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I am someone who knows the future

Short Story & Photo ©2025 Sharon Szczerba-Gilbert, Niagara Falls, Ont.

Yuri ran through the woods, his legs burning from the bleeding cuts and scratches.  His arms and face were also bloody, but Yuri continued running; his only concern was survival.  He would not let himself be caught.  Running was his only chance.  Yuri momentarily glanced behind him to see if the soldiers that had been pursuing him for the last half an hour were close behind him.  He could not see them, but he could hear the thundering of their collective footsteps and he knew they were close.  He began to cough, breathless, and momentarily leaned against a tree as his body heaved and he began throwing up.  Frozen with fear and too weak to take another step he quickly scanned the forest for a place to hide.  It was his only chance.  A few meters away was a large tree with huge roots sticking out all around it.  He pushed himself towards the tree and curled up in the little ditch of dirt below one of the large roots.  His pounding heart filled his head, deafening him to any sounds around him.  He tried to control his panting breaths in hopes of slowing his heart, but after running for almost two kilometres, combined with his immense fear of  being found by the soldiers, he was helpless to stop the pounding.  He was sure the soldiers would hear his pounding heart and gasps of breath;  he knew there was nothing he could do and surely he would be caught. Instinctively he simply shut his eyes tight as he saw them approaching.

As a child he would shut his eyes at bedtime hoping to trick his mom into thinking he was asleep.  On the nights when it worked, he would wait until he heard her footsteps go into the room she shared with his father, then he would sit up, light his candle and read. His favourite book was Kobzar; it contained the poems of Taras Shevchenko.  His father Dymtro and his mother Paraska had given it to him for his 13th birthday, when he had officially become a teenager.  The book was a special 19-volume edition, made by the scientist Valentin Yakovenko on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Shevchenko’s death.  When his parents had given him the book, they had accompanied it with the usual warnings about keeping it hidden and not taking it to school; they had even warned him to be careful with whom and where he discussed its contents.  Yuri, being born in 1900, and having grown up under the Soviet regime, was taught very early on that he had to be careful in everything he did. Seemingly innocent things like praying, going to church and reading, were things that could get you into big trouble.

RUSSIAN SOLDIERS

Yuri heard the soldiers walking mere steps from the tree where he was hiding.  He held his breath and silently prayed that the soldiers would not find him. He held his breath until he could hold it no longer and he expelled a loud gasp. He feared he would surely be found.  But when he opened his eyes, there was no one around.  His muscles relaxed instantly and he laid back against the tree root and allowed it to cradle his whole body.  He laid there not moving as he did not know where to go or what to do.  If he went home, there was the likelihood that the soldiers would be there waiting for him.  He pictured his father, sitting in his wooden chair by the fire, refusing to tell the soldiers anything.  His father was a peaceful man, but when it came to protecting his youngest son, he would do what was necessary.  Yuri’s oldest brother, Alexei, had been captured by the Russian soldiers a few months ago and had been forced to join their army.  Yuri and his father had not seen Alexei in months and had no idea if he was alive or dead. His father rarely talked about it, but Yuri knew he was heartbroken and that he blamed himself for not being able to do more to keep his son from being forced to join the Russian army.  Yuri would do everything he could not to have the same fate as his older brother.  He did not want to fight for the enemy.  At the time Yuri had tried to say something to make his father feel better, but no words had come to him. Since childhood, Yuri had learned that life wasn’t fair and that whoever had the power, had control over everything. He had no memories of any carefree childhood moments. Even in his happiest moments: sitting by the window with his brother Alexei and sister Anna, waiting for the first star to appear on the evening of January 6 so they could eat the Christmas feast that his mother, baba and aunts had been preparing all day; even in those moments there would be an underlying feeling of darkness.  He had grown up fearing the soldiers and trusting no one but his closest family.  He knew now that his parents instilled those fears in him from a young age for a good reason.  The political unrest in Ukraine was a constant and his parents knew the dangers and wanted to protect their children.  They had not grown up with the luxury of innocence and being carefree and much to their dismay their children would not be afforded the luxury of innocence either.

These were the stories I had grown up hearing from my  mom.  I had never met my grandparents, let alone my great grandfather Yuri.  They had all died long before I was born, but oddly I have always felt as if I knew them well.

