The Symphony of the Rain Storm Flowers

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					UrbanVoices2004.V3.qk      4/27/04      3:50 PM       Page 52

                                                          Zoë Abrams                             Sharanga Sivarajasingam
                                               Grade 12, Oakwood C.I.                              Grade 4, Shoreham P.S.

           Flowers                                                      The Symphony of the Rain Storm

           In the greengrocer’s I am a flash of downy parka                      The Orchestra is ready
           a glaze of frost on the plate glass windows                                Mother Nature
           I have a place to go                                              the grand Conductor prepares
           hands to shake                                                  the water, clouds, thunder, heat,
           tears to hold back                                                  and the symphony begins.
                                                                                  The voice of thunder
           The flowers at the front bruise                                      is like a booming drum
           the air with their condolences                                  that announces the performance,
           lush waxy blossoms too heavy for stems                                  the wind is a flute,
           flowers’ sympathetic eyes peering out                             the rain plays on the roof like
           from the petals                                                           the grand piano,
                                                                                     the storm is the
           He had to leave they whisper                                                  timpani.
           brushing my hair behind my ears
           He had to go

           Their scent like waterfalls
           like deep embraces
           I step up to the cash
           the bouquet warming my chest
           and ask the saleslady
           to wrap them in paper

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                                                             Jared Jukes                                                   Kaya Ellis
                                               Grade 7, Islington J.M.S.                                      Grade 7, Hollycrest M.S.

              Eternal                                                                             Beauty

              Rain tap-dances across the pavement                                           Go ahead—judge me
              at the corner of Islington and Dundas West.                                 But may my warning be
              Skateboarders swerve past, skid, slip;                               That I consist of more than one layer
              boldly-painted boards slide off their feet.                                More than one substance
                                                                                 And to try to contain me under one name,
              The sapphire sky is overthrown by
                                                                                       Under one category, is foolish
              a depressing gray
              that suffocates the neighborhood
                                                                                    Sure you can see the colour of my hair
              and freezes the smiles on our faces.
                                                                                       The colour of my eyes and nose
              A gray that seems . . .                                            Yet you stay blind to the colour of my spirit
                                                                                   Sure you can hear the range of my voice
              Eternal.                                                                    And the sound of my feet
              Until the earth closes its eyelids,                          Yet you refuse to listen to the sweet song of my dreams
              Streetlights are scattered diamonds
              piercing the gray mask,                                            Sure you can criticize my unique clothing
              gradually illuminating the sky,                                           And the state of my shoes
              setting it on fire.                                                        But in doing so you miss
                                                                                     The wondrous dance of my heart
              Slowly,                                                              And the sarcastic humour in my eyes
              the giant ruby pushes its way up.
              Once more the earth opens its eyelids                                       So before you judge me
              lighting up building after building.                                          Take a closer look
              As I watch,                                                                For beauty is everywhere
              a piece of the red ruby sun                                           And always visible to the open heart
              paints itself onto my window.
              I nod, I smile.

              The rain has stopped.

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                                                    Pearl Thompson                                                   Shunay Bolt
                                                Senior Kindergarten,                                       Grade 4, Shoreham P.S.
                                         Downtown Alternative School

                                 Beautiful                                               My Big Family

                           Your eyes are sparkly                                      I have a big family.
                                                                                Our home is like a subway station.
                           your mouth is
                                               nice.                                 People coming and going
                                                                                       staying and leaving.
                           You are the thing
                                                                             It smells like sweets, dirt, soup, and soap.
                           that I do like.
                                                                        It is cluttered with muddy footprints, snowy prints,
                                                                                           books, and toys.

                                                                       People walking, reading, watching, eating, sitting, and
                                                                       I can almost taste candies, cookies, and fried chicken.

                                                                         Listen to noises. I hear yelling, shouting, running,
                                                                                      and the train pulling out.

                                                                             Touched by love, family, hugs, and kisses.

