A Literary Arts Journal • Un journal des arts litéraux
FEATURING / EN VEDETTE Louis Carmel - Gilles Chiasson - Dana Friend Judy Minderman - Richard Diraddo - Renée Drouin Rhona Green - Janek Adams - Noel Neil Marlon Evans Francis Marquis - Susana Marquez - Eric Gee Silverman Nick Serjeantson - Lesia Charko - Ester Cabrita
Volume 3, Issue 2 : CHILDHOOD • 2e édition, volume 3 : ENFANCE
From the Editors In honour of the theme of childhood the editors have written reflections on childhood, accompanied by an image of their superhero, monster under the bed, or younger self.
Robert
Janek
Rhona
Noel
Gilles
Noel: As you get older you take on more and more things that you totally dislike, but you are much quicker because you know a lot of things; you have a lot of wisdom. Robert: Best thing I can say about my childhood is that I survived it, but I empathize with kids now that I am far removed from it. I feel like I understand them better than most adults.
Judy
Rhona: I’m so glad childhood is over. It wasn’t easy. There was no place for me to go, I was stuck. I ran to the library and lived in a fantasy land. Judy: I work with two or three year olds and they have really beautiful souls. When you get to know them, they just have so much love to give. They don’t care how much money you have or what you look like or your race or religion. If you are good to them, if you love them, they just love you for who you are.
Susana
Janek: When I was growing up, emotions were much stronger. When you’re happy, you are really happy. Disappointments are greater disappointments. You get blunted as you get older. Susana: Les odeurs des bois dans l'atelier de mon grand-père, tout ça, a nourrit le fond de mon âme et m'a remplie de joie pour m'aider à oublier la misère et les fatigues. Gilles: Picking raspberries until our fingers and lips were red with laughter. At night we would dream of fresh ways to have fun.
Nick
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Nick: Childhood is something we all need to keep within us so that we can continue to live fully as adults. I once saw this very nicely dressed woman, wearing a dress and high heels, but she was just sitting down playing with her son. It really struck me.
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Contents From the Editors
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Contents
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Âme Consolatrice / Louis Carmel
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Carl / Susana Marquez
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Primary Colour Playground / Nick Serjeantson
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Tomorrow / Gilles Chiasson
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Plage / Susana Marquez
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I Love Playing Pool / Noel Neil Marlon Evans
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Untitled / Rhona Green
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Panthers / Noel Neil Marlon Evans
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Of Boys and Trains / Gilles Chiasson
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Childhood is Not Always Puppy Dogs and Sweet Times / Judy Minderman 16-18 Black Bottles / Renée Drouin
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Le monde de Susana / Susana Marquez
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Dust Bunnies / Lesia Charko
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Gifts to the Children We Used to Be
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Joie de vivre / Francis Marquis
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A Note to Daddy / Renée Drouin
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Untitled / Eric Gee Silverman
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The Best Summer of My Life / Gilles Chiasson
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My Bed is Lost at Camp / Nick Serjeantson
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The Look of Love / Noel Neil Marlon Evans
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Pud / Richard Diraddo
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The Truth about Goldilocks / Nick Serjeantson
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A Tick-Toc Tale / Dana Friend
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Bubbles for Your Troubles / Dana Friend
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Baby Bear / Judy Minderman
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South American Lady and Child / Judy Minderman
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Tia Vitoria / Ester Cabrita
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Submissions / Ads / Thanks
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FRONT COVER: Three Swings, edited photographs, by Nick Serjeantson BACK COVER: Lamp 2, pencil drawing, by Janek Adams ERRATA: In Buoy Volume 3, Issue 1, the poem attributed to Louis Carmel was by Mario Godin and the cover art was Please Help Us, digital art by Judy Minderman. Apologies for these oversights.