My house has a couple of photos of my great grandfather, Yuri and great grandmother Paraska and my other great grandparents Viktor and Mary and several of my grandparents Bohdan (Yuri’s son) and Anna.  There are no photos of any grandparents on my dad’s side, then again that was no surprise because there is actually only one photo of my dad.  It sits on the shelf beside the TV in the living room.  It was taken almost 16 years ago just after I was born. It’s the only photo of me and my father because after that photo was taken my dad left the hospital waiting room, drained the bank account, emptied the contents of the apartment he had shared with my mom for three years and moved to God knows where.  My mom didn’t like to talk about him much, but she felt a child deserved to know about their family history. She would even tell me stories about my father’s parents, but she had only met them twice; my father did not have a close relationship with them and after he left my mom reached out to them to see if they would like to meet me; they did not. My mom made excuses for them.  “They are older and don’t like to travel too far.”  or “Maybe it is hard for them to face us after their son abandoned us.”  I accepted my mom’s attempts to not hurt my feelings, but secretly I knew they just didn’t care about me.  Hell, my own father didn’t care enough about me, so why would my grandparents?  In 16 years my father never tried to contact me once.  When I was younger I would often daydream that he would show up at one of my soccer or hockey games.  Or that he would arrive one Christmas morning with a big bag of presents for me.  By the time I turned 11, I stopped hoping for these things and if my dad were to contact me today I would tell him to shove it.  I am almost 16 and honestly I don’t need a father anymore.  Honestly, my mom worries way more about that stuff than I do.  Ever since I can remember she has tried to make sure the “father void” was somehow fulfilled.  When I was five she signed me up for soccer and even at the young age of five I knew she wanted me to bond with my coach.  She would invite the coach, his wife and their twin boys, who were also five, out for ice cream after the games or practices.  She would also invite the whole team over to our place for BBQs.  Every year the end of the season party would be at our house.  The teams used to rent out the Legion hall for these events, but once I joined the team our team never rented out the Legion and instead my mom hosted the whole team and their families.  So of course the parents on my team absolutely adored my mom since she paid for all the food and drinks every year. The love they had for my mom ensured I had plenty of male role models and I was forced to endure endless play dates and outings with kids on the team and their dads and sometimes their moms. 

MOM CHEERED LOUDLY

When I joined the local hockey team at age eight, it was the same thing.  The assistant coach, Frank Wong, was a single dad and so of course me and his son, Lixin were forced into a friendship.  At first we despised each other, I think we were both terrified that our parents were going to start dating.  Thankfully that never happened and although my mom and his dad had a friendship of sorts, they weren’t that close.  I spent more time with Mr. Wong than my mom ever did.  Most weekends were spent with a Saturday morning hockey game.  Mom always came to every game and embarrassingly cheered louder than everyone else.  Now that I am older, I think maybe subconsciously she felt she had to scream louder for me since most of the other kids all had moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, and even aunts and uncles showing up for games and cheering them on.  Lixin’s mom wasn’t around, but his grandparents and sometimes his Aunt Brenda would often come to his games.  They all lived with him and his dad so Lixin, unlike me, always had a house full of people.  I envied him at times and ironically he would tell me how lucky I was that it was just me and mom. 

After those Saturday hockey games my mom would meet me by the locker room door, give me a hug, which I would always make as quick as possible so none of my teammates would see, and then she would go home or go wherever she went on those Saturdays.  To be honest I never asked.  At eight you don’t much care what your parents do when you aren’t with them.  For all I knew she could have been going out on dates all those weekends, but I doubt it.  Mom has never once mentioned a guy or gone out on a date that I know of.  A couple of years ago I asked her why she never dated.  She had just shrugged and replied: “Why would I bother doing that?  I am happy being single.”  And honestly it seemed like she was.  She had friends and was involved in a lot of community groups like the walking group, quilting queens (they make quilts for veterans, homeless shelters, hospices and other places) and a poetry group.  So maybe one of these groups were part of her Saturday activities.  Though on the days I didn’t spend with Mr. Wong and Lixin, she would always do something with me, even if it just meant watching movies on our couch or playing board games and she never acted like she was missing some event or activity by me being home with her.  But then again I never asked and I didn't really want to know at the time.

