Thursday, January 22, 2015
The January 29th 2015 Poetry Club Meeting will take place at:
Located at 7 Charles West, just off Yonge Street, south of Yonge and Bloor, 7 West is a mixture of restaurant, cafe and pub - so you can have beer, wine, tea, coffee, cake, pie, a hamburger or anything else that is on the menu.
We will be meeting on the 3rd floor.
Please RSVP at http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/events/218044192/
The decor and the food/drinks/service at 7 West are all excellent so we are certain to have a good time eating, drinking and spilling forth poetry.
Hope to see you there!
Stock brokers with killer instincts
Politicians in on the grand Ponzi Scheme
Wars for oil, consumption and waste
An indebted populace enslaved
Capitalists running amok looking for the bottom line
The problem is when people can't pay their debts
They start reneging on their loans and mortgages
And then the economy falls apart
This is a model that can't stand the test of time
We can try and extort wealth from other nations
But wars are expensive and its only profitable on paper
In reality we lose way more in practice
The politicians keep saying wealth will trickle down
But such a hoax will never happen
The system is set up so the rich get richer
The poor get poorer, and the middle class dwindles
Eventually all that will remain is the rich and the poor
The poor will try to rise up, but the police will beat them down
Oh wait, this is already happening
You would have to be blind not to see it
Our materialism has become our own downfall
And death has become a vital part of our economy
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
By Charles Moffat, December 2014
I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Just like the ones we used to know
When the treetops glistened
and governments listened
Back when we used to have snow.
They're scheming of a profitable Christmas
When every politician sounds trite
They give you an economic fright
And most of the CEOs are white.
I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Before the droughts brought the blight
May your kids live to see the light
And learn from our lack of foresight
I'm steaming at the green Christmas
As the earth goes down the latrine
When everyone is so greedy its obscene
And now all our Christmases are green.
I'm dreaming of a White Christmas
Back when leaders were more forthright
And now they're all full of shite.
And now all our Christmases aren't white.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
The Map Room at Hart House is where the Toronto Poetry Club meets.
However we have noticed sometimes people walk by the map room looking lost, look in, say nothing and then keep walking.
It makes some of us wonder if they are lost poets, unsure if they are in the right room.
So here is some photos of the Map Room so you have a clearer idea of where you are supposed to be.
Note, it is not the 'Maps Room'. The Map Room only has 1 map in it. The big one on the east wall. So if you were expecting many maps and continue walking and looking for the 'Maps Room' you will be disappointed.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
The only meetup that came close to those numbers was the August 28th Poetry Meetup which had 25 people sign up.
When attending these meetings typically only one half or two thirds of people show up. One time I think we had roughly 80% attendance. I think it is an issue wherein sometimes people sign up for poetry meetups and then forget to go the day of, maybe they were sick, had other plans, or sometimes it is just weather conditions (rain or extreme cold tends to scare people away from wanting to go outside and travel to a poetry meetup).
The good news however is that today is not overly cold and the weather is fair. Plus it is November and people often have nothing better to do in November, so I fully expect this meetup to be a bumper crop of poets.
I like to think however that the diehard poets (yippee ki yay m***** ******!) won't be deterred by a little rain (or even a lot of rain).
Saturday, November 1, 2014
William Henry Drummond (born 1854, died 1907) was an Irish born Canadian poet famous for writing "dialect verse" and funny stories.
De Stove Pope Hole
By William Henry Drummond
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.
Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,
An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,
But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',
Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.
He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!
An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,
An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.
Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,
He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,
Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,
An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.
De girl she's waitin' dere for heem--don't care about de rain,
So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,
Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser
An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say--
'Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,
For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon--
It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,
He's got no use for me at all--I see dat ev'ry day.
'He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'
An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,
So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,
An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.'
Den Emmeline say 'Dominique, ma love you'll alway be
An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy--
But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole--
All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.
'Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,
I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you.'
Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,
But don't get too moche pleasurement--so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.
Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse
Emmeline say, 'Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?
Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun','
W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.
Den Emmeline she holler 'Fire! will no wan come for me?'
An Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,--
'Help! help! right off,' somebody shout, 'I'm killin' on ma place,
It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace.'
He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now,
W'at's all de noise upon de house--who's kick heem up de row?
It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole,
An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.
W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below,
An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so--
De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'y
Noboddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.
Den Dominique he spik lak dis, 'Mon cher M'sieur Gourdon
I'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant,
But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline,
An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she's lak de Queen.
'I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late,
An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait.
Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole,
Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole.'
Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before,
An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor,
'Non, non,' he say 'Sapré tonnerre! she never marry you,
An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu.'
'Correc',' young Dominique is say, 'mebbe de jail's tight place,
But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face,
So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant,
Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon.'
'Come back, come back,' Maxime is shout--I promise you de girl,
I never see no wan lak you--no never on de worl'!