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Ame Consolatrice Qui êtes-vous? Âme confidente, Âme d’une tendresse Plus vaste que le ciel. Vous pour qui Mon coeur n’est pas mystère, Vous qui m’élevez Vers la sagesse et l’écoute des secrets. Je vous louange Du don de vie dont, À votre rencontre je puisse Un nouveau souffle. Vous qui connaissez L’alphabet de mon âme, Votre voix est un psalmodie Telle la source D’une lumière apaisante… LOUIS CARMEL
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Carl, painting, by Susana Marquez
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Primary colour playground, edited photograph, by Nick Serjeantson
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Tomorrow London Jo knew how to play inside of my heart A place reserved for the ecstasy of childhood Where climbing trees and running rivers Take up whole days Watching clouds turn into the toys of our souls Swinging from ropes Chasing moths in fields of sugar bush and dandelions Collecting pebbles that glittered like the diamonds In a pail where her tears got away It was a time when kissing was awkward But holding hands made me weep with happiness Dancing sweetly to Ring Around The Rosie Finding new places to call our make believe home By the old Coca Cola company Picking raspberries until our fingers and lips were red with laughter At night we would dream of fresh ways to have fun When the sun came up over the Turcotte Yards again
GILLES CHIASSON
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Plage Chère plage de mon premier baiser Si je ne retourne pas, Ce n’est pas que je t’ai oubliée C’est parce que j’ai voyagée Comme Abraham je suis immigrée Sans le prévoir j’ai quitté cet espace Bénie Pour parcourir mon temps sans intervalle En cherchant aveuglement mon individualitée petite En enfant de la guerre, je suis tombée dans mille pièges de l’enfer De la terre je me suis trouvée dans le labyrinthe des gens pressés Et puis, l’auteur de ce baisé m’a dit : qui prend mari, prend pays La tête pleine des rêves la première j’ai plongée Plongée, plongée dans l’abysse si profond que je ne vu plus de lumière Sans oxygène dans ce parcours de noirceur infini J’ai perdu mon souffle peu a peu j'ai perdu mes forces M’obligeant ce courant si fort à oublier mon passé Qui ne plus revenu, scellé enfermé pour l'eternité Me noyant dans la mer de mes larmes je me croyais morte Dans ce froid glacial de ma solitude Mon cœur congelé et ma peau ratatinée Au creux de mon ventre un grand vide perduré Mon âme toute entière n’était qu’une plaie Le vent et les vagues ramenèrent sur des rives certaines Les épaves de mon esprit naufragé En écoutant une vielle chanson démodée à la radio aujourd’hui Ma nature obstinée sournoisement s’est faufilée dans mes souvenirs enfuis Qui entier sans poussière ni dommages Ce frugal et doux sentiment d’amour est resté depuis, Protégé par mes anges dans le jardin de mon innocence Quand tu m'a soufflé à l'ouïe: Je t'aime à la folie
SUSANA MARQUEZ
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I Love Playing Pool At an early age (I would say about seven), Me and a few friends were in seventh heaven. I started to learn how to play the game. As for mistakes, I have no one but myself to blame. The game of pool is not so hard, practice a few and they would sink like heavy lard. There are six holes to be exact, to side pockets, sometimes I would shoot to these holes like rockets. The other shot is for four other pockets – the corner holes, it leaves the other players standing like totem poles. Eight ball in the corner pocket and I think, I made the greatest shot without even a blink. The best game in the world and I am almost done. Twice I called “safe” but I finally made it and was gone. I planned on going outside in the wonderful bright sun After playing a game of pool. It was a lot of fun.
NOEL NEIL MARLON EVANS
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Untitled Everything was cut off When I was a kid dance and piano lessons I was 8 I saw my big belly in the mirror dancing in a sky blue and white tie-dye bodysuit I never practiced piano Mr. Mergler used to pick up my offensive pinkie and hoist it in the air I used to lie on the blue crushed velvet couch feeling wronged RHONA GREEN
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Panthers, painting, by Noel Neil Marlon Evans
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Childhood is Not Always Puppy Dogs and Sweet Times Some childhoods are sad and best forgotten. Anne’s was one of those. Childhood is not always puppy dogs and sweet times. Anne was very, very shy as a child. But being shy as a kid is difficult, because it can be noticed by peers and makes a child a prime target for bullies. Anne was fine until she was five years old. She spent her days with her mom Grace. Her mom was pretty much her only friend. Anne’s dad was not really there for her as he was an alcoholic. Anne had one sister, Ellen, who was 3 years younger.