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                                                        Daniel Huynh                                 Christabelle Uy
                                          Grade 5, Carleton Village P.S.          Grade 7, Dr. Marion Hilliard Sr. P.S.

                                   Family Tree                             Mother and Child

                                   My grandpa is the seed
                                   who started us all.

                                   My dad is the root
                                   who keeps us powerful.

                                   My mom is the trunk
                                   who holds us up.

                                   My cousins are the branches
                                   who keep us connected.

                                   And I am the leaves
                                   who keep the tree beautiful.

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                                                        Adele Ramos
                                 Grade 12, David & Mary Thomson C.I.

                        I remember, she smiled

           frozen in glossy paper                                      I remember my heart stopping each time
                   of a yellowing memoir                                       she passed easily by
           lies the picture of my mother                               a rare smile spread across pale, worn cheeks—
                   riding the merry-go-round.                          a fragile beam of innocence and bliss.
           painted wooden horses
                   this once motionless                                then a voice within me trembled,
           bright, yellow light                                               asking
                   stopped midway in blinking.                                        where that smile has been hiding
                                                                                      these past years.
           She looks transfixed on the platform                               wondering
                   (in her gaily orange shirt)                                        if it got lost midway—the woman’s toiling
                   blending,                                                                  to buy me books and pink dresses
                   as if she belongs                                          or if it simply slept inside her,
           in the fancy swirl of colour and                                           awaiting
                   happiness                                                                  the serene day of joy’s returning
           in the merry chime of songs and                                                           all this time.
                                                                       dreadful sighs,
           Looking intently at the picture, I am                              unwilling stomps,
                   drawn in,                                                        children walking away.
           scenes coming alive,                                        handsome oaken horses lie deserted,
           reliving a long forgotten dream—                            now empty, the pristine merry-go-round.
                   the frenzied sights
                   the excited shrieking                               all that remained was
           and the twelve year old who stood waiting.                          Her smile.

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                                                         Ainsley Brittain                              Michael Pelton
                                               Grade 12, Martingrove C.I.                   Grade 3, Maurice Cody P.S.

                 Your friend, foe and obligation                                   Friends

                              I am a confessional:                            The prickly cactus
                      I listen carefully to secret things,
                              Never interrupting,
                                 Never judging,                             Sitting on a desert hill
                                Never to repeat;
                                I can be trusted.                           One friend, the shadow
                            I am a message board:
                I relay information to an eclectic audience,
                                 About love,
                                 About hate,
                              About growing up;
                      I can be communicated through.
                              I am a sanctuary:
                      I always provide a private space,
                                 For crying,
                                For thinking,
                               For being alone;
                           I can be depended on.
                             I am a necessity:
                I welcome visitors many dozen times a day,
                                  To relax,
                                To alleviate,
                                 To relieve,
                           I can be lifesaving.
                        Now, after all that service,
                            Couldn’t one expect
                        A little more appreciation,
                       Not to mention some respect?
                                 Be mindful,
                       For I have heard and seen it all.
                    I am your friend, foe and obligation.
                       I am the Lonely Bathroom Stall.

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                                                           Alaina Arif                                   Emily Philp-Tsujiuchi
                                                Grade 8, Buchanan P.S.                                    Grade 3, Brown P.S.

                                     Face                                                The Boy

                                                                         I knew a very little boy,

                                                                         he had a very little toy.

                                                                         One day the boy grew very tall,

                                                                         but the toy grew very small.

                                                                         And that boy did a big, big cry,

                                                                         and then he stopped and said with a sigh

                                                                         “I will never get my toy back, will I?”

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                                                      Amina Moustaqim                                             Cameron Walker
                                                      Grade 6, Brian P.S.                               Grade 4, J.G. Workman P.S.