I know my mom meant well by having me spend time with Mr. Wong, but I would have preferred more weekends of just her and I together.  Don’t get me wrong, I had lots of fun going to the skate park or the movies or the arcade or bowling with Mr. Wong and his son, but I always felt out of place, like a third wheel.  It was nothing Mr. Wong did that made me feel that way, it was just how I felt.  I never told my mom of course; I never wanted to hurt her feelings.  Lixin and I are still best friends, but he has a girlfriend now so I don't see him as much as I used to.  Mr. Wong’s parents recently moved in with their daughter Brenda and her husband Steve, so Lixin finally got his wish of having a quiet household.  He says he likes it much better and that he still sees his grandparents and aunt since they only live 20 minutes away.  Lixin’s girlfriend Kristina is nice, but I hate being a third wheel so I don’t hang out with them that much.  I know my mom worries about my socialization, especially since I quit hockey last year.  At my age level you only stay in hockey if you have aspirations of being a professional.  I had five practices a week and games every Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday night.  It was exhausting and I started hating hockey.  Lixin quit the year before I did.  His dad took it hard, I think mainly because he really enjoyed coaching, because he seemed to get over his heart break once the league asked him to coach one of the atom teams. Sometimes Lixin and I will help him out during one of the practices.  It's kind of great seeing all the young kids so excited just to play.

I still play soccer in the summers and I go to school every day, well most days anyway, so it's not like I don’t have a life.  I just prefer to stay home and draw or riff on my guitar.  I also like to write song lyrics, but I keep that private because the songs are really meaningful to me and I am not ready to share them with anyone yet; not even my mom.  I have written lots of songs about Yuri, a great grandfather I never met.  I worry that people will think that’s strange, but I feel such a strong connection to my grandpa Yuri.  It’s hard to explain, but those stories my mom has been telling me ever since I can remember have had a really profound effect on my life.  When I first heard the story of how my great grandfather Yuri had hid from the Russian soldiers to escape being captured and forced into their army to fight against his own people, I had a weird, intense feeling of a kind of deja vu.  It felt like I was in the story; like I had lived that exact moment.  As a child I never knew that reaction was strange, but I often wondered why I never had that intense feeling when my mom told me other stories like Goodnight Moon or Don’t let the Pigeon drive the bus.

It wasn’t until I was about seven that I learned that my reaction to Yuri’s stories weren’t typical.  I was telling my Grade 2 teacher the story about when my great grandfather Yuri hid in the house of a sweet lady who was hiding him from the Russian soldiers.  As I was telling my teacher the story I mentioned that the house smelled of a weird smell and that I only recognized the smell recently when my mom decided to try making homemade cabbage rolls for the first time.  My teacher looked at me quizzically and said, “Oh, you mean your mom told you that your grandfather mentioned the smell of cabbage…”.

“No,” I replied innocently, “my mom never mentioned the smell in the lady’s house.  I don’t think she even knew it smelled like cabbage.”

A WEIRD SMELL

The teacher stared at me, hesitated and then asked, “Well…um…how would you know what her house smelled like?”

“I smelled the weird smell when my mom first told me the story.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal, but the look on my teacher’s face told me otherwise.  After that I began asking my friends if they ever smelled things when someone told them a story.  Their responses told me that what I experienced during the Yuri stories was not what others experienced.  Not wanting to feel weird or crazy I soon learned to keep those experiences to myself.

Last year at the Old Home Week fair I did tell a psychic, but she was obviously a fake since she had no clue what I was talking about.  The worst part was she laughed at me and made me feel like I had two heads or something.  The least she could have done was humor me and go along with it.  Shawn Spencer, a character from one of my mom and I’s favorite shows, Psych,  would totally have believed me or at least pretended he did.  He plays a fake psychic in the show but even though he doesn’t have psychic abilities, he is definitely tuned into the other worldly stuff.  It’s too bad that Shawn Spencer isn’t a real person because there are times when I really would like to talk to someone about my deja vu type of experiences.  I need a Gus to my Shawn to balance me and a dad like Henry wouldn’t hurt either.  If you haven’t seen the show then you have no idea what I am talking about, but basically it would just be nice to have someone who understood or could relate to these weird reactions I have.

 

You are probably wondering why I never told my mom.  Believe me I have wanted to, but there are a lot of reasons that have stopped me from telling her.  The main reason is that I didn’t want to give her anything new to have to worry about.  My mom always acts strong and tough and she definitely is the strongest person I know.  But I also know she worries - a lot - and mostly about me. Even though I am a teenager she still worries if I am warm enough and will often run out the door after me with a sweater or a jacket as I head out to school.  I usually take them just to humor her and then stuff them in my backpack as soon as I get on the bus. My mom is in denial that I am growing up. I think she is worried that when I am an adult, I will leave her just like my dad did. 