It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole,
But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole.'
'Hooraw! Hooraw!' Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suite
An' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet,
An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair,
W'ere he is go couchè right off, an' dey go on parloir.
Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le Curé
Get marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away;
Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do,
An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Poetry meetings are on the last Thursday of every month, starting at 6:30 PM.
Location is the Map Room at Hart House (University of Toronto campus).
Everyone is welcome, even if you are not a member and do not RSVP. Although we certainly prefer if you do RSVP so we have an inkling of how many people are coming.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
All location and time details are on the above mentioned pages.
Hope to see you there!
This was really a leftover from the old Toronto Poetry Club (which got deleted), but the domain name TorontoPoetryClub.com still exists (and is registered under the previous president's name).
Long story short, the TorontoPoetryClub.com was redirecting to http://www.meetup.com/torontopoetryclub/, a page which did not exist... but as of today it now does, and our Meetup page should now be easier for people to find.
It also means that old links that were advertising TorontoPoetryClub.com have effectively been fixed because they are now linking to the correct location of the Meetup website.
Yada yada yada, a bunch of technical mumbo jumbo, it is all fixed.
That is until the domain name registration runs out and we have to register it again. Oh well.
Monday, March 31, 2014
editing and proofreading essays, school projects, essay writing services, resume writing, etc.
But you can also hire them to edit and proofread your poetry.
Or you could just come to a Toronto Poetry Club meeting instead and get the same service for FREE by talking to your fellow poets in Toronto.
So not to pootah our new sponsor, but come on, why would you pay for a service you could get for free just by signing up and becoming a member of the Toronto Poetry Club? And coming to our lovely monthly meetings, which is a great social event to meet other poets and writers.
If you want to sponsor the Toronto Poetry Club just contact us, donate a sum of money to our poetry club coffers (minimum $30 donation if you want us to give you a link), and we will post about you being one of our official sponsors and include a link to your company website.
Thank you for supporting local poetry in Toronto!
Thursday, March 27, 2014
It is pretty easy to find, it is http://www.meetup.com/The-Toronto-Poetry-Club/
So if you are already a meetup.com member you just need to look for Toronto poetry on meetup and you will find it.
We also operate a Facebook group (The Toronto Poetry Club on Facebook) at https://www.facebook.com/groups/torontopoetry/ if you want to join that too.
For all other news stick to our official website, TorontoPoetryClub.ca.
POETRY MEETUP TONIGHT, TORONTO POETRY CLUB
time - 6:30, March 27th
place - Hart House Map Room, University of Toronto, 7 Hart House Circle. M5S 3H3
what to bring - 1 piece of your personal poetry to be read by our circle of poets. (If you don't want to read it yourself, someone else can read for you.)
duration - 2 or 3 hours.
afterwards - sometimes we go out to a pub afterwards to hang out and socialize.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Day - March 28th 2014
Time - 6:30 PM
Place - Map Room, Hart House at the University of Toronto. From the main entrance go up the stairs, turn right. The map room will be on the right.
The following is a photo from our last Toronto Poetry Club Meeting on February 27th 2014.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Rama and SitaBased on "The Ramayana" of Valmiki, re-envisioned by Charles Moffat, Jan.-Feb. 2012.
So sayeth Valmiki...
In Ancient India, in times of old
In the land of Aydohya, lived Rama the Bold
Rama was the perfect son, living by the rules of Dharma
Ever dutiful and responsible, he was blessed with good Karma
Prince Rama was the oldest, but his stepmother was a schemer
She sought for her son Bharata, wanting him to be the next leader
Having saved the king from illness, she sought out the king for a favour
Anything sayeth the king, not knowing the price of her desire
"I wish for you to banish Rama, make Bharata your heir."
Nothing could have wounded the king more, for Rama was most fair
Bound by his word the King obeyed, disliking his wife's demand
Rama heard his father's edict, "I gladly obey father's command."
Rama was married to Sita, whose purity was like a lotus blossom
Sita begged to go with Rama, their two hearts beating like one drum
"As shadow to substance, so is wife to husband."
"Let me walk ahead of you, clear your passage through the land."
Rama agreed to his wife's request, taking her deep into the forest
His brother Lakshmana went too, making Rama's flight his quest
Bharata sought to deny the throne, forsaking his mother's grace
He placed Rama's sandals on the seat, acting as regent in Rama's place
Deep in the forests lived monks, but they were plagued by Rakshasa monsters
Rama's arrows were true, his aim was unsurpassed amongst archers
Wherever Rama went the demons died in hordes
His bow string hummed like a sitar with its chords
To the south on the island of Lanka was the demon king Ravana
An incredible wise man Ravana's ten heads was a match for Rama
He spied Sita and seized her while Rama was chasing a deer
Taking her back to Lanka Ravana had no worries or fear
Across the sea Ravana fled, Sita over his shoulder
Sita wept for Rama but was wiser than her kidnapper
From her arms and neck she dropped her bracelets and jewelry
Sayeth Sita: "Take me back to Rama, stop this foolery!"