There were only babysitters. But many moms were stay at home moms and Grace did stay at home at the beginning. School turned out to be a nightmare for Anne. On the first day she could not abide being separated from her mom. She cried and panicked on that first day and could not pull away from Grace. It was a long process, but eventually Grace was able to leave and go home. But Anne was so shy and felt devastated and could not relate at all to the other kids. THE BULLY
Now in most classes there is always one kid who notices who does not fit in and who stands out. There was one boy who knew, even at five, that he could take advantage of Anne’s situation. When the time for recess came, Anne had her head down, and was so sad that she could not talk to anyone. So this boy approached her, decided he didn’t like her, and said something unmemorable to her. Out But she really seemed older as she was very outgoing and definitely not of the blue he hit her in her head with his lunch pail. In those days many shy. Ellen was very sporty and had lunch pails were made of metal, but lots of friends. Anne only had her mom. Although she did hang out with the blow did not injure her terribly ‘cause I guess he was not that strong, the neighbours’ kids, they were not really close friends at all. She kept to being only five. But it connected hard enough to make her cry. Now, I am herself most of the time. not sure of the situation, but maybe ANNE BEGINS SCHOOL there were no adults near at that time. Then the time came when she was Maybe there was, but it’s unclear. five years old and had to start school, One thing for sure is that at that time kindergarten. In those days, the there was a cop car in the vicinity and sixties, there really were no daycares. the policeman in it saw Anne crying
“So this boy approached her, decided he didn’t like her, and said something unmemorable to her. Out of the blue he hit her in her head with his lunch pail.”
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and went to her and told her he would drive her home. Anne’s mom freaked out! Who would do this? But Grace went about healing the injury and consoling her daughter. That is when it all started, the bullying; all on her first day of school, when she was five. Unreal. Much of Anne’s childhood is a blur. Some happy days, but she remembers little. Her mom made her happy. Anne was so unbearably shy she could not even look at people in the eyes and had to look down mostly. This was the crux of her problem and made the bullying worse. I don’t think she had many childhood friends in and around the neighbourhood either. She did play with some neighbour kids now and again. Most of the time, she just rode her bike, alone. Anne also played alone in her room as she did not get along too well with her sister. Not that they disliked each other, it was just that they were so different. So Anne grew up and not much changed. GRADE SCHOOL, HIGH SCHOOL
Grade school came and it was just as tough. Even when she changed schools the bullying did not let up. She was called ugly, so much so that she believed it. She was made fun of everywhere she went. Anne cried so very much. High school started and the bullying followed her there. But once again when a child appears withdrawn and shy the kids pick up on it and take advantage of it. Anne was laughed at and made fun of without mercy. She was called ugly and named Igor, after the creature in Frankenstein. If Anne accidentally
touched someone, people started this thing where they would freak and yell and try to touch someone else saying all the while, “ Ewww, Anne’s germs!!!” To say that Anne felt less than nothing is an understatement. All the while there was no one who stood up for Anne. No teacher, no principal, no one who had authority. True Anne did not speak up, but surely some of what was going on was seen, as it was so prevalent. There was no physical abuse, but verbal abuse can be worse. So the time went on, into the teenage years, and every year and every day the bullying went on. There were no dates, no crushes and no first kisses.
“If Anne accidently touched someone, people started this thing where they would freak and yell…” There was the rejection in school sports: always being picked last. The rejection in dances, never being asked to dance. The pain that went on in Anne’s heart was so unbearable. ANNE'S ONLY FRIEND
Anne’s mom was her only friend. And she constantly told her she was not ugly, and that the kids who said that were just jealous and had their own problems. So thank God for her mom. As for her dad, well he was not there for her. He drank; that seemed to be all he cared about. He did care about Anne’s sister, Ellen, though. He praised her because she was so Buoy Summer 2012
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outgoing and so bright. Anne struggled to get the grades to get through school, but it was hell.
factory jobs and general help jobs that eventually burned her out.
THE PAIN GROWS
Today Anne is on welfare. So sad, things could have been different. No, childhood is not always puppy dogs, and kittens, and innocent, carefree times. And now Anne is writing this and she is not sure why. Perhaps to get things off her chest. Perhaps only to share. But I think for Anne these days it is so important to let go of the past because it affects her present and future. That is the story of Anne’s childhood.
