rocky cliffs. ![]() Pink, orange and red soon join the many colours of the setting sun ![]() And the stars come out to play in the remaining light. ![]() A gentle wind blows my hair across my face and kisses each tree ![]() With it’s warm breath. ![]() My eyes bring in the beauty of the north. ![]() My hands rest on the ancient cracks of rocks. ![]() I smell the aroma of the forest behind me and slowly close my eyes. ![]() I hear the crickets calling for the night’s cold, animals scurrying up trees to hide from the darkness and plants dancing with each other in the wind. ![]() For a moment all is silent and calm as I open my eyes. ![]() The sun takes a last glance at the north as it’s rays disappear behind the hills. While the moon comes and lights up the sky with it’s ghostly shine. ![]() I stood ,climbed and walked. ![]() But it is my time to sleep. ![]() I will rise with the sun when morn. |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
Poem 2 - by Alex ThompsonO ripple, you have slid to me! |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
Last Paddle - by Lee Gilbert
Her depths remain warm
Fog in the shallows
Ice breaks on my bow
Options of exhaust fumes
Stuck on the ice
The ice gives way
The evenings are short now
My boat on my shoulders
I switch off the engine |
TC-1-The forests and wildlife of Algonquin.
Algonquin Heaven - by Diana McElroy
To step out of the tent into a still and chilly night
To sit at dawn on slanting granite by a lake
To wind along a creek between brushy shores
To lie on sun-warmed rocks at end of day
Heaven has many faces |
TC-2-Algonquin in the past.
A Moment of Algonquin's Past - by Grant Dawson
It's day break and the sun is burning the morning mist off the lake.
History can't be changed, can't be rearranged but should be embraced. |
TC-3-Tom Thomson and other Algonquin artists
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Ghost Canoe - by Mike OrmsbyPainted using a mixture of regular marine grey and an artist’s $2 tube of cobalt blueThere was little chance of mistaking Tom Thomson’s distinctive dove grey canoe Yet when it was found floating upside down in Canoe Lake Offshore and unattended, riding free in the wave’s wake Little could anyone have realized the great mystery about to unfold The legend and the lore of the man, the story that might never be told Discovering Thomson’s body bobbing near Little Wapomeo Island With a bruise over the temple, blood coming from the ear Could this be the result of an argument that got out of hand? At the very least finding Tom such had been the greatest fear With so much talent and surely a prosperous future just ahead It was sad that by July 1917, at age 39, Tom Thomson was dead But would anybody ever know how he had met this terrible fate? Over the years memories fade and facts become less than straight What is to be made of the ankle wrapped around with fishing line? Was Tom killed by a waterborne whirlwind or likewise divine? And what ever became of the missing favourite paddle? So much that is hard to fathom or begin to try to straddle What of the two paddles lashed inside the canoe as if ready to carry But apparently haphazardly tied in with less than an expert’s knot? Had Thomson decided to head out west, to leave without further tarry? Was a loan to Shannon Fraser involved, a debt for canoes recently bought? Were harsh words over the war with Germany allowed to enflame? Was Martin Blecher (or was it Bletcher?) that was the one to blame? Would the truth ever come out of what had happened to the artist cum guide Had he drowned standing up attempting to pee over the canoe’s side? Was it a case of possible foul play or even suicide? Had Tom Thomson gone missing due to a matter of family pride? Had he promised Winnie Trainor that they would wed? Or was his death the result of a fatal blow to the head? Was there a baby that was soon to be due? And who really last saw Tom in his canoe? What is to be made of the report of the artist’s frequent swings in mood? Was Thomson a gentleman, true in his word, or a drunkard sometimes crude? Was he happy or sad? Was he bi-polar or even depressed? So much remains unknown and never properly addressed The coroner arrived after Tom had been embalmed and already buried Holding a brief inquest that found death to have been accidental drowning When to some such a finding seemed at the very least somewhat hurried Even the coroner’s report becoming lost can only leave one frowning What of the bruise on the temple? Was it on the left or the right? Surely there must have been talk from the locals of a possible