Photo by Lois Nantais
The Lawrence House is pleased to announce the launch of their Literary Blog Uproar. Uproar invites writers of all experience levels to submit their works written in consideration of our monthly theme. This allows participants to reflect, discuss, question, network, and perhaps, cause an Uproar. Uproar is run by The Lawrence House’s Literary Committee comprised
Uproar is now accepting submissions for their October 2020 theme “Fears”. As always, authors are encouraged to explore the theme in away that is meaningful to them. You may submit your writing here: https://lawrencehouse.ca/uproar/theme/
Fear could be a monster under your bed A scary movie Stuck in your head Fear could be trying something new The one opportunity That’s only up to you Fear could be no money in the account Bills to pay, mouths to feed But no dollar amount Fear could be not wanting to be alone
Uproar is now accepting submissions for their October 2020 theme “Fears”. As always, authors are encouraged to explore the theme in away that is meaningful to them. You may submit your writing here: https://lawrencehouse.ca/uproar/theme/
Setting Up A Classroom During A Pandemic Perhaps I’ll wipe down some textbooks, hardcover ones like Bones, Dog Man, Diary of A Wimpy Kid the ones kids read over and over, the ones they will protest being put in quarantine jail before someone else can read it again. Cleanliness, distance and time. Spacing between desks.
Waking Up To Changes Every other day was the same Until the opening of school came Now it was time to start a new game Its time to ignite like a flame Now it’s back to school We are going to follow a lot of rules In school, we are going to need a lot
School and Season Changes By: Raveena Duggal Walking into school, You feel a warm breeze, Everyone is wearing masks, Scared and yet excited. Students are back in routine, Their knowledge grows, Hand sanitizer is everywhere, The warm air turns cold, Snowflakes are falling, Students have lots of fun, Snow brings laughter, But soon flowers will
Restless night, I lie awake, jitters for what tomorrow brings Morning rush, a bite of food, not nearly enough to sink in A new dress and shoes, my book bag full, but I’m left empty still this time Will they see me as I want, or will I just blend in? New faces smiling, others
Essential Work What work is mine? Offering my full cornucopia, cut from leg of sacrificial lamb? Allowing my rounded fruit to be cupped squeezed, peeled bruising concealed? Resurrecting the ole iron lung, its dependable clatter, the work of being essential noise for those needing reminders of the sweetness of breathing on our own without effort.
From Pyre to Ash: A Teacher’s Duty I’m sorry but I can’t write a poem about going back to school. My pandemic mind is a closet with twenty years of chaos. Unkempt as it is, everything will fall. My job is to hoard piles of artifacts – the art of facts: the tests, markers and
Perceived through hazel eyes. Felt with every beat of your bleeding heart. Lessons taught with every bloom to closing chapter, turning petals in between. Checkpoints of soul’s journey. Insight mirroring truths for evolving essence. A flock of birds feathered with love, change, growth, gratitude. A travel holding you hostage, no direction or destination until you
shattered no one looks at her as she walks to school uniformed, books clutched to her chest passing cars, pedestrians see past her through her she is unremarkable she is scenery. each step to her destination an effort not to turn and run sheer force of will her only glue to hold together her plain
fledge each first day of school we stood beside you waiting for the yellow bus to take you there. we knew you would return our ache temporary. no more busses stop here today we stand beside your car packed with everything that is you this place no longer serves your dreams we each whisper unspoken
A is for Apple Anomalies i) He surprises her with bruised apple poised center stage on her classroom desk hopes the forbidden fruit ferments stirs his classmates into hysterics. Mirror, mirror, in his hand! This university student with gelled raven hair. His mischievous grin, gold-tipped and wide like an unzipped backpack when he sees her.
Uproar is now accepting submissions for the September 2020 theme. The next theme is “Back To School.” A very hot topic these days! There are many ways to approach this theme: pieces about going back to school, back to work, back to routine pieces about childhood memories of school days or childhood in general pieces about
Pump It was an anonymous part of the present. It bore imprints of percolating gears enmeshed into a tentative wheel that turned back the tap of hours streaming, streaming, at the end of a handle – a tear-like dream, a sadness in uproar.
Slammed into submission by an exercise for the masses. However, we weren’t told. So, confusion, Fear and hopelessness became the new reality. It became disclosure an awakening… a viewpoint a dissimilar perspective. Astonished to see a herd structure, born out of vulnerability and naivety. Slave to the aperture of a narrative that is deceitful and
I am happy to go back in school, a whole new school year awaits. I am excited to see what it brings, so let’s hear that school bell ring! School is going to be so different! Teachers are wearing masks, my friends are wearing masks. It will feel different doing any task! There may be
New Beginnings By: Raveena Duggal It starts off silent, there isn’t a person in sight. Then you hear a small creak, hope rises instead of despair. The sound of the earth awakening, the music of people’s voices surrounds you with open doors. New beginnings await! The economy is slowly rising, places are opening up. The
In A Mist it is the day after and I phone wanting to say a new song has nudged into place though my children play off-key tunes in the other half of my house I phone with all my senses jazzed by the gift of touch that foggy cornet a symphony by Bix Beiderbecke your
Words to Pandora Pandora, All-Gifted One, woman of clay, created to be the instrument of Zeus’ revenge, fashioned from the gods’ misogyny, robed by Athena for your mission on earth, I celebrate your worthy curiosity. Whether that closed container held the ills of the world which you released or good things that escaped, you did
The Cruellest Blade “might I cling to the blade of the hour as does the stick-brown bone and may I mark the milkweed’s state of mind” – Walking Bethany Hills Approaching Devil’s Elbow by John B. Lee Perhaps I should leave these walls, decorative box wrapped up in brick and window, well-worn faces fogging up