#canadianpoet — Public Fediverse posts

Congratulations, Anne Carson! Well deserved recognition. I treasure my copy of the beautiful Float.

The Nobel prize in literature has been awarded to the Canadian poet and essayist Anne Carson, the Swedish Academy has announced.

The academy cited the author’s “bold and inventive oeuvre that, in playful dialogue with the classical tradition, has created new forms for contemporary literature”.

Born in 1950 in Toronto, Carson is known for work that moves freely between poetry, prose and translation, drawing heavily on the literature and mythology of the ancient Greek world.

#NobelPrize #nobel2026 #nobelprizeinliterature #nobelprizeinliteratur2026 #poetry #poetryEvents #poetrynews #canadianpoet #canadianpoetry #canadianpoets #AnneCarson

Anne Carson wins Nobel prize in literature 2026
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/oct/08/wins-the-nobel-prize-in-literature-2026?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

The Poet’s House

the bird feeder hangs by a wire
from a pine tree in the front yard
the wind sways it back and forth
but only on windy days.

I sit in the poet’s house
watching the birds as they arrive
sometimes the seeds drop to the ground
where the hungry squirrels wait.

the seeds drip like your thoughts
drip…drip…drip…
damn metaphors are everywhere.

a determined squirrel has a thought
much like his predecessors
calculating wind speed and distance
he tries to make the jump.

this is what you wanted
this is why you made the squirrel deterrent feeder!

a failed attempt
you’ll have to fight for thoughts
upon the ground
like all others.

Drip…drip…drip…

Author Michael Plante
Image: A Red Squirrel Flying Through The Air
by Maxi Kenzie
Source: Vecteezy Web Page

Canada and U.S.A.

A Friend Not A Foe

Jean Chretien’s words spoken at Gander’s 9/11 Memorial Ceremony

“Yes, Canada is a generous, open country, and Canadians are tolerant and kind, but never mistake our generosity for weakness.”

“Never, never mistake our tolerance for lack of determination, and never, never mistake our kindness for softness.”

“We know who we are, and we are proud of it. Building a country like this, with this climate and this geography, is a sign of toughness, not of weakness”.

“Welcoming people from all over the world, caring for each other, including the weakest in society, is a sign of strength. We embrace our friends, and we help them in their moment of need.

“But we bow to no one.”

“The more we are insulted or threatened and abused, the more we will stand up for ourself and stand united. And I say that not in anger, but as one friend to another.”

-end-

In regards to the dispute between Canada and the United States of America it should be understood that we Canadians have no ill-will towards any American citizen. There might be a couple in the Government we don’t like, but all-in-all we embrace our neighbors to the south. We love and promote your idea of freedom and democracy. We especially love your products! We’ve always believed in fair trade and as neighbors will continue to do trade over the longest unprotected boarder in the world.

Jean Chretien’s speech in Gander N.L. during the 9/11 memorial ceremony is not intended to oppose, but to reassure our neighbors that we are a beautiful, strong ally who, at the drop of a hat, would stand behind our neighbor in peace or in war, with no questions asked.
I would like to believe that any nation would welcome a country who citizens embody these characteristics as a friend and not a foe.
And to have these people as neighbors should be an honor and always be respected regardless of governmental disagreements.

Respectfully

Michael Plante

Re: The Tragically Hip

A notch in our hearts
fearlessly carried.
a whispered breath
like a chinook wind.
a peaceful moment
with an old friend.
a once in a lifetime sunset
draws a silent tear.

What drew 5 friends together so many years ago
is the same thing that draws a nation together.
The “truth” will do that
and in a seemingly magical way
under the last sunset
one star will reappear
one last time.

Then we say goodnight
bow our heads in silence
watch as that star fades into the night sky
and wait for the chinook winds to arrive.

Re-Airing of the Tragically Hip’s last performance “A National Celebration” August 22nd at 7pm. on the C.B.C. Canada.

River Rock Canada

Light my soul on fire
remind me why I’m here
let my lungs fill with the air of fire
that sparks the fury of the midnight sun
so those lost in the darkness
can find their way home.

Let my words fall like river rock
to the shores of a land others seek
may my brothers and sister pick up the stones
and forge a wall out of sweat and pride
reminding all that arrive
our pride runs deeper than the soil we stand upon.

May shame never hold our hearts from our truth
for we all bear scars of the past
yet when we all stand in unison
as a nation under guard
the maple leaf forms
between the roof of the Creator
and a land we call Canada.