Sayeth Ravana: "Sita, I will make you my wife."
"You will come to me willingly and I shall spare your life."
Sayeth Sita: "I love only Rama. I cannot love another."
"I belong to Rama like the ground belongs to the earth mother."
Sayeth Ravana: "Nonsense, what does Rama have that I do not?"
"I will have you for my wife Sita as surely as the sun is hot!"
Sayeth Sita: "Rama is powerful, you would be foolish not to run!"
"I belong to Rama like the rays belongs to the sun!"
In the forest Rama met the monkey king Hanuman
Together they searched for Sita and came up with a plan
Hanuman found Sita's jewelry on the shores of the sea
Across the water lay the island of Lanka and he knew where Sita must be
Hanuman went to Lanka and saw Sita in the garden
She had gracefully refused to enter Ravana's home or den
Ravana did not force her, he left her alone to her prayers
Hanuman went to her and tried to soothe her tears
Sayeth Hanuman: "Never fear dear Sita, Hanuman is here."
"Come with me back to Rama and we shall disappear!"
Sayeth Sita: "Ravana's demons are many, even now they come."
"You must run Hanuman, don't you hear their drum?!"
The Rakshasa demons seized Hanuman and set fire to his tail
But Hanuman leapt away, jumping on the palace wall and leaving a fiery trail
The Rakshasa demons chased him but Hanuman left only ruins in his wake
Ravana's palace was burned down and he swore at his demons for their mistake
Hanuman returned to Rama and told him where Sita was held
He told Rama everything he saw, touched and smelled
Rama called upon Hanuman to raise the monkey warriors
Hanuman did as he was bid, by the tens of scores
Rama and his monkey army built a causeway to Lanka
They toiled day and night to reach the island and Sita
When they arrived the monkeys slew all the Rakshasa demons
Rama himself slew Ravana and all of his sons
Sita wept with love, proud that her husband was so bold
But when he came near her he began acting cold
Sita professed her love and thanking him for his actions
She knew in her heart she would bear Rama's sons
Sayeth Rama: "You have stayed in another man's house."
"I have done my duty to rescue you but I cannot be your spouse."
Sayeth Sita: "If I had known this would happen I would have killed myself."
"Build me a funeral pyre so you may see my purity yourself."
Rama and Hanuman built a funeral pyre as they were commanded
Sita walked amongst the flames untouched, true to her marriage bed
Rama forgave her, his love and loyalty for her renewed
They flew back to Ayodhya in a Pushpaka with the end of their feud
Rama was crowned king, the happy couple began their reign
Everything was joyous again but Rama overheard one man complain
Sayeth the man to his wife: "Do you think I am like Rama?"
"You have slept with another man, I don't need your lies or drama."
Sayeth Sita: "Husband I have really great news."
"Our bed has been fruitful, someday your sons will fill your shoes."
Sayeth Rama: "I cannot keep you my dearest."
"My people don't respect me even though you passed the test."
Rama sent Sita away, craving the respect of his people
Sita went obediently, residing instead in a temple
She met there the poet Valmiki and told him her story
Her tale told of Rama in all his greatness and glory
Sita gave birth to two sons with eyes like Rama's
But Sita was still sad, remembering everything that once was
Valmiki helped to raise the two boys, teaching them songs of trust
"Rama is great, Rama is just, Rama does what Rama must."
One day Rama went for a stroll and heard the two boys singing
"My sons!" sayeth Rama. "You must come live in Ayodhya with your king."
But then Rama noticed Sita and realized she must come too
"Perhaps a trial by water, such a trick should not be too difficult for you."
Sayeth Sita: "I will prove my love to you dearest Rama."
"If I have always been true to you, from Lanka to Ayodhya."
"If I have always been the perfect bride to the perfect groom."
"Then may mother earth please take me back into her womb."
her love was pure. Here's a poem that I have written to her, for her and for myself to remember all
the many endearing things she did. She brought great joy to my life.
Remembering Rebecca(June 20, 2002 - February 3, 2014)
You a moppet -
all white save a slate grey nose,
shining blue sapphire eyes
smallest, shyest of your litter mates
Timid, you crouch beneath the coffee table.
At ten weeks, I see
a fluffy feline batting at a feather toy
coming into your own now.
At fourteen weeks, it’s Thanksgiving
I ‘m already grateful for you little Birman girl
despite meowing the entire trip
from Barrie to the Bluffs
You hate car rides.
Home at last, I set you down
You circle round my living room,
bound into my lap, curling up
“I’ll stay you say,” in kitten body language.
We develop rituals.