                                 Only Five                                  Playing with Connor, My Little Brother

           I was only five.                                                       We run through the grassy field
           What could I understand?                                                     singing and yelling.
           The importance of water? The use of my hand?                                  We play and race
           Though I was only five,                                                 as the wind blows behind us.
           I was forced to comprehend
           The heart breaking meaning of divorce.                                   We use the wind like a paddle
           But they don’t understand.                                                    and we’re long canoes.
           They pat me on the back, saying, “It’ll be all right!”                   We can taste the sweet pollen
           Filling me with their empty sympathy . . .                            glittering silently through the field.
           Is that the only way?
           Could they not have worked it out?                                     We roll down a small hill slowly
           The taste of my salty tears,                                                 and close our eyes.
           The fear in my cry,                                                      We relax beside each other
           My heart split, my blood rushing . . .                                      in the still, soft field.
           No.                                                                            Just he and I . . .
           They don’t understand.
           And I was only five.

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                                                         Emma Lesser                                               Peter Bugden
                                               Grade 12, Earl Haig S.S.                                  Grade 6, Howard Jr. P.S.

                      Instructions for an Actor                                                I Am
                                                                          (best read with an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent)
                      With no alarum, enter.
                                                                               I am the Dandelion Sniffer
                      Walk stage left,                                         I wonder if it’s harmful
                          down                                                 I hear it is harmful
                              and centre.                                      I see them taunting me
                      And deliver your lines.                                  I want to sniff them so badly
                                                                               I am the Dandelion Sniffer.
                      Wait for no applause, but walk
                      with purposed strides                                    I pretend they want me to sniff them
                      towards the exit.                                        I feel the gold under my nose
                                                                               I touch the soft pollen
                      Leave no property                                        I worry, one day they will disappear
                      at the stage door.                                       I cry at that very thought
                                                                               I am the Dandelion Sniffer.

                                                                               I understand they’re just a weed.
                                                                               I say they are much much more
                                                                               I dream of golden fields
                                                                               I try to smell ten at a time
                                                                               I hope they will be around forever
                                                                               I am the Dandelion Sniffer.

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                                                         Adrian Hagar                                       Christopher Voorpostel
                                                 Grade 6, Terry Fox P.S.                             Grade 6, John G. Althouse M.S.

                                Skydancer                                                  Painter of Life

                 Whirl and tumble, glide aloft                                           Life sits in his workshop
                 Soaring free, through thermal and trough                  Endless colours. Endless colours. Endless colours…
                 Sky dancer, lord of the sky                                              A brush of every size.
                 Freedom spirit who shall not die                                   He paints a picture for every day
                 Residing now in the hearts of the free,                                       But realizes…
                 Free flier, I respect thee                                    Yesterday cannot be erased, only forgotten
                 Stand for truth and justice fair                                       But he continues to work.
                 Gliding free on wind and air                                   He paints today as he sketches tomorrow
                 Free ones will know you well                                              One day Life will die
                 As Freedom, Determination, and Fate.                                        And life will end
                                                                                              But that is then
                                                                                              And this is now
                                                                                       So Life still holds his brush.

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                                                     Maruta Blatchins                                         Lowell Kwan
                                         Grade 7, Robert Service Sr. P.S.                           6e année – Core French
                                                                                                            Seneca Hill P.S.

                                Conscience                                            Les amis

                         I hear you whispering to me                               Il y a une fleur,
                             Every day and night
                          Nagging me to do my best                                  sous un arbre.
                            Telling me what’s right                          Seulement une fleur rouge,
                      Although sometimes I don’t agree                          sous un arbre d’érable.
                         That you must have it right                        Le grand et la petite ensemble.
                          I continue listening hard
                          And try with all my might
                       One day my friends invited me
                          To go hang by the track
                      They said it was their secret place
                         They said I’d have a blast
                      You told me not to go with them
                            So, I listened to you
                     They called me chicken, scaredy cat
                       I thought my life was through
                       I went to my own bed that night
                               Feeling very blue
                        And woke up the next morning
                            To read the early news
                        I glanced at the front cover
                            A scary thing it read
                    The long and blurry headline wrote:
                   Two kids…hit by train…and dead!?!?!?
                        “How could this be?” I thought
                         As tears poured from my eyes
                        The hang-out place I passed on
                           An innocent child’s cries
                       Thanks to you my conscience
                             I am still alive today
                     Next time you have to choose a way
                           Think before you play!!