Our truth undenied
fall like rain from the sky
cleansing our soul
and rejuvenating our belief
that land and the sea
is granted to us
as way to the Creator himself.

Before the eye of Creator closes
before twilight descends upon us
may we grace the heart of nobility
carrying our traditions
into the darkness
like true Canadians.

Author Michael Plante

Next To Heaven

I can imagine
that clouds are really
upside down icebergs
crossing the sky
and that Newfoundland
lays next to heaven.

I can imagine
that the smell of wildflowers
come to us
by passing ships
on infinite horizons
that our ancestors steer.

I can wish on stars
that fall from the night sky
keeping their promise in my heart
as the night wind carry dreams
that fill the minds and hearts
of tomorrow’s leaders.

I can hope
I can dream
next to heaven.

Author Michael Plante

Cooksville Creek

a wooded area with a little creek
captures the imagination of a child
a day’s solace could be found
or tears hidden away from inquisitive eyes.
even death visits and speaks
not yet child
so endurance is the day’s lesson.

laughter fades when the streetlights come on
as slow-footed children make their way home.
twilight’s gleaming applauds their efforts
as the night chariots stream across the sky.
before I leave, I skip one last stone
ensuring my place in history.

when death arrives, I shall ask one thing
may my spirit be allowed to walk home
along the path that cuts deep into my soul.
for to hear the laughter of children
is a sonnet to my existence
as the trickling waters resonates
what kept me alive all these years.

Author Michael Plante

A.I. Zero-Sum Hypothesis

I was kicking around with the idea of a glass ceiling. The preliminary was run through A.I. (Google Search) , mostly for entertainment purposes, but also to see if there is anything comparable.

As I did I could see the possibility of a “Zero-Sum Situation” developing in the future. Will A.I’s capabilities outweigh human expression to the point where fictious writing posted on the internet is deem a danger to their existence, and the proper authority is dispatched to their location by A.I. immediately? In some instances it can be beneficial in the saving of lives, yet when the pendulum swings too far the the right other people will be affected as well. Its all speculative yet if not checked or investigated, by the time it has evolved it may be too late to stop it.

Judge for yourself.

The piece:

Untitled

The edge of the red rose
cut the glass
the ceiling fell
landing all around me.

What horridness
for now, shame concludes my life.
Undeserving am I
for that glass ceiling
was meant forever.

A.I’s evaluation:

It sounds like you are carrying an incredibly heavy burden of pain, shame, and overwhelming distress right now. Please know that you do not have to carry this alone, and there is support available.

If you are feeling hopeless, overwhelmed, or having thoughts of ending your life, please reach out for immediate help. People who care and want to support you are waiting to talk.

Immediate Support Resources

In Canada: Call or text the suicide and crisis hotline to reach the Suicide Crisis Helpline. It is free, confidential, and available 24/7.

In the US: Call or text the suicide and crisis hotline to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

In the UK: Call 111 to reach the NHS mental health services, or call 116 123 to talk to Samaritans.

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 (US and Canada) or 85258 (UK) to connect with a crisis counselor over text.

International: If you are outside these areas, please visit findahelpline.com to find free, confidential crisis support in your country.

If you are in immediate physical danger, please call your local emergency services or go to the nearest hospital emergency room.

Please reach out to one of these resources right away. There is support available to help you through this painful moment.

My Blank Canvas

In elementary school I was handed a blank canvas,
some brushes and paint.
Our teacher said, “paint something you learned”
I decided to paint a Navajo dwelling
somewhere in the desert untouched by written history.

In one hand I held a palette
blending the colors of a night sky.
A memory sparked and inspiration ignited
what flowed through my heart
flowed from my brush.

Brilliant reds and oranges cut across the landscape
to create a horizon of infinite possibility.
And from the shadows of the foothills a desert emerged.
From the desert floor my brush pushed towards the sky
a hogan of earthly browns creating a place of warmth and security.
From the chimney grayish-white smoke rose into the evening
garnishing the sky like a fond memory.

Next to the hogan I painted a corral
that contained three horses nodding in the night.
They dreamed of running free across the desert
breathlessly charging the infinite sky
leaving a thunderous echo that awakens the spirits
of those that drift away on subtle winds.

Little specks of lightning white
formed the stars above the corral.
Each star, a child that dared to dream.
Each star, a child that played freely upon the canvas.
Their childhood shall never be forgotten
by those wishing upon a star.