Something else kind of strange has been happening to me lately.  I often wake up in different places.  It first happened a few weeks ago when I woke up in a supermarket that I didn’t recognize.  It wasn’t anywhere in town here and the supermarket looked kind of dated.  When I woke up there, only a few lights were on and the place was closed.  Oddly I felt pretty calm and walked around the empty supermarket, grabbed a flashlight off the shelf so I could see better, and spent my time eating twinkies and drinking chocolate milk.  Normally I would be freaked out being in a supermarket after hours and all alone; but I felt very calm, like I belonged there. Just as suddenly as I had appeared there, I was back home in my bed.  My mom was sitting beside me and handing me a tylenol.  I shook my head. 

“Ren,” my mom had said in her authoritative tone, “you have a fever of 102, you have to take it.”

I shrugged and reluctantly took the pill.  I didn’t feel sick at all, but I could tell by her tone that she was worried. 

The next morning my fever was gone and everything seemed back to normal. I convinced myself that the whole supermarket thing had been nothing more than a fever dream; though it had felt so real.  But then this afternoon I fell asleep on the couch and suddenly I woke up in a forest beside a young man hiding beneath a tree trunk. His face was towards the ground, but I knew it was my great grandfather, Yuri, and I knew he was hiding from the Russian soldiers. 

“Are they close by?” I whispered. My voice seemed different and I was speaking in Ukrainian.  My mom has only taught me a few Ukrainian phrases, but somehow I was speaking fluently and I understood what my great grandfather was saying perfectly.

“I think they are gone.  We will have to find a safe place to hide.”

“We can go to the lady cooking the cabbage!” I said confidently.

“What lady cooking cabbage?” my great grandfather said, staring at me like I was crazy.

“Never mind…just follow me.”

Within 15 minutes we were at a small house with a thatched straw roof.  It was just the way I had pictured it when my mom would tell me the story of how my great grandfather tried to hide from the Russian army.  I approached the door and was about to knock, when my great grandfather grabbed my arm. 

“Do you know this woman, the one you say cooks cabbage…can we trust her?”

“Yes, yes.  We can trust her.  She will help us.  She lives with her deaf son, he was injured fighting in the revolution.”

MY HEAD WAS SPINNING

I felt a shiver down my neck as I realized my mom had never mentioned a deaf son whenever she told me this story.  Why did I know about her deaf son if I had never been told about him.  I felt a little woozy and braced myself against the door.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded and reached out my hand to knock on the door.  I gasped as I saw that my hand was old and weathered.  I stared at my great grandfather, his young face started back at me with a look of concern.

“Um…I know this will sound strange, but how old am I?”

“Why are you asking me that? I only met you today. Are you sure you are okay?  Do you have a fever? I was worried that the cut on your arm was infected. We need to get you inside?”

Yuri knocked on the door while I looked at my arm and saw dried blood seeping through a makeshift bandage that looked like a piece of a shirt.  I stared at my great grandfather and saw that his shirt was torn off just below his right elbow.  He must have made the bandage for me.  But how did I get hurt and why was I so old? My head was spinning and I fell against my great grandfather as he caught me and carried me into the house as the woman opened the door. I looked into the woman’s eyes and smiled. I felt better when I saw her familiar face-I knew at once that we would be safe now.

The woman helped Yuri get me to a small bed in a room not much bigger than my closet at home.  She washed my arm and placed a clean towel over it.  I could smell the cabbage coming from the kitchen.

“Are you cooking cabbage rolls?” I asked.

She laughed and the skin by her eyes crinkled. 

“I am making sauerkraut. I can fry up some sausage and will make a meal for you two.  My son will be back soon to join us.  He is just feeding the chickens and milking the cow.”

“Your deaf son?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.  My great grandfather and the woman stared at me. 

“You met him?” she asked.

“Um…no…I just remember someone mentioning there was a deaf man living around here.” I lied hoping they would accept my lie as truth and not question me further.  I doubted two people from the 1920s, living in a small Ukrainian village, would believe I was a time traveler from the future. I didn’t want to freak them out. 

