Poetry Trail: Community Poems & Responses

Poetry Trail Prompt Locations

• Queen Elizabeth Promenade

  

  Photo submitted by Anonymous
  

  Untitled by Annie Mannion

  Wind on waves ripple Sunset over mountains streak Pink purple red gold
  

  

  Untitled by Anonymous

  Growing/Getting Older is something I used to witness
  The lines on faces of loved ones and role models sinking into their bones
  The slowness of their steps
  

  Their Parkinsons, Fibromyalgia, or Alcoholism narrowing the
  Horizons of how a story that once contained hope can be drained of it
  to a banal and depressing finale
  

  Older is something I used to witness and fear
  I would promise it never happening to me like
  I could will myself through fear to be dead or famous by 17
  

  Older is something I used to witness but now I understand more clearly
  I couldn’t understand that it would take chronic pain to make me grateful for sleep
  I never thought being in a wheelchair would
  Make me more grateful for the times when I could use my feet
  

  Older is something I used to witness and fear
  But It’s starting to feel okay
  Walking this path and wishing for older with every passing day

  

  Between Houses, Between Hearts by Joel Eschbach

  I’ve been walking this city

  like a man learning the weather of his own life.

  Some mornings I wake grounded,

  some mornings I wake shaking,

  but every day I take another step

  toward the version of me

  who doesn’t carry the whole house on his back.

  
  

  My family is in transition—

  not the glossy kind you see in movies,

  but the real kind,

  the kind with bowls of oatmeal,

  old patterns,

  late-night texts,

  and the sharp quiet of people trying their best

  even when none of us know what “best” is.

  
  

  My brother comes over

  with his questions about dinner

  and life

  and how to get through another afternoon.

  He’s been helped his whole life—

  I haven’t.

  And somehow we meet in the middle anyway,

  in the small things,

  in breakfasts built from one simple routine,

  in singing together in my living room

  even when the energy is low

  and neither of us knows what comes next.

  
  

  I pray for compassion.

  I pray for patience.

  I pray to guide him

  with simple, steady words

  instead of exhaustion.

  I pray to stay grounded

  without giving more than I can give.

  And I pray to remember

  it’s not his fault,

  just like it wasn’t mine,

  just like it wasn’t theirs—

  we were all trying so hard

  to keep the roof from collapsing.

  
  

  This season feels like leaving one life

  and entering another

  with the lights still flickering.

  Some days I’m strong;

  some days I crumble;

  some days the gut pain reminds me

  that healing comes in waves,

  not in straight lines.

  
  

  But each night

  I fall into a rhythm—

  a little music,

  a little stretching,

  a little faith

  that tomorrow I’ll move better

  than I moved today.

  
  

  And each day

  I watch my brother take one more step

  toward something that looks like living,

  not just surviving.

  
  

  Between houses,

  between hearts,

  between what we were

  and what we’re becoming,

  I’m learning that family

  is not about perfection—

  it’s about presence.

  
  

  It’s about walking through Nanaimo

  with a tired body

  and a hopeful spine,

  feeling the sun for a moment,

  journaling in a café,

  watching the ocean

  and remembering:

  
  

  This is a transition,

  not an ending.

  This is a soft rebuild.

  This is how healing sounds

  when you speak it aloud.

  
  

  And somewhere between

  the place I came from

  and the place I’m going,

  I’m learning to love my family

  in ways I never knew how to before—

  slowly, gently,

  and one grounded breath at a time.

  

  Untitled by Anonymous

  In the vastness of this life, 

  All things shift and rearrange, 

  How could I foolishly expect 

  My world would stay unchanged? 

  I turn with every season, 

  Change is all I come to know, 

  As the river carves the mountain, 

  Fresh with every onward flow. 

  I am earthbound, yet becoming, 

  Like the caterpillar’s flight, 

  Like the seed that splits in darkness 

  Reaching upward for the light. 

  I am a pilgrim, ever searching, 

  Lost and found along the way, 

  Woven in the mesh of wonder, 

  Dawn and dusk in endless play. 

  In this riddle of existence, 

  No answer can be drawn, 

  Like the ocean’s dance with moon and sun, 

  I rise, I fall, I journey on.

  

  Sonnet on fleetingness by Miranda Sepos

  The surface is dappled with light fragments;

  Opal ripples adorn my submerged skin.

  Drifting amidst scarce clouds, all but stagnant,

  I feel the ice thawing, melting within.

  Lit up, inside and out, with a blinding,

  dazzling gaze, settled on me by gold,

  and with all uncertainty unwinding,

  It's hard to believe I was ever cold.

  Then at once a shadow obscures the sun,

  I’m plunged into a familiar chill.