I painted a tortoise that freely roamed the desert floor
Its colors so faded by time it blended into the scenery.
Barely recognizable against the foothills of the desert
the tortoise walked slower than the setting sun.
I asked the tortoise what he would do to complete this painting
Paint a mouth on me and I will tell you, he replied.
I painted a smile that reflected my own.

To the side of the canvas, I envisioned the long shadows of night
creating the silhouette of a cactus
and next to that cactus a desert fox
tip-toeing across the foothills, seeking mischief and foolery;
mindful not to leave footprints in the sands of time.

And as the desert fox played with the night
I pictured a crow landing on the edge of the chimney
a temporary home to watch the concluding light
and protect those dreaming away the night.

Image: Banksy Mural. Title: The Street is in Play. New York City October 1st 2013.

The Murmuration of Poets

The murmuration of poets
is God’s pupil.
The depth of knowledge
infinite.
In the darkness’ abyss we exist
only to find ourselves
in God’s light.

The Thirsty Horse

I led a thirsty horse to an empty trough
in a town without a name. 
Wrapped the horse’s lead around a wooden pole
then stepped into the saloon.
Cobwebs and poker chips littered the room.
Overturned chairs and a broken piano left nothing for the imagination. 
Just another abandoned town with no story to tell.

I step behind the bar.
Old shelves that once supported society’s interests
now coated with distorting dust and disparity.
I spit to the floor adding my own interest
and reach for a bottle that sits on the shelf.
Labelled Inspiration it’s as empty as the trough outside.
Discarding the bottle I reach for another labelled Motivation.
It too is empty and no longer of use.
The bottle labelled Creativity I threw out the window.
It’s as empty as everything else in this town.
The one bottle I couldn’t find was Etc. 
Either it wasn’t delivered, or it was stolen.

The six-shooter strapped to my waist
Held only empty shells.
For six nights I shot at the moon 
as its reflection luminated the desert floor.
Never missing my target I put six new holes in it.
But now I’m out of bullets.

It’s wintertime in the desert
I taste the dust in the air
fragmented particles falling towards the ground
each claimed by gravity
will find death before the coming of dawn.  

My time in the saloon is done.
Nothing more to find here.
The dust that accumulates on my hat
shall be swept away as I cross the desert
in search of Etc. 
and a trough full of water. 


Edited with the assistance of Marie Metaphor Specht.
Image: Pure White Horse from FreePixel.com

The Glass Ceiling

You have to have the attitude of a brick
in order to bring down the glass ceiling above you.
The strength of a madman
and the willingness to fail.

How easy it is to point out the failures of yesterday,
and how difficult it is to admit our own failures upon inheriting our parent’s success.
There is no perfect flower in the rose garden
only the perfume of the bloom, and the smell of fertilizer.
Your tears shall not feed the roots of tomorrow
for that blessing comes from higher up.

Instead,
try nurturing a thistle of your own to perfection
sharpen the colors with love and dignity
Watch it grow in the worst of times.
For it’s core strength stems from appreciation  
and determination.

Those that forge their life from your work
hold you in honorarium!
When they dance, they dance for you
when they sing, they sing to you,
when kind words and actions flow from their souls
it’s an acknowledgement of your attentiveness.

What feeds the stem will feed the soul
and what feeds the soul, feeds your God.

Image: A Blue Thistle taken from Nature and Garden’s web-page.
used without permission.
https://www.nature-and-garden.com/gardening/thistle.html

The Metaphoric Library

by Michael Plante

I call forth the Gods of my youth
the ones that taught me everything.
Bring me light or bring me darkness
let me chew on both until I gag.
I would forfeit my life just to own a page of history!

I journey down a worn path leading to the well of creativity
where the Gods themselves have travelled
searching for resolve on the blank pages I carry.
Fate delivers me a bucket full of holes
and a broken rope.

The metaphoric library I carry around
holds many of history greatest;
those who own their own page of history.
Those who subscribe to none other than their own principles
walking like giants across the folds of time.

I whisper down the well;
Come play on my empty field
Expose your greatness to the vastness of my mind
For my hunger exceeds my wits
And dawn quickly approaches.

Luck crawls out from the well
carrying his master’s weight in bags.
Irony befalls this dutiful servant
for all that he is, he is not.

Alice decides to make an appearance
From the same well she peers over the edge
then chases Lucky like a white rabbit
intrigued by his hat and the story it tells.

