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Lawrence House Uproar Group Presents A Beat Inspired Open Mic

“None of us understand what we’re doing, but we do beautiful things anyway.” ― Allen Ginsberg The beat generation changed the world in their honest attempt at expressing their lived experiences. For August’s First Friday, August 5 from 6:00 – 8:00 pm, please join us in the courtyard of the Lawrence House for a sign-up

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Re-wilding

letting trees grow unchecked runs counter to our quest for order weeds in front lawns meet disapproval and pink work-orders from city council prodded by offended neighbours the weed-and-feed crowd, who stroll past our wilderness, noses pointed skywards, unobservant of the inhabitants of our park easier to love our yard in summer when all visible

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Morning Miracles

slender moon spills milk at mother’s feet as peacocks’ rustle settles into silence yesterday’s mandarin sun swung low and lush lingers on earthen floor offers tender warmth jasmine scent casts a spell on those asleep mouths open like half blooms mother throws handfuls of grain to rooftop skirmish of feathers and vibrant plumes daybreak crouches

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Tree of Life

  a tree is planted humble and graceful it stands, boughs stretch upwards as roots grasp earth’s rich, dark soil the eternal foothold that breathes new life awakening buds blossom eager to bask beneath sunlight’s warm rays and misty morning showers slender limbs unfold into nature’s sanctuary where squirrels scurry and bird’s nest among weathered,

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in metamorphosis

  the Buddha says everything changes: spring light widens into evening, snow falls, melts, falls again, a caterpillar chews through leaves, becomes sole occupant of chrysalis as if taking back misspoken words, transforming curses from turgid grubs into yellow-dotted fritillary fleetness in metamorphosis, speech opens, thoughts are butterflied, and eye and silent tongue in mouth

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Conceive of a Circle

In the palm of my hand, I hold seeds: vervain, hyssop, bergamot, vetiver, elegant signatures in ink, as yet invisible. I take every care as they grow, every gentleness, moving them to slowly larger pots. From the beginning, each are distinct, each particular in its gesture, pattern, order, color; each scent, its own elusive landscape;

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Theme Issue #10

We’re pleased to present seven selected pieces reflecting a range of departures, from dreamt to remembered to acutely felt: relationships, life cycles, memory itself. We thank everyone who submitted and look forward to future submissions. Click on the link to go directly to the following poems: Josie Di Sciascio-Andrews, “Leaving”  https://lawrencehouse.ca/leaving/ ‎ Joseph a farina,

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Leaving

Leaving We are so much like the trees. We mistake their stasis for imprisonment. Our mobility for freedom. But we too are deeply rooted. Bound in place. Conglomerates of electrons. Atoms spinning ghost-like Within the predetermined orbits Of our hearts’ metaphysics. On the door of my house There are no metal bars. Unlike the trees,

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departures in the rain

departures in the rain almost broke down almost spoke your name she was on the cross town bus wearing her hair like yours stopped at erie and ouelette as i walked by one misted night in windsor under a winter rain— she was sitting by the window half obscured by condensation her breath visible like

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In Memory of My Memory

In Memory of My Memory Okay, so this happened on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Wait… Was it Monday? What day is it? It was Sunday. Yes, it was Sunday because Sunday means I get to drive up north and say hi to the maple trees. I like trees. They are nice neighbours. They are always standing

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