  The gilded rays of which I was once one,

  No longer dance upon slight waves turned still.

  The cradle of Summer taken from me,

  And the past warmth a faded memory.

  

  Thanksgiving Day, 2025 by Anonymous

  So much has changed in a year
  But then, not much at all
  On the outside, it looks the same
  Single, renting, working the same job
  Always trying to make sense of who and what I am
  But on the inside, so much has shifted
  Grown
  Broke free
  Torn off
  Started new
  I am more settled
  Bones adjusted to this new gait
  Heart mending
  Head clearer I am making big decisions
  And finally trusting myself to make them
  That is huge change and growth
  I’m not allowing fear to keep me silent
  Keep me small and still
  I am using my voice
  And not just occasionally when I have the nerve
  Using it more and more often it feels leas uncomfortable now
  Not an ease yet
  But like any muscle when you exercise it
  It will grow
  So I’m exercising my voice
  Speaking of my needs
  My desires
  My dreams
  Becoming the woman I have always written about
  And I finally realize I am the heroine of my own story

  

  The ballad of the ocean and me by Brandon Mainwaring

  How the world looks strange when land is out of range 

  And you’ve sailed past the chart’s edge 

  There's no dispute, you are still on route 

  So don't bother trying to drop the kedge 

  The ocean’s swell, every rise and fell 

  Circulates fresh adrenaline 

  Sea spray on my face starts to displace 

  Any doubts had of a grin 

  As the wind drives through across the ocean blue 

  The waves accumulate 

  Clouds start to form approaching the Horn 

  Moving at a swift rate 

  From what they say this is no place to stay 

  When the storms come to pass 

  You'll get bashed around never to be found 

  So you’d better haul some ass 

  You turn to your mate for you'll share the same fate 

  So ensure there's nothing loose to be found 

  Once the ship’s secure you pray to her 

  Through the storm’s deafening sound 

  Deliver this boat, let it still be afloat 

  To a safe refuge or bay 

  I've done all I can, this wasn't the plan 

  I wasn't ready for this type of ballet 

  You'll find no reprieve in tumultuous seas 

  As you dance along each crest 

  As time ticks on and fatigue hits strong 

  Struggling to get any rest 

  Concentration lapses, slipping your grasp 

  Nearly sent you in the drink 

  A second wind builds from within 

  Your thoughts still remain on the brink. 

  Is that clear sky or has my mind slipped by 

  As I turn her head through the breeze 

  It appears to be true, the sky is turning blue 

  Riding the new course with ease 

  Through each deep trough, waves cascading aloft 

  Trying to break from the storm 

  In search of fairer seas to cruise with ease 

  This dance I will no longer perform 

  Courses may change and routes may rearrange 

  But a soul will not stray 

  It'll be drawn in by what makes it grin 

  Starting with the sun's ray 

  So follow your smile, it might take a while 

  You'll be amazed at where it leads 

  So alter course, pursue the source 

  Get after what your heart needs. 

  How the world looks strange when land is out of range 

  And you've sailed past the chart’s edge 

  There's no dispute, you are still on route 

  So don't bother trying to drop the kedge 

  The ocean’s swell, every rise and fell 

  Circulates fresh adrenaline 

  Sea spray on my face starts to displace 

  Any doubts had of a grin.

  

  waves of change by Laura Kelsey

  
  

  waves are walking

  in the harbour, then pushed

  to a run by the wind

  
  

  jumping against

  the rocky bank, focused

  to erode and smooth

  

  Untitled by Aimee Chalifoux

  Last night I sat with the moon and the stars

  I told them the truth about how I feel

  Moon said, I know my girl,  but what will you do

  Holding that in, isn’t helping you heal

   

  The stars gently agreed and whispered to me

  Silly girl, you only live once, what is there to fear?

  Just speak your truth, before you change your mind 

  You can’t remain a ghost, year after year

   

  I picked up a shell and saw that it was empty

  Like this shell,  I no longer have a song 

  I once was fullfilled and I wasn’t so alone 

  My heart had fire, but time has done me wrong 

   

  Moon sighed as the stars gently shifted, the waves began to crash 

  “ take a breath, let hope take root where you stand ‘

  I took a  big breath and jumped into the water 

  Just then I woke up , and you were holding my hand

• Harbourfront

  

  Untitled by Anonymous

  Roses are red violets are blue what a fun sign look at the view

  

  Untitled by Kai

  Be like water I am selfish, unpredictable, and loved by most, though they've only seen me in pictures. I sometimes feel I am not that important, though I hold vast secrets. I am the distance, for which only imagination sees across unless fear knows no bounds. When used properly, I have many purposes. I entertain brave new worlds and feed the locals of many lands. So much mystery, beauty, yet mostly cold and unbearable, is my blood. I am always changing; my voice the tide, smashing or retreating at my own schedule. I am unpredictable and loved by most, though they've never seen me. Spend some time as and say hello as my waters travel around your island. Throw me a stone and watch my ripple. I don't stop moving and you shouldn't either. Be like water.