The years went on; time did not relent. The year of her graduation came close. She wanted to graduate, but the days, the years, were getting worse. She wanted to quit. She just couldn’t take it anymore. As a matter of fact she did not want to live anymore. One day she decided to end it. She took a whole bunch of Tylenol. She did not take enough to do herself in. Anne chickened out. The only thing she did do was to make herself fall asleep, and then throw up the pills later, after she woke up. But no one was home and no one knew. When the time to graduate came, Anne told her mom and dad that she was gonna quit.
“Anne’s mom was her only friend. And she constantly told her she was not ugly, and that the kids who said that were just jealous ...” They freaked! “No way….if you quit you will have to get a job.” Anne said “No!” She couldn’t!! She was too shy, too anxious to get work. There was a huge, huge argument. Eventually her mom and dad caved, as they saw how much pain Anne was in. Anne quit school and she regrets that decision up until this day. That decision ended up with her getting
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ANNE’S LIFE TODAY
JUDY MINDERMAN
Black Bottles Ghosts, inhabited Old, dusty and Cob-webbed rooms of the House on the west side Of town. Imitation winds, Mom where are you? Long, sleepless nights Spotted pillows Bittersweet liquor and the bottle Gripping the edge of the Stale table. It falls, Roaming on The glazed floors. RENﾃ右 DROUIN
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Le monde de Susana J’aimerais pouvoir dire que j’ai vécue une enfance idéale mais la réalité est que j’ai été un enfant maltraité, négligé, exploité, bafoué, sous prétexte que c’était pour mon bien; disaient ces mêmes personnes qui étaient supposées prendre soin de moi, et me protéger.Même si elles ont réussît à me convaincre que je n’étais qu’une nullité. MOMENTS HEUREUX
Je suis parvenue à retirer des moments heureux à chaque jour de ma vie que j'ai gardé secrètement dans mon cœur.
«Je suis parvenue à retirer des moments heureux à chaque jour de ma vie que j'ai gardé secrètement dans mon cœur.» La musique des années 50s, 60s, était absolument fantastique! C’est au cinéma grâce à Walt Disney que j’ai découvert la magie des Contes de fées des frères Grimm. Je chantonnais en lavant la vaisselle. Je me rappelle la fois que j’ai regardé pour la première fois una corrida! J’ai éprouvée une explosion comme un volcan d’émotions que sortaient de mes entrailles. Puis, quand j'ai découvert la bibliothèque j’ai remercie le ciel de ce cadeau! Aussi, je n’ai pas des mots pour dire la première fois que j’ai vu la mer et je m'y suis baigné! Tout simplement inoubliable! J’appréciais le silence du salles de classe quand je restais en retenue, oups!
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La musique, le soleil du Mexique sur la peau! Les fruits! Mes préférées ce sont les oranges coupées en quartiers saupoudrées avec du sel et du poivre de Cayenne. Les fleurs et les cactus qui décorent les patios! L'art de bien dosser les épices et tisanes! Les odeurs de café ou du chocolat le matin avec des petits pains sucrés! Le gout désaltérant de l'eau fraiche dans la carafe en terre cuite. Ou l'odeur de la terre après la pluie! Les animaux mes seuls amis. Les fêtes chez ma grand-tante Paula! Les montagnes, le cinéma, l’odeur de mes crayons de couleurs en bois, la douceur de tissus des courte pointes de mon arrière grand-mère. Le marché du dimanche! L’odeurs du bois dans l'atelier de mon grandpère, tout ça, a nourrit le fond de mon âme et m'a remplie de joie pour m'aider à oublier la misère et la fatigue. Voilà le monde merveilleux de Susana! SUSANA MARQUEZ
Dust Bunnies Dust bunnies! Dust bunnies! Dust bunnies! Where are you hiding? You must hop out of here; Playtime is over! My mommy has given me her best and favourite mop: SWIFFER! This mop picks up everything! Go away, dust bunnies, and save yourselves! I will count to ten, then start to mop: One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Ready or not, here I come! Wow! This mop slides! It is so easy to mop a floor. This is a little bit fun too! I am glad that mommy told me to clean up my bedroom; It was EASY and FUN. First, I had to pick up my clothes off the floor And put them in the toilet hamper. Then I had to pick up all my toys off the floor And put them in the big toy box. All this did not take long; it was fast. Mommy says I am a big kid now And that I need to work to help me grow. But to me, I’m JUST A KID! ‘Til I am lazy, I will not see you dust bunnies again. ‘Bye for now…
LESIA CHARKO
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Gifts to the Children We Used to Be Each photograph is a message,a beacon, we as adults wish we could send to our child selves to provide some comfort, some encouragement, some hope to them. What would you send back in time?