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                                                        Roshaya Rodness
                                         Grade 11, Vaughan Road Academy

   What They Didn’t Learn in Grade 10 History

   The train is curving its lean figure over the dance-pad tracks                        Clicking and whistles slowed down and sped up again as Leonard left the train, he’d
   clucking the beat in rhythmic whistles and clicks.                                    put his trust in these mechanics to take his hand
   Mechanic bric-a-brac is the sound of safety,                                          and lead him, blindfolded to a new prairie life
   for each bolt clicks a quarter beat after each                                        in a land where he wouldn’t be whipped for his dark skin.
   whistle blows, and you know order composed this train.                                Leonard, young man of eighteen,
   History has ridden on this train and you can still see it on the walls where          made shelter beside the tracks. Shelter, that was only shelter for three years before it
   Mary M was once linked with Leonard K by a lead pencil.                               could
   Fragmented shards of yellow ochre wallpaper were once the fashion of trains           feed and clothe him. With two dollars he made a chair by the open window,
   Where Mary M and Leonard K shared their love, but the                                 watching for Mary’s face when the train whizzed past him, leaving behind
   wall was bright yellow then, and the peeling scraps we now see                        only wind and the clicking in his ears.
   were never wallpaper, but paint.                                                      Blindness later deprived Leonard of life,
   Two cents to paint one wall of a train,                                               long after Mary’s quick death in childbirth.
   money Leonard never had to pay the conductor for linking his name with Mary’s while   They left their mark on the old tourist train, the oldest one
   scratching the paint.                                                                 still standing in Canada
   And Mary, pregnant with his child, cried with her arms strung around her              where light lead marks still link Mary M with Leonard K on dying yellow ochre paint
   protruding hips as Leonard was left on the cold winter prairies for his               that is now so faint under the neoteric coat of sunshine yellow
   crime                                                                                 that it’s almost disappeared.
   watching Mary sashay away from him as this horseless carriage called train
   sped down the curving tracks.
   I’ll come back, she had said.

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                                                            Bailee Apple                                                              Reuben Gazer
                                               Grade 5, Maurice Cody P.S.                                                       Grade 5, Denlow P.S.

                               Science Test                                                          Broken Robot

                      I’ve got a science test tomorrow,                     I’m a broken robot, I run on chewed up food,
                        and I know I’m going to fail,                       I will be your servant, don’t mind if I am rude.
                    ’cause I don’t know the difference,
                         between a storm and a gale.                        I’ll bring you chips and popcorn, whatever you may need,
                                                                            And if I get too hungry, I will not beg or plead.
                           Atmosphere is boring,
                          clouds are all the same,                          Please don’t call me stupid, or take apart my head,
                          life was so much easier,                          And if you overwork me I’ll drop right into bed.
                         before science tests came.
                                                                            I may lose my balance and fall onto the floor,
                           Wind chill is useless,                           But if I’m running low on gas, I will not ask for more.
                            humidity is no fun,
                      the good thing about science…                         My vision’s vaguely blurry, I can’t tell who is who,
                           there really isn’t one.                          My joints are together loosely, for I am missing a couple of screws.

                        I’ve just completed the test,                       My voice is very squeaky, I sound quite like a mouse,
                     I’d rather have been at the mall,                      I will catch the robbers that break into your house.
                       45 minutes of doing nothing,
                              clearly says it all.                          I used to work at Burger King, I burnt a biggie fry,
                                                                            My boss went mad and fired me, then your house caught my eye.
                     Today is going to be a nightmare,
                      I’m getting my test back today,                       You seemed a little lonely, your house was such a mess,
                         I know I did really bad,                           I always have liked cleaning, this I will confess.
                             Hey, I got an “A”!
                                                                            I’m not the perfect robot, but I’ll try my best indeed,
                     Science is actually not that bad,                      I come in really handy, I’m something you might need.
                         It’s actually quite cool.
                    One thing I have to say though…                         Please treat me very gently for my body parts don’t bend,
                          MATH really drools!!!                             And as for this weird poem it is coming to an end.

