CREATIVE WRITING

CREATIVE WRITING

It’s that time of year when the temperature can’t make up its mind between summer and fall. For many, the start of this year represents the closing of one chapter and the beginning of a new one; either starting at Dawson, starting a new program or making a change in your personal life. For others, this may be the last September that they roam these halls. September is a time to celebrate new endeavours, but also to recognize the loss of the seemingly endless carefree summertime. These poems are a nod to familiarity in new places and acknowledging the loss of what was once cherished.

EMMA MAJAURY Creative Writing Editor

I see a Bittersweet Memory in you

VANESSA MIA LOZZA Contributor

I see your hair, it shines like the sun

I look at you and feel like I’m worshipping a shrine

In your eyes there is hope

A reminder of who I once was

Perhaps that’s the reason why you intrigue me

I see within you a long lost memory

Again is Gone

SARAH-ROSE MESTEL-GROINIG Contributor

I haven’t written a poem in a while,

So I will write one for you.

It happened again.

I didn’t mean for it to, please trust me.

It was a mistake, an accident.

One day I looked up and there you were.

And life made sense again.

Even though it even really had.

And all the answers were no longer sought out.

For all the questions had been asked.

And you were the answer

To the question I forgot to ask.

I haven’t written a poem in awhile.

My guess is T

hat is because you will never read this.

To A Loved One

EDEN DANIEL Contributor

Like you, I can have a hard time remembering

I live in your house now

Vacuum the same corners where you taught me chess

I take care of your books as best I can

And find receipts lined in their pages

To me, they are fossils from a different time

A hint or a clue

When I’ve cleaned all my glasses

I drink first out of my favourite mug

Because I like to think that it was your favourite too

I read Shelley and Shaw and Shakespeare for you

As you once did for me

I can’t clean the dust under my bed

Because it was there when you were

My house, to put it bluntly, is still yours

As yours was always mine W

hen I have a hard time remembering

I think of these things instead

And I hold the walls tight enough to know

The most important thing

That you loved me

And I loved you

Bullocks

JAMIE LEE LAMOTHE Contributor

bullocks, the mug melted the smell is putrid, and I am petrified.

bullocks, the mug melted into this pound of brown, heavy frown created by the fragrant ought, yet my mind onto the idea of you is deadlocked.

easy peasy fly off your tongue like honey on myself I should go easy, then why are you not going easy on me?

bullocks, the mug melted, not microwave safe it was labelled, wish my eyes were in their socks so better i could have read.

talk talk talk, put your eyes back in their sock read my buttock and hear me belt: warning warning, my heart, oh please don’t make it melt.

bullocks, in the midst of don’t fall for me, I’d fell bad. have you ever wondered that it could be, you that made me ever so sad.

oh and in the hawkish freezing wind, feels like misery what sounded like luck, I feel my heart getting skinned, by the words that could have been. feels like misery what sounded like luck, but like you said, all of it is just bullocks.