Luckily they didn’t question me further and the kind woman led us back into the kitchen area.  There was a small table with three chairs and a large window seat in the room.  My great grandfather sat in one of the chairs and I went to sit on the window seat.   The old woman shouted at me, “Don’t sit there - sit at the table!”  I could sense the fear in her voice and I obeyed her.  As she stood at the stove stirring the pot of boiling cabbage she often looked out the window, her eyes darting nervously. Though her demeanor seemed calm on the surface, I could tell she was frightened.  She caught me staring at her, but for some reason I couldn’t look away, it was as if she had a strange hold over me.  And yet I wasn’t afraid, I felt so strangely calm.  I knew there was danger lurking outside those windows; a danger I had never known in my lifetime; a danger that my great grandfather knew all too well.  The spell between me and the woman broke as I thought of my great grandfather and I looked at him beside me at the table.  He was fidgeting with his hands.  I put my arm on his shoulder to comfort him.  He didn’t look up. 

I could feel the woman’s eyes upon me again; I looked up and the woman stared into my eyes as if she were staring into my soul.  I felt her eyes piercing through me as if judging if I was worthy of her kindness.  She averted her eyes and smiled and I felt I had passed her test. I knew she was risking a lot taking us into her home.  If the soldiers found us here they could cause her a lot of trouble.  I knew her life and the life of her son could be in danger.  I had never had anyone actually risk their life for me.  If I went up to someone’s door in my time period of 2022, no one would probably even answer the door; let alone actually let me in and help me.  I wondered why she was willing to help two total strangers. 

The woman touched my great grandfather’s arm and told us, “Follow me.” as she grabbed an oil lamp off the stove and lit it.  Its light flickered, eerily casting shadows on the wall as she led us down the creaking wooden stairs to the dark basement.  There were no windows down there.  The woman stood by the back wall.  Yuri nervously whispered, “Why did you bring us down here?”  I bit my lip and shoved my trembling hands in my pocket. 

She looked at us and said, “something is inside the wall.’ I gasped and put my trembling hand to my mouth. Yuri took a step back from the woman and stammered, “What…wwwhat is inside the wall?”

I felt a chill as the woman stood there silently; ignoring my great grandfather’s question. The woman bent down and began pushing on the bottom left corner of the back wall.  I moved closer to my great grandfather. 

Yuri and I both screamed in unison as we saw the wall open up.

“Ren, are you okay?” my mom asked, her face ashen with worry.

I realized I was screaming and closed my mouth.  I looked around me- I was in my mom’s car, but we were stopped in the middle of the road. 

“Sorry…” I stumbled, “Ya, I’m okay.”

“It’s probably just a dead battery. Sorry it scared you, Ren. It’s going to be okay sweetie. ”

“Huh?!!” I said, staring at her confused.

“The car.” she replied, frowning at me, “It probably stalled because of the battery.”

MY BODY BEGAN TO SHAKE

“What do you mean?”  I asked, still feeling confused about why I was in my mom’s car and why I had suddenly traveled back to the future. I wanted to be back with Yuri to make sure he was safe.  My body began to shake as fear for my great grandfather’s safety took hold of me.  My heart pounded against my chest like a drum and I could feel the sweat upon my brow. 

“I need to go back…I need to help Yuri.”  Tears began to stream down my face.  I struggled to open the car door.  I had to figure out how to get back to Yuri.  I needed to save Yuri!  Frantically I begged my mom to take me back.

My mom pulled me into her arms, stroking the back of my head.

“Ren…you’re going to be okay.  I will get you to the hospital.  The car won’t start, but I will call an ambulance. It’s just the fever making you confused.  It’s going to be okay…you’re going to be okay.” My mom began to cry and I felt bad for worrying her.

Suddenly I stopped crying and calmed down when I realized that I knew my great grandfather would be safe.  I was a person who knew Yuri’s future.  I knew he would survive.  I knew he would stay in the woman’s home for three days in the secret room within the walls.  I knew that he would elude the Russian army and that he would eventually emigrate to Canada.  I knew he would work in the mines in Smoky Lake, Alberta until he could save enough money to buy some land  to farm in Saskatchewan.  I knew he would send money to my great grandmother, Paraska, so she could join him in Canada. I knew they would raise three children and that their son Bohdan would marry Anna from Manitoba and that they would have one daughter: my mom.  And that my mom would give them a grandson, but that they would not live long enough to meet him.  

 I felt a calmness wash over me-I am a person who knows the future-and I knew I didn’t need to be afraid anymore.