  

  Untitled by Nicole Annette Blanchard

  A sharp chill and quiet whooshing traffic on the trail I have walked so many times. Grey and dark and hushed with a heron resting inconspicuously.

  My emotions and thoughts swirl like the tide here in this place. This wonderful cold, beautiful mysterious water friend full of life and movement and new beginnings.

• Bing Kee Trail

  

  Nature Feeds Freshness of the Soul by K.F. 

  I am without family on these chilled nightly walks 

  Stepping from patches under light to slippery dark spots 

  I tried loving my Mom, Dad, and sad older brother 

  But, there was quickness for friction 

  The heaviness causes attrition 

  I usually look downwards as I walk, but now and again my head raises slightly 

  Eager to hear the patter of the rain that helps my spirits relax lightly 

  The air could not be fresher thanks to trees strong and stoic 

  Our Earth gives to us freely and is truly heroic

  

  Untitled by Anonymous

  The woods pump blood through my heart in places where the moon knows ferns and the moss sleeps green and lively in this long night tree branches, their arc bending to me with their needles, bark shelter woodlice blood crawls through secret pathways where the stars have forgotten summer bones and shells rest in beds of ancient forest shreds and all the whirling mad richness of life pauses heaves up sings a gentle wintry song of how their sap, their seeds go on and on and on
  

• Other

  Carousel at Buttertubs March by Tom Grauman

  Issuing puffs of steam in the morning chill, a calliope of red wing blackbirds pulls out all stops.  
  Their human audience circles the marsh  
  Soaring and dipping on the undulating path  
  The travelers push through cotton candy clotheslines strung by enterprising spiders  
  Doilies to be hung in anticipation of high tea  
  A constellation of mayflies dance, untroubled by a living asteroid hurtling through.  
  Brightly painted scenes accompany the travelers.  
  Corrugated by wind, water mirrors the sky.  
  The engine room is sunken under the infield of circus maximus.  
  Swallows wheel on vaporous arcs, daredevils in an aerial skatepark winging on fickle currents, gyroscopes locked in steely resolve.  
  Grampa Te’tuxwtun sits motionless on basalt haunches  
  Gliding on tectonic plates, innards pulsing like fireflies.  
  From his lap, the Millstone River spills to the marsh and beyond to pat the heads of Grampa’s precocious children.  
  Dizzied by their orbits, centripetal forces escort the patrons to the waiting embrace of their sun warmed cars while the world rotates on its wobbly axis.  
  The disc of the night sky spins on its turntable.  
  With carnival revelers tucked away, the graveyard shift slips into gear making rounds, probing the fastness of doors. 

  Time by Kay Morton

  That’s what I’m doing, one day at a time

  That’s what I’m doing, with this life of mine

  Living and breathing, and passing the time

  So much to live for

  But time passes by

  Trying to smile, but starting to cry

  I’ve lived a full life and that’s all I can do

  Nowhere to go and nothing to do

  Time marches on

  and time passes by

  and sooner or later

  We all have to die

  

  Our First Anniversary by Kay Morton

  The greatest story ever told

  Is when I said I love you

  The greatest story ever told

  Is when you said “I do”

  It doesn’t seem so long ago

  When we stood side by side

  And I heard the Minister say to you

  Do you take this Woman for your Bride

  You looked at me and smiled and said “I do”

  I looked at you and winked my eye

  And said “Me Too”

  And though it’s just one year ago

  When we started our life as two

  I take this opportunity to say

  Happy Anniversary to you

  

  Portrait on the Wall by Kay Morton

  I look at the wall, and what do I see

  I look at the wall, there’s a portrait of me

  It’s a young girl I see, with a tear in my eye

  It’s a young girl I see, there’s a portrait of me

  I try to remember, the things in the past

  I try to remember, but the vision doesn’t last

  I think of the good times, when we were young and so gay

  The picture gets blurry, the past fades away

  and now there’s a woman, she’s not young anymore

  I think of a man, the one I adore

  Life is like a book you can’t erase

  It’s all the good times and bad, through the years you have faced

  When you turn all the pages, it’s as clear as a ball

  What fate has in store, you never can tell

  And I look at this portrait of me on the wall

  I hold my head high, and I walk very tall

  For what is a woman if she can’t face the past

  The memories she had they always will last

  And I don’t feel so young, or so old you might say

  I just go on living, day after day