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                                                         Chrystal Ung                                       Liz Irish
                                                 Grade 6, Bayview M.S.                           Grade 6, Whitney P.S.

                                    LEGO                                           Floor

                              Let it                                                  I am floor
                             bE responsible for                                      I sit strong
                       trippinG                                                       And silent
                             yOu tonight                                          I hold my pain
                                                                            I take the pounding feet
                                                                                    As they come
                                                                            I give the support I can
                                                                                 But take nothing
                                                                                I am gray and dull
                                                                         I try to keep attention away
                                                                             More attention means
                                                                                     More PAIN
                                                                           I study the soles of shoes
                                                                               They tell me about
                                                                         The people who wear them
                                                                                I am dying slowly
                                                                                   I suffer all day
                                                                                And wait for night
                                                                               When night comes
                                                                                  I am all…alone
                                                                         The scratching and tapping
                                                                             Calms and soothes me
                                                                                 Other than that,
                                                                              Silence consumes me

                                                                             Silence is my home

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                                                            Leila Kent                                                     Simon Martin
                                 Grade 7, City View Alternative School                                      Grade 4, Withrow Avenue P.S.

             Looking Down at My Own Two Feet                             Grey

                                                                         Grey is misty and sleepy.
                                                                         Grey is a dark chain in a jail cell
                                                                         and sometimes dull
                                                                         like when you sit for a long time
                                                                         and listen to a long speech.
                                                                         Grey is when you are on the beach
                                                                         looking for shells.
                                                                         Grey is a hamster on your shoulder
                                                                         rubbing its fur on you.
                                                                         Grey is when you are
                                                                         at school and you fall on a very rough surface.

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                                                          Jalani Taylor                                         Mitchell Kidd
                                                Grade 3, Shoreham P.S.                           Grade 4, Withrow Avenue P.S.

                           Blue                                           What is Orange?

                           Blue is the ocean                              Orange is a pumpkin burning bright,
                           wavy and smooth                                And when you feel all cozy and tight.
                           blue is the ocean                              Orange is a goldfish and oranges too,
                           crashing loudly and                            Juicy and tender and good to chew.
                           ripples faintly                                Orange is sunset and sunrise as well,
                           blue is the ocean                              And the flowers next to the deep, deep well.
                           salty, watery                                  Orange is a carrot for a cute little bunny
                           and fresh                                      Orange is a clown very big and funny
                           blue is the ocean                              Orange is a tiger, orange is a mango
                           cold, salty                                    Orange is a man doing the tango
                           and fishy                                      Orange is plasticine in a very tight mould,
                           Blue is the ocean for it is                    Orange is a very close relative to gold.
                           the sky

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                                                           Lex Harvey                                  Tahmina Nasserie
                                                 2e année – Immersion                             6e année – Core French
                                                Palmerston Avenue P.S.                                Dixon Grove J.M.S.

                           Les artistes                                     Les nuances de rouge

                           Matisse glisse,                                    Quand je suis gênée
                           Picasso roule,                                    Quand je suis en colère
                           Van Gogh boit du lait,                            Quand je suis frustrée
                           Monet fait une peinture,                              Quand j’ai froid
                           Miro mange des fraises,                              Quand j’ai chaud
                           Klee a laissé                                               et
                           Un dessin à la plage                          Quand je donne une présentation.
                           Degas l’a trouvé.