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Always wanted a dog, and there he is! Judy, 5 years
My lucky penny. Noel, 3 years
Hi Janek! Janek, 5 years
A BROTHER! Now I’m not alone. Robert, 4 years
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No one will ever destroy you again. Rhona, 4 years
Don’t give up on music! Gilles, 6 years.
Don’t worry, be happy. Susana, 5 ans.
Its ok to have fun. Nick 4 years Buoy Summer 2012
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Joie de vivre Le désir de vivre dés l’enfance qui se poursuit à cette vie qui se définit de cette dimension qui se délivre La bienveillance de vivre, de notre jeunesse à parvenir a toute subjectivité à souscrire ce qui se projette à qui se suivent La joie de vivre prend son ampleur de désir en ferveur au besoin qui s'ennivre Le goût de vivre s'amplifie de la condition à l'amertume en reddition de subjectivité à qui prive Le plaisir de vivre se coordonne à l'individualité de nature en objectivité à l'existence qui prime La gaiété de vivre se manifeste du prévalu au concept dévolu de situation qui fulmine Le petit bonheur de vivre se précautionne de la dimension à l'espoir en revendication de l'égard à survivre. FRANCIS MARQUIS
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A Note To Daddy Daddy, I’m grateful I had the opportunity For you to become such a significant part of my life You taught me how to accept myself for my own Uniqueness even though I could not stand to look At my own reflection in the mirror You taught me how not to change my ways. I truly and forever will miss your smile and grace Your presence will always be missed. But you live inside of me. That piece of confidence That I will carry with me.
RENÉE DROUIN
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Untitled, drawing, by Eric Gee Silverman
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The Best Summer of My Life Ah, summer camp, what a treat! Some of the happiest days of my life were spent there. We came from a dysfunctional family so for my younger brothers and I, at 8, 10, and 11 years old respectively, the idea of escaping tensions for even a couple weeks to some quasi back woods life was heaven. My mother, as a last ditch effort to calm the muddy waters at home, asked the Red Feather organization if they could get myself and my two younger brothers some time at camp so that she could deal with her conjugal problem with dad. Late one afternoon during the second week in August, we got a call asking if we still wanted to go, and we jumped at it. Anything was better than the fighting and drinking at home. Before too long, my brothers and I had bundled up our necessities, kissed Mom goodbye and waved to dad who sat grumpily in the old two tone Mercury while we embarked onto the half empty yellow school bus on the road to St. Adolfe-de-Howard. Camp Trails End here we come! RUNNING AMOK
We arrived in the dark of night with a full moon above. There was an untamed feel to the place. From what I recall there was no, or little supervision. Being a bit of a panicky kid, my youngest brother Peter settled into his cabin right away and went right to bed. My brother Mike and I, on the other hand, for reasons that still escape me today, fell into a
group of kids who were just a little more wild. We were placed in the senior camp with the older boys and they were running amok that night, perhaps under the influence of the full moon lighting up the campground like it was daylight. We raided the kitchen and the canteen for peanut butter, flour, chocolate bars and chips.
