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Poetry

Richard L. Provencher

Richard L. Provencher
Richard L. Provencher
was born in Rouyn-Noranda, Quebec . He is the author of a poetry chapbook, In the Light of Day. His first adult novel, Footprints, co-written with his wife, Esther, is now available from www.synergebooks.com Richard's poems and stories are in various journals, including Verse Libre Quarterly, Poems Niederngasse and The Danforth Review. He lives in Truro, Nova Scotia.


A Balance of Opinion

is writing about bears and
feathery friends, humans too.
Also fine words award
recognition in the value
of a beautiful land

misshapen clouds, dew from
morning’s calm demanding space
in the world of muses

rabbits, beaver, eagles and
an army of crawling,
scurrying, trotting subjects
upon which to expand. I include
all in the repertoire of my
literary pronouncements. So

let the eagle screech from ridges
high, down to a lower level
where chick-a-dees chant
familiar songs:

Chick-a-dee-dee-dee
Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.







Sidewalk Encounter

“Got a light mister?”
you fumbled in my direction, cig
dangling from your lips.

“Don’t smoke,” I said warily.

“Got a quarter for a cup of coffee
then?” you asked.

“What kinds of coffee do you
get for a quarter?” I questioned loudly.

“I’m a Canadian,” you said. “And
I’m not crazy either.”

You took notice of the hard
stare I gave, me dressed in a nice
hat, trousers & jacket, wife
clutching at my arm, nervous
you in ragged clothes, second hand?
I don’t know.

“I’m just standing here bud,
looking at your face.”

My thoughts
rambled, nerves crawling
down my leg.

“Don’t give me no lecture,” you
sneered, green teeth & hair awry,
dangerously close to my face.
Then we stood back from the edge
both glad to be on our way.







Swimming in Sentiment

My heart is a lyre, plucking
stories from TV’s
medium of anguish --

Taliban ferment in Afghanistan
Rebels in the Congo,
Terrorists on Malaysian soil
a sniper
in Maryland, USA.
And havoc
within the cities of Iraq.

Tormented people are
not diminished
their lives a testament to my
thoughts --

I feel anguish within those
tortured faces,
victims of Columbia drug wars
failures in food shortages
and escape from Ethiopia’s
drought.

Tired souls possess a
passion for survival,
capturing mice for food
on the barrens of Afghanistan,
fish in the harsh distance of
Arctic north, and holding
one another during Tsumani’s rage.

And I am in bondage to their spirit.




Contents: Nov'08-Jan'09


Fiction

Matt Thomas
Unwelcome Warmth

Maik Nwosu
In the Time of His Excellency

Alistair Daniel
Exemplum Decori

James Warner
Believe What You Read About the Wodderin

Brenda Marder
Saving New Bedford from Cossachs

Mark Staniforth
Zatopek’s Breakfast



Poetry
(by)


William Thien

Richard Provencher

Geraldine Walsh


Feature/Essay

Ashley Taggart
Art and a Multicultural Ireland


Interview

Caryl Phillips


FRANkly Speaking!

Xclusive Cartoon
G8 Promises For Africa

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The moral right of the Author has been asserted. The material in the Dublin Quarterly is published with the kind permission of its author/owner and is for private use only. Under no circumstance should it be put to other uses without the express permission of the author. See Terms & Conditions


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