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                                              Shirley (Xue Zhi) Wang
                                         Grade 10, R.H. King Academy

                          The Flavour of Red
                  (dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust)

                        Flickering,                                    A city filled with silence
                        The shadows of the enemies                     Millions of souls screeching
                        Haunting                                       Bodies burnt in ovens
                        The ones alive                                 Left outside
                                                                       In the rain
                        Above the ground,                              In the wind
                        Dead bodies pile
                        Meters high                                    But no wind
                                                                       Will ever be fierce enough
                        Exposed hearts                                 To blow away
                        Covered in                                     The flavour of red
                        Pools of blood
                        The flavour of red

                        Taste it
                        It’s bitter
                        The tip of your tongue
                        Reliving the horrific moments

                        Tattooed forearms
                        Took away
                        Their dignity,
                        Bullets and poison gas
                        Have muted
                        Their lips
                        Letting out
                        Silent screams

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                                                          Matthew Beal                                      Shazia Khan
                                                      Grade 8, Essex P.S.                    Grade 3, Thorncliffe Park P.S.

                                 Opposites                                       Big and Small

                     It spreads across a forest thick,                                  Big
                   Then makes its perch atop a pole.                            dinosaurs, elephants
                      It thrashes like an angry bull,                       growing, expanding, popping
                     Then dances, a graceful cobra.                          XL , M , S , XS
                          It causes pain and grief,                          peeking, shrinking, hiding
                  Then brings forth warmth and cheer.                              ladybugs, mice
          It is found in palaces of the rich and the powerful,                         Small
       Then resides in humble homes of the poor and powerless.
                               It sustains life,
                             Then ends it slowly.

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                                                        Hunter McLellan                                   Grant Gibson
                                               Grade 6, Maurice Cody P.S.                        Grade 6, Allenby Jr. P.S.

                        My Name Means War                                   The Tower of Darkness

      My name means war, but I am beautiful.

      You would agree if you’ve ever stood at the foot of Olympus Mons,
      at the edge of Valles Marineris,
      or in the middle of one of my sandy deserts.

      My name means war, but I am peaceful.
      You may not always agree because of my many planet-wide storms,
      fierce rusty red colour, many volcanoes, and rocky terrain.

      My name means war, but I am not.
      I am beautiful and peaceful
      but sadly alone.

      I have no people, like my brother Earth.
      I am not boastfully large, like my brother Jupiter.
      I have no rings, like my brother Saturn.
      My gravity is not strong, like my brother Neptune.
      I am not cold, like my brother Pluto.
      I am not the hottest, like my sister Venus.
      I am not the closest to the Sun, like my brother Mercury.
      And I am not a beautiful aqua colour, like my brother Uranus.

      But I really shouldn’t worry,
      and I really shouldn’t fret,
      Because I am not my brothers and sisters,
      and I must never forget
      That I am me
      and always will be.

      And I am proud to be MARS!

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                                                          Jordan Burt                                         Tessa Wallace
                                               Grade 3, Gulfstream P.S.                            Grade 8, Earl Grey Sr. P.S.

           My Visit to Newfoundland                                                   Algonquin

           We went fishing almost every day                               The pine trees line your road at dusk,
           We saw boats out in the bay                                       You’ve entered birch by dawn.
           We went swimming at Comrie’s dock                                   On the road ahead of you
           We picked mussels off the rocks                                     Is a mother and her fawn.
           By the lighthouse there are icebergs in the sea
           Mazie painted pretty rocks for me                                   The icy breath of winter,
           We helped pick the weeds out of Pop’s potatoes                     The softness of the spring,
           My Pop grows carrots, onions, beets and tomatoes                  The mornings of the summer,
           At Wiseman’s Cove we had a bonfire on the shore                    When birds begin to sing.
           On our bikes we went to the store
           My Pop is a hard working man                                         Then deep in the night,
           Whenever I visit I sleep with Pop and Nan                           By the flicker of the moon
           Around the dock there are lots of fish                              The stillness only broken
           To live in Newfoundland would be my wish                            By the soft call of a loon.

                                                                                The beaver slaps his tail,
                                                                               If you dare to get too near,
                                                                                 Warning other beavers,
                                                                                 To paddle away in fear.