We spread the peanut butter in various places like doorknobs and latches. We spread the peanut butter in various places like doorknobs and latches. At the archery range we dumped flour all over the targets while stuffing chips down our gullets, and played hide and seek. THE NEXT MORNING
Finally stuffed and exhausted, we went to sleep in our bunks to wake up to cowbell ringing counselors the next morning. I swear it felt like I was hung-over. I had crumbs of chips and peanut butter all over me, and a headache that wouldn’t quit. All the new kids were summarily marched over to the lake for some kind of hazing as punishment for the ruckus the night before. We were dunked in water with our clothes on, then marched back to change into clean clothes, and then marched over to the cafeteria where we were introduced to the other kids who had been there Buoy Summer 2012
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a few days already. We were mocked and teased for being late to join the rest of the kids, and blamed for making a mess the night before. We became instant heroes.
One day, one of the boys got a knife stuck right through his foot playing this game of chicken! We spent the rest of the day doing various activities. We learned about gimp, it is, as I understand, the foundation of macramé. We made bracelets with these colorful flat plastic threads into various styles: cobra, round, flat, or chinese lantern. We ate in a large mess hall, drinking a concoction called bug juice, which amounted to all the Kool-aid flavors mixed in one large jug per table. Food was carted by on rolling trays that our counselors delivered to our tables. There was a hospital that was basically a clinic for cuts and bruises, though I do not doubt they were prepared for worse eventualities. The camp was divided into different sections, and each was named after a First Nations tribe, like Ojibwa or Iroquois. My brother Mike and I were in Kootenai, and Peter was in Algonquin. LITTLE BOYS AND KNIVES
As time passed we did what little boys with too much time on their hands and penknives in their pockets did, and that was to make a game of chicken. The idea was to spread our 28
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feet as wide as possible, facing your opponent who would throw his penknife between your feet. He would then spread his feet just a little less far apart, and then it would be your turn to throw your penknife between his feet. Then it was your turn again to spread your feet just a little less far apart with each succeeding turn making it more and more dangerous. The idea was to see who had the courage to stay in the game or risk being called chicken. One day, one of the boys got a knife stuck right through his foot playing this game of chicken! I never played that stupid game again. What a mess! He cried, and the sight of a knife sticking through his foot turned my stomach. QUIET JOHN
Overall I really enjoyed being at camp; they were among the happiest days of my life. Peter, my youngest brother, didn’t find it all that hot. There are some kids who just don’t like camp; in fact it can be downright stressful for them. Another such kid was whom I’ll call John, as he was near mute and did not tell us his name. From what we were able to gather about him, he was from a strict religious family, and that was about it. While we tried to include him in various games, he pretty much sat out of everything, almost turning his nose up at us. For the first week we all learned basic canoeing skills, safety, how to paddle, turn and stop in preparation for a canoe trip coming up the following week. John
did what he was told but not as a fellow camper but more like a prisoner doing what his prison guards asked him to do. THE CAMPING TRIP
Then came the big day: we were leaving for a three day camping trip that amounted to canoeing to our destination, once arriving, setting up camp for a day, then tearing camp down on the third day and returning back. There were four canoes with a dozen kids and four counselors and our supplies. On the way the counselors told us stories, mostly lies designed to mess with our pubescent, pre-adolescent minds all the while keeping us on track to our destination. At one point we turned into a rather calm, placid bend in the river when we happened upon a large collection of beautiful lily pads, there must have been a hundred of them spread out. I recall being amazed at the serenity. We whispered as if we were paying homage to some divine power that ruled this part of the river. But John had a very different reaction. He had noticed a large frog sitting idyllically on one of the lily pads, and for some reason felt compelled to slam his oar on it, killing the poor thing. That single act put a pall over the trip and we all kinda gave John just a little more space from that day on. Some kids just don’t do well at camp. At the end of the second week we were given a send off with a bonfire party. It was an exciting evening filled with First Nation stories, costumes, amateur
pyrotechnics, and theatre. After we were invited for a final dip in to lake and then sent off to bed as we were going to rise early for the trip back home. I must have swallowed some lake water because while I slept soundly, I experienced explosive diarrhea during the night. When I woke up, I was literally stuck to my very soiled pajamas and sleeping bag, and there was quite a foul odor in the tent.
