Northbound, I boarded the Yonge subway at Dundas
and entered realms of darkness and sunlight.
Beyond Bloor the train slowed and screeched to a stop.
I sighed and looked outside mindful of the bus schedules.
A clump of trees with a weather- beaten red brick house
lie half hidden among the lengthening shadows.
The failing light seeped through the canopy of leaves
and trickled to the grassy ground.
There among the roots, a gray squirrel foraged for nuts
squatted and stared at the train coach in befuddlement.
I felt its black pinpoint eyes pierced my being
and dissected the strangeness of a human
that sat in the belly of the silver serpent.
Its bearing betrayed its rattled nerves
an instinct that augured species survival.
I squinted at the rays of the descending sun
and espied the firmament through the prism
of foliage and window frame.
The stars are not revealed while the sun reigned over the sky.
The gathering dusk was a promise that the pathways
of the Milky Way galaxy can soon be discerned.
The train groaned, shuddered and came back to life.
The startled squirrel, transfixed at the flashing signal lights
darted and disappeared into the undergrowth
driven to hunt for nuts.
To my destination I must proceed.
I gazed at the lay of the land through the haze
but what fate awaited me at journey’s end?
The train traversed once more its metal tracks.
For a moment, the light gleamed from steel, glass
and graffiti stained concrete walls.
Then the train hurtled into the tunnel and emerged
into the beckoning lights of Finch station.
It was my final stop.
A Change of Season
The sun still waxes high in the heavens
and the scent of flowers pervades.
The leaves flutter not with no breeze to invade
but now, dark, rumbling clouds hug the horizon.
I see the rains coming like a gray curtain.
The cool wind sweeps in and merges with
the hot air like a lukewarm shower.
The afternoon thunderstorm pelts the parched clods
as the sun flees from the nimbus assault.
The crystal bombing disappears into the sponge of the earth.
The smell of the doused summer heat wafts though the air.
Liquid needles continue to plummet and
slake the thirst of the fiery ground.
The smoldering fire extinguished,
small puddles and eddies rapidly form.
The fire of passion has been submerged
by the torrent of reason.
I realized it is time to let go.
Cesar D. Polvorosa, Jr. is an economics and business professor in Toronto, Ontario, Canada while publishing poems and/or short stories including award winners in North America, Japan, Philippines, South East Asia and he is a published writer as well in economics and business fields.
Amy S. Pacini is a freelance writer and poet from Florida, the Poetry Editor for Long Story Short ezine and owner of A.S.P. INK. www.amyspacini.com.
Rebecca MacKenzie is a poet and award-winning author whose works have been published in education, parenting, writing and religious publications, and in anthologies and literary journals.
Ann Brixey, born in Wales and now living in Florida with her husband, enjoys playing golf, reading, writing (especially Japanese poetry) and listening to classical music.
POEMS by Ann Brixey
Physical and emotional disabilities propelled Debbie Johnson into writing the poems and short stories comprising her firs book The Disability Experience.
POEMS by Debbie Johnson
Karen Zinck is a retired RN born and raised in Quebec who now lives in Northern Ontario Canada, she credits the great white north for her inspiration in Frosty Ballet.