fight? Accidental drowning may have been the official word But this just seems far too simple and even absurd Most thought Tom was more than adequate in the water; it was known he could swim He was also considered a good enough paddler to keep any canoe reasonably trim No water in his lungs? So long for the body to surface? Did something prevent it to rise? Too many questions for such a quick report….too much unanswered to just surmise What of the questions of the actual burial site? Is Tom in Leith or at Canoe Lake? Was there really a body in that sealed metal casket? Or merely sand meant to fake? Why has the family never allowed exhumation? Was undertaker Churchill sly as a fox? Who was dug up in 1956? Thomson or someone of Native descent left in the same box? Why did Miss Trainor continue to place flowers on a supposedly empty grave? Whatever we may know about Tom Thomson’s demise And no matter that we may have to just simply surmise Canoes do weave in and out of Thomson’s story; he often painted from a canoe Canoes appear in his art, even that of his distinctive Chestnut, painted grey blue A canoe was involved in his death and in the name of the lake where he lost his life Maybe from a debt over the purchase of canoes, money he needed to take a wife? Some even say a ghostly figure can be seen on misty mornings paddling a canoe on Canoe Lake But supposedly a silent, even benign spirit, hardly scary enough to keep one up nights wide awake So through much of the tale of Tom Thomson is the image, ghostly or not, of the canoe But what became of his beloved Chestnut, with metal strip down the keel, and grey blue Little is known where it ended up; maybe rotting at Mowat Lodge or on a portage trail? Years after Tom’s death, a local camp even tried to locate this canoe, but alas to no avail Painted using a mixture of regular marine grey and an artist’s $2 tube of cobalt blue There was little chance of mistaking Tom Thomson’s distinctive dove grey canoe Yet when it was found floating upside down in Canoe Lake Offshore and unattended, riding free in the wave’s wake Little could anyone have realized the great mystery about to unfold The legend and the lore of the man, the story that might never be told |
TC-3-Tom Thomson and other Algonquin artists
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Canoe Lines - by John ScarlettForty-five years ago![]() I began trying to write ![]() haiku inspired poems ![]() whenever paddling a canoe ![]() in Algonquin Park ![]() not cutesy spamku ![]() but real ones ![]() like the Japanese are writing ![]() every day by the thousands ![]() after hundreds of years ![]() you know like this one ![]() looking up ![]() between spindly spruce ![]() first star ![]() I still do ![]() no camera ![]() just three short lines ![]() Back home in town ![]() and now on the farm ![]() longer poems do happen ![]() to cope with the death of a son ![]() to list the advantages of oxen ![]() to wonder where the waters ![]() in our hay field ditches ![]() flow to ![]() but on canoe trips ![]() no haiku has ever stepped off ![]() the maintained trail ![]() to bushwhack its way ![]() onto a fourth line and beyond ![]() to return as a trip-poem ![]() about for instance those four ![]() bare breasted young women ![]() whose canoes suddenly ![]() turned a corner and met us ![]() as close as a guy could wish for ![]() and we all said good morning ![]() or about the regret ![]() we still feel after paddling ![]() too close to those two loon chicks ![]() and one never came back up ![]() or how difficult it is ![]() to describe the emptiness ![]() that fills me without seeking ![]() over the days of a canoe trip ![]() until driving home I realize ![]() I am thinking ![]() one thought ![]() at a time ![]() and letting it ![]() go. |
TC-3-Tom Thomson and other Algonquin artists
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Tom - by Mark SteelePaddling on the lake,![]() Thoughtful, happy, ![]() Floating, gliding, seeing, ![]() He's at home- ![]() Imagining, wondering, dreaming, ![]() Quiet, Peace, ![]() Resting on the shore |
Archived Poetry This part of the "Resources" section carries readers' poetry that describes the Algonquin experience, submitted over the past decade. E-mail in your submissions. |
An Old Indian Prayer | (Prayer) | First Nations, Nov. 2, 2004 |
A Day In Algonquin | (Poem) | Tom Yates, June 23, 2001 |
Memories of Big Crow Lake | (Poem) | Chad Little, 2004 |
My Algonquin | (Poetry Collection) | Ken Born, 2004 |
The Experience | (Poem) | Alex Thompson, 2004 |
Wild Algonquin | (Poetry Collection) | Betty Lennips, 2004 |