I must have swallowed some lake water because while I slept soundly, I had experienced explosive diarrhea during the night. Instinctively, I jumped into the stream that ran by our tent to urgently wash off the mess and then threw away my dirty pajamas and sleeping bag into the garbage, and rushed off for breakfast at the cafeteria. GOING HOME During breakfast we were giving our respective awards for our various accomplishments during the past weeks, then we boarded two yellow school buses for our trip back to Montreal. The trip home was filled with songs and stories. About halfway I began to re-experience another bout of explosive diarrhea. Suddenly kids began to distance themselves from me as I reeked from the shame the mess. When we got Buoy Summer 2012
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home, my mom and Dad frowned is emblazoned on my mind as one of upon my soiled pants and were upset the best summers in my life. that I had dumped the dirty sleeping bag and pajamas. However, despite the drama, I truly enjoyed my GILLES CHIASSON. experience with summer camp and it
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My Bed is Lost at Camp Excuse me I said But is this your bed? He nodded and I turned away It seems I would have no bed today. Now let me explain Let me make it quite plain I’m at camp you see But there’s no bunk for me. I went to my cabin I looked all around I went this way I went that way I looked up I looked down But no bed could be found. What can I do? I thought to myself Maybe I could Lay down on this shelf. But it looks pretty thin And I am not that small So I knew that the shelf Would not do at all. I could lie on the floor Bunk out on the ground The only flaw is When people walk round The cabin They’d trip Take a fright and fall And I would have an unrestful night With it all.
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The roof, no there’s rain, The steps- see the floor And no I can’t sleep On top of the door My balance is not Good enough for that I would just end up falling off And going splat. I was getting quite desperate I was getting quite worried Because night was approaching My need was now hurried. My face was now pulled Into anxiety and fear Moulded by them To look white and severe. A councillor saw The look on my face And came through the dusk He strode through the night To ask what was wrong To discover my plight. I explained about the vanishing bed And he looked at his clipboard And then he smiled and said It’s your cabin you’ve lost Not your bed he explained It’s just over there Next to the crane. My bed it existed My bed was alive Not lost after all I was very surprised And relieved Very, it must be said.
NICK SERJEANTSON
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The Look of Love, painting, by Noel Neil Marlon Evans
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Pud, painting, by Richard Diraddo
The Truth about Goldilocks She ate the pies She ate them all And threw the pie plates in the hall. Now I know it’s been said That she ate the porridge That she ate the bears’ oats That she ate those squashed-up little groats. But this is untrue She had no oats No, not one groat Went down her throat. It was pies she ate Not groats at all She ate the fillings she ate the crusts She of the very blond hair Took the joy of pie eating Away from the bears Which was why The bears were mad The bears were furious And their teeth Were kind of curious To discover the person who made the mess of their pies, that person who denied them their whole pie experience.
Buoy Summer 2012
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But let me repeat But let me make plain That porridge was never Part of this game As had been reported As has been believed Unfortunately We have all been deceived. Who did this, I cannot say, It will have to wait for another day NICK SERJEANTSON
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Buoy ÉtÊ 2012
A Tick-Toc Tale Reposal, Reposal. Let down your sweet time. Pass me a glass, And give me of thine!