                                                                               The beauty lasts for miles,
                                                                               In the silence of the dark.
                                                                                The beauty lasts forever,
                                                                                   In Algonquin park.

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                                                   Georgi Georgievski                              Plarentina Zymeri
                                               Grade 8, Westwood M.S.                          Grade 4, Shoreham P.S.

                                Macedonia                               Moving to Canada

                                                                        Moving to Canada
                                                                        A lot of work
                                                                        Packing and leaving
                                                                        So many things and our home

                                                                        Moving to Canada
                                                                        The airport
                                                                        Planes in the sky
                                                                        Boarding and leaving
                                                                        The country, my home, my things,
                                                                        So sad
                                                                        As we lifted up
                                                                        I took my country in my heart

                                                                        Moving to Canada
                                                                        A tall tower
                                                                        A new school
                                                                        A new home
                                                                        O Canada, my heart is crowded

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                                                        Malasay Yonis                                Nikola Bukvic
                                        Grade 8, Samuel Hearne Sr. P.S.                    Grade 7, Islington J.M.S.

                            The Barber Shop                                 Self-Portrait

               On it goes,
               Off it goes,
               The buzzing surprisingly pauses.
               I see the scissors substituting,
               From my position.
               Snip, snip, clip, clip.
               I see the comb being picked up,
               Overtaking the scissors’ position.
               I wait for my turn,
               But it never comes.
               The barber and the customer leave the room,
               Not forgetting to turn out the lights.
               I sit there for the entire night
               Since I must,
               Because I am the shaver.

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                                                      Penelope Osterman                                 Dylan Loo-Maurelli
                                                  6e année – Core French            Grade 7, Duke of Connaught Jr. & Sr. P.S.
                                                             Rosedale P.S.

                                   À la plage                                      Summer School

           En automne, je joue à la plage et…                                           It’s pretty dull
           Je vois les mouettes blanches qui volent.                           It’s so hot, boiling my brains
           J’entends le bébé mignon qui crie.                                All I had to do was a bit of math
           Je sens les poissons violets qui nagent.                              But because I watched t.v.
           Je touche la méduse qui pique.                                       I failed English and Biology
           …à la plage amusante de l’automne.                                     So I’m stuck in this room
                                                                                    Listening to this robot
           En hiver, je patine à la plage et…                                         In summer school
           Je vois la belle neige blanche.
           J’entends le vent froid qui siffle.
           Je touche la glace très dure.
           …à la plage gelée de l’hiver.

           Au printemps, je nage à la plage et…
           Je vois les enfants qui font un château de sable.
           J’entends le pistolet d’eau.
           Je sens la nourriture délicieuse.
           Je touche le sable très doux.
           …à la plage dorée du printemps.

           En été, je plonge dans l’océan et…
           Je vois le dauphin qui saute dans la mer.
           J’entends la grande baleine qui nage avec les poisssons.
           Je sens l’eau salée.
           Je touche la tortue qui est calme et gracieuse.
           …dans l’océan profond de l’été.

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                                                                Ajla Mehic                                                   Basma Chamas
                                                       Grade 2, Secord E.S.                                           5e année – Core French
                                                                                                                               Ranchdale P.S.

                           Imagine a Night…                                                    Notre amie, la nature

                             When you can swim                                Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                       Like a mermaid and have a pet                          C’est un arbre vert.
                                  Dolphin!                                    Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                        You can go hunting for shells                         C’est une fleur rouge pour toi!
                          And breathe under water                             Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                          It could be bubbling fun!                           C’est un lapin endormi sous l’arbre.
                                                                              Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                                                                              C’est un ruisseau qui coule à travers la forêt.
                                                                              Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                                                                              C’est un oiseau qui vole dans le ciel bleu.
                                                                              Qu’est-ce que c’est?
                                                                              C’est la nature, notre amie!
                                                                              Merci beaucoup pour la nature.

      100   Urban Voices • L’écho de la ville   2004                                                Urban Voices • L’écho de la ville   2004    101

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