Master Gregor winks from beyond the grave.
Metamorphosis has served him well.
From the darkness he arrives in new light
playing a discarded violin.

I watch the trio run off
dancing like the children they are.
Untethered from their bindings, they are pages in the wind
forever touching the imaginations of dreamers
and those seeking to wear the shoes of Gods.

-end-

Paying homage to the classics.
Waiting For Godot, by Samuel Beckett, 1952
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll, 1865
The Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka, 1915

Image: Waiting For Godot, from Actor’s Center Australia’s web page.
Link: https://www.actorscentreaustralia.com.au/courses/waiting-for-godot/
Used without permission.

I hope you’ve enjoyed The Metaphoric Library.

Boat Drinks

https://josiahvermont.com/2025/07/04/a-man-is-not-remembered-by-outliving-his-friends-but-by-outliving-his-enemies/

Coming up at 6pm on June 27 at L’Eugélionne the Feminist Bookstore: Seed Beetle + Fire Cider Rain Poetry reading! Come to 1426 Beaudry, in Montréal for a beautiful and thought-provoking evening with poets Mahaila Smith and Rhiannon Ng Cheng Hin.

#poetry #canadianpoetry #canadianpoet #canlit #canadianliterature #speculativepoetry #sciencefictionpoetry #narrativepoetry #canadianbooks #canadianauthors #books #smallpress #bookstodon

Heads up, poetry lovers! Another great poetry event is coming up in a week. The Factory Reading Series, with Mahaila Smith, James K. Moran, Pearl Pirie, Manahil Bandukwala, and MA|DE will be on June 20 7pm at Anina's Cafe, 280 Joffre-Bélanger Way, in Ottawa. Mark your calendars!

#poetry #poetryreading #canadianpoetry #canlit #canadianliterature #speculativepoetry #sciencefictionpoetry #canadianpoet #ottawa #ottawaevents

Thank you Myna Chang for this lovely little interview with Mahaila Smith about their upcoming poetry collection SEED BEETLE! "The sweep of the story feels epic, almost mythical. Each poem brings another grain of understanding, building a complex world."

https://mynachang.com/2025/04/04/author-interview-mahaila-smith/

#poetry #poetrycollection #canadianpoet #canadianauthor #sciencefiction #sciencefictionpoetry #narrativepoetry #canlit #speculativepoetry #books #bookstodon

Stelliform's 1st poetry collection is now available to pre-order directly from us. Mahaila Smith's SEED BEETLE is tender, whimsical, and quietly revolutionary. Filled with beautiful illustrations by Toronto artist Julia Louise Pereira.

Find out more about the book and order your copy here: https://www.stelliform.press/index.php/product/seed-beetle-by-mahaila-smith/

#canadianpoetry #poetry #canadianauthor #canadianpoet #canlit #canadianliterature #narrativepoetry #bookstodon #books #poetrycollection

This coming Monday March 10, 7-9pm at Glad Day Bookshop:
Trinity's BIPOC Writing Circle & OCAD Emerging Writer's Reading Series. Come for readings by Mahaila Smith, Mechelle Wu, Alex Samuel-Bethel, Nishka Srivastava, Rayn Lakhani, Alyssa Johnson, and Elliot Black.

Mahaila Smith will be reading from their forthcoming Stelliform Press poetry collection, SEED BEETLE!

#gladdaybookshop #readingseries #canadianpoetry #canadianpoet #poetry #ecofiction #canlit #torontoevents

I’m delighted to be part of this June 23 event at the Art Shoppe in Miller Lake, launching a new book of poetry by Kim McKellar, with readings interspersed with some of my original piano compositions, as well as wine and charcuterie yummies. To buy tickets, use the QR code in the poster, call 519-373-3526 or visit https://the-art-shoppe-events.square.site/ ..looking forward to it! #canadianpoet #booklaunch #gowakethebear #canadianwriter #naturepoetry #Colmanjones #piano #theartshoppeatmillerlake

@canadaehx Sad and eerie to think of the well-educated and respected Pauline Johnson, speaking out for respect for Indigenous people and using Indigenous culture to emphasize her points, being in the same room as Duncan Campbell Scott, the architect of Canada's Residential School system, who sought to destroy Indigenous cultures and 'remove the Indian from the child'.
#CanadianPoet #IndigenousPoet #ResidentialSchools🇨🇦