DANA FRIEND
Buoy Summer 2012
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Bubbles For Your Troubles Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles. Wash away, wash away Troubles, troubles, troubles. In my bath I do not care I like it here Better than anywhere I splash, and splash, and splash. Washing away, washing away All the cares of the day. So, if you like me, Have troubles, troubles, troubles, Wash them, wash them, wash them all! Wash them all away with bubbles. DANA FRIEND
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Buoy Été 2012
Baby Bear, digital art , by Judy Minderman
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Buoy Summer 2012
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Buoy Été 2012
South American Lady and Child, oil painting, by Judy Minderman
Tia Vitoria She was a laughing, gay person Eye candy too Tia spent hours and hours bent over her handicrafts Breathtaking Made with love – deep inside her An honour to be given one of her treasures A loving mother Wife, sister, grandmother, aunt, friend All hats lovingly worn We said goodbye last summer Although gravely ill, her sense of humour was strong It rang true Rest my lovely – you live on
ESTER CABRITA
Buoy Summer 2012
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Appel de soumission VOLUME 4, NUMÉRO 1: SPIRITUALITÉ QU'EST CE QUE BUOY? Une bouée est un dispositif flottant qui peut être utilisé à des fins multiples, mais il s'agit surtout d'un objet qui contribue à ce que l'on puisse s'orienter. Buoy est une collection d'art et d'écriture mise en place par une équipe de rédacteurs qui croient que la créativité peut donner une voix aux silencieux, offrir une perspective en temps difficile et peut nous sauver la vie quand nous nous sentons sur le point de nous noyer. QUE VOULONS-NOUS? Un des éditeurs de buoy a eu un air interloqué lorsque le comité de rédaction a voté pour le thème de la spiritualité. Qu'est-ce que la spiritualité, de toute façon? Nous n'en sommes pas trop sûr, mais c'est ce qui semble en faire un sujet riche à explorer. Donc, nous aimerions vous entendre. Que pensez-vous qu'est la spiritualité? Donnez-nous votre cheminement dans la spiritualité ou à l'inverse votre rejet de la spiritualité: vos doutes, vos croyances, vos expériences avec la paix, la religion, la charité, l'athéisme, la croissance, la nature, l'individu et l'universel. Donnez-nous votre expérience en prose, en poésie, en peinture, en photographie ou sous toute autre forme qui peut décrire votre recherche. Nous aimerions connaître vos réponses aux questions célèbres de Gauguin: D'où venons-nous? Que sommes-nous? Où allons-nous? POUR SOUMETTRE: Contactez Vanessa Sparks par téléphone au 514 488-9119 ou par courriel à forwardhouse.education @ gmail.com. Visitez www.forwardhouse.org pour plus de détails. Les soumissions peuvent être en français ou en anglais. DATE LIMITE: 1er Novembre 2012
A Call for Submissions VOLUME 4, ISSUE 1 : SPIRITUALITY WHAT’S BUOY? A buoy is a floating device that can be used for many purposes. Weddings, bar mitzvahs, but primarily, something that helps guide the way. Buoy is a collection of art and writing put together by a team of editors that believe creativity can give a voice to the silenced, provide perspective in challenging times, and be a life preserver when it feels like you’re drowning.
WHAT DO WE WANT? One of the Buoy editors looked a little nonplussed when the editorial board voted for the theme of Spirituality. What is spirituality, anyway? We’re not too sure. But this seems to make it a rich topic to explore. So we’d like to hear from you. What do you think it is? Give us your journey towards or away from spirituality: your doubts, your beliefs, your experiences with peace, religion, charity, atheism, growth, nature, the individual and the universal. Give it to us in prose, poetry, painting, photography or any other form with which you can describe your search. We’d like to learn your answers to Gauguin’s famous questions: Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?
TO SUBMIT: Contact Vanessa Sparks by telephone at 514 488-9119 or email at forwardhouse.education@gmail.com. Visit www.forwardhouse.org for more details. Submissions can be in French or English.
DEADLINE: November 1, 2012
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Buoy Été 2012
Previous Editions of Buoy You can find all previous copies of Buoy on the internet at the Forward House website (www.forwardhouse.org and go to the E Bulletin Board and look under JOURNAL.) The last edition of Buoy is still available in paper form-get them while you can. Call 514.488.9119 to find out how.
Thank-yous The Buoy Editorial Team wishs to thank Forward House (a community based mental health organization) for their support of the journal, especially Paul Aubin and Chris McFadden. Kudos also go out to all the wonderful Forward House workers who have encouraged their clients to submit work to Buoy and have helped us out with their time and skills. A very big thank-you to all you who have contributed to Buoy, we love getting your work. Thanks also to our readers, you guys rock. Finally, a special thank-you to Vanessa Sparks whose hard work, organization and encouragement brings Buoy together and to Francis Cropas who first had the idea for a journal.
Who’s Who The Buoy Editorial Team consists of: Gilles Chiasson, Judy Minderman Rhona Green, Janek Adams, Navid Alam, Noel Neil Marlon Evans, Susana Marquez, Nick Serjeantson, Robert Mofford - Editorial Advisor Vanessa Sparks. Design was handled by Nick Serjeantson using PagePlus with input from members of the editorial team and the Editorial Advisor. Buoy Summer 2012
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Buoy Été 2012