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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.
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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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.
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 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 growing up;
I can be communicated through.
I am a sanctuary:
I always provide a private space,
For being alone;
I can be depended on.
I am a necessity:
I welcome visitors many dozen times a day,
I can be lifesaving.
Now, after all that service,
Couldn’t one expect
A little more appreciation,
Not to mention some respect?
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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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.
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
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.
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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
The tip of your tongue
Reliving the horrific moments
Bullets and poison gas
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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
Planes in the sky
Boarding and leaving
The country, my home, my things,
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.
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
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.
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