Mornings, you greet me,
leap onto the window ledge
lounge as I shower.
When your grow older, you wait on the cotton bath mat
I step gingerly round you
As I sip tea you loll on the sofa beside me
I comb your silken fur
You roll over, not only trusting but
begging for a tummy rub.
Silent as a whisper you steal away to sleep on my duvet.
Like Guys and Doll’s gangster, Skye Madison,
your time is the nighttime
At ten o’clock you come alive, frisky and alert
dash about the duvet, run round the living room
Little Crazy Nut and Boogie
I christen you.
Feisty full of fun
You spring three feet in the air
to tackle toys and ribbons.
You munch on Spider plants mistaking them for cat grass,
sip out of unattended glasses
knock over vases of peonies
to quench your thirst
You relish games of challenge
“Hanger Game” a favourite, paws darting out from beneath your fuzzy fleece
to catch that metal hanger.
You like to lick my juicy apple,
taste yogurt and applesauce on a spoon.
share a shrimp from my pad thai.
Between mouthfuls of Wellness
you hop onto my lap
connection is more important than food
so I stroke your back as you eat.
Your caregivers soon see I am not spoiling you
You’re social - will eat better with affection and room service.
I call to you in your tower from my Lazy Boy
“Kitty come up”
You respond with a gentle leap
warm my lap and heart.
As I mute commercials , relax to your calming purr
we watch TV together.
When friends visit
you bound down stairs, sniff an outstretched hand
approve with a head butt or bum twirl
accept a scratch behind the ears or chin chuck.
Bring out your adventurous nature
you knock your leash on the floor
“Let’s go outside,” you say.
You explore the garden,
stopping to munch new grass
sit and catch the breeze.
When I come home
You hear my car in the drive
gallop down the stairs to greet me
Sometimes so fast your nose at the door as I open it.
After one three week trip to Europe
you wrap your white paws around Alan‘s pant leg and hold on
“Don’t leave me alone, stay and pet me,” you plead
You sense my footsteps,
I know, be cautious opening the door
You leap across luggage straight to my arms
A long flight, I want to wash my hands before I pet you
you follow me to the bathroom
climb onto the toilet,
kitty arms outstretched as I lather
“Please pick me up?” you say
You nestle into my chest, paws around my shoulders
holding on like a child
We snuggle on the couch.
Never have I known such affection.
At the computer
You wait patiently in your circular bed
for so long, then a little meow
as paws reach up my chair
or you pretend to chew cords
jump behind my laptop screen
“My turn now mom, pet me.”
At bed time you race upstairs
Sometimes I want to hold you,
Sometimes journal, read the paper first,
You lightly leap into my lap
“Time to cuddle.”
You’re right of course, I can’t resist.
You lie across my chest and abdomen
slide into the crook of my arm
It’s your baby position
You look up lovingly with
Trust and sweetness.
You like body contact
Nuzzle against my knee and thigh
often use my ankle as a pillow
I awaken to find you sleeping parallel
beside me on the bed, your head on the soft pillow
You bring comfort.
On cold winter mornings you meow at the duvet
I lift it up, you crawl beneath
warm up by my feet.
Your life brings joy
Human love less perfect
You love without condition
Always and forever
loved - remembered.
#1. Feel free to post as often as you like.
#2. Remember to apply the labels "Poetry by Members" and "Poetry by YOUR FIRST NAME".
#3. Please include the title of the poem, your name and possibly even what year you wrote it.
#4. Feel free to include a link to your personal poetry website.
#5. HAVE FUN!
Also feel free to leave thoughtful comments on other people`s poetry posts.
It was so blistering cold outside last night it was difficult to breathe.
In attendance was President Charles (holding the camera), Gail (a regular at the old Toronto Poetry Club before it became defunct), Moj, and Charlotte. We read and discussed 6 poems of our own creations in detail.
One of the poems presented last night was:
Actaeon and His Hounds
Thursday, February 27, 2014
The Toronto Poetry Club meets the last Thursday of every month in the map room at the Univesity of Toronto's Hart House.
Everyone is welcome. There is no admission fee, although donations are welcome.
During each meeting everyone will get a turn to read one or two of their poems. Please avoid writing huge poems that take 20 minutes to read, followed by a short discussion / thoughts / suggestions and feedback.
The Toronto Poetry Club is COMPLETELY non profit. We will never try to sell you a poetry book or anything like that, although members are welcome to conveniently mention "Oh by the way, feel free to buy my book 'Zombies and Daffodils' if you like gory pink zombie poetry..." Or something like that.
[There is no book called 'Zombies and Daffodils', that was a joke, but it does sound like an amusing poetry book.]
If you wish to join the Toronto Poetry Club all you need to do is contact us via Facebook or email charlesmoffat at charlesmoffat dot com.
Thank you and have a nice day!