“It’s okay mom.” I said confidently as I comforted her with a hug. “It’s all going to be okay.”

My mom leaned back and put her hands to my face.  “I know sweetie, I know.  It’s all going to be okay…I will get you to the hospital and you will be okay…”. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took out her phone to call the ambulance.

I put my hand on hers.  “I don’t need to go to the hospital mom.”

“But your fever…”. She instinctively put her hand to my forehead and stared at me puzzled.

“Your forehead feels…fine.” she said and checked my forehead again to be sure.

“I don’t have a fever mom…I’m fine.  It’s all going to be just fine.”

Poems © 2025 by Sandra McIntyre, St. Catharines, Ont.

Poetry and Photo ©2025 Dr. John Bacher, St. Catharines, Ont.

 

O Sacred Woods Now Wounded (Tune Hymn 119, O Sacred Head Now Wounded)  

Verse One

O Sacred Woods, now wounded

With grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surrounded

By cuts and wounds all round

How does that green languish, which was bright as morn

Yet though despised and gory

I joy to call thee mine.

Verse Two

What thou deer woods have suffered, was all for sinners’ gain,

On us was the transgression, but thine the deadly pain,

How lost our precious savior, so damaged is the place,

Where once did Cuckoos gather,

And Thrashers flew and raced.

Verse Three

O may it last forever, and no more cutting be

Woods never, never, never,

Be sacrificed for greed.

What language shall I borrow,

To thank thee dearest friend

For thy deep cooling power,

Which shades us without end.

Verse  Four

O woods be ever near us, when heat is at our door,

Then let thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore,

When soul and body languish, o leave me not alone,

Take away our pain and anguish,

By thy graceful  boughs.

-- ©2025 Dr. John Bacher, St. Catharines, Ont.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Poetry and Photo ©2025 Darlene DeNapoli, Niagara Falls, Ont.

Reminiscing under a magic moon

 

In the darkness of night under a magic moon

I remember your essence our favorite tune

Lost in your eyes fading into your soul

Hearts beat in unison together we're whole

 

I love you deeply my darling forever more

I carry you always into my very core

I miss You so much and I always will

Rest easy my love I'm in love with you still

 

Many years have come and gone

Youre a lifetime away 

The memories live on in my heart night and day

The moon holds it's secrets and whispers to me

Keep believing in magic  and one day you will see

 

 

The one you hold dear and close to your heart

Has not really gone you're not really apart

True love never fades or can ever be gone

It lives on in your heart from dusk to dawn

 

 

Your beautiful smile your tender touch

Haunts me day and night I love you so much

Under the magical moon and the spell it casts

True love is forever and forever it lasts

 

-- ©2025 Darlene DeNapoli, Niagara Falls, Ont.

 

 

 

Poetry and Photo ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.

Pretty

 

Pretty like the moon,

Pretty like the air,

Pretty like the stars, and pretty everywhere.

Pretty like the sun,

Pretty like the sea,

Pretty like lace, as pretty as can be.

Her skin glistens in the daylight,

She's so pretty, pretty like the night.

Her eyes sparkle staring into dawn,

She's so pretty she knows the way,

Like when lights are on.

She dances in the rain, not a care in the world.

Until she's cold and wet, her hair in loose curls.

She dreams and wonders but soon she'll be told

“Act like a lady, well shape you like a mold”

She's thin as air, but soon she drops dead,

Knowing she lived in despair, with the afterlife ahead.

-- ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.

 

 

You don't know you

 

Your dark brown eyes, I could drown in like the sea.

Your warm welcoming smile, I could burn over like the sun.

Your gentle touch, I could sink into like concrete.

Your soft caring hands, I could hold like a gun.

Your smooth brown hair, I could feel like body heat.

You don't know what you mean you me, you're perfect like fun.

-- ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.

 

 

 

Linked to him

 

His hot skin, makes me melt from only one touch.

He speaks with pride, sharper than bristles on a brush.

He's tall and slim, like Slender Man he has pale white skin.

He communicates through song, and I through poetry

But wait too long, and I’d wind up crying under a tree.

“And I don't care if you're with somebody else” music to my ears,

Please I beg let this be true, don't make me waste my tears.

So you know these words help me express my emotions,

And like all jobs you work it perfectly, so take this promotion.

You're polite like “please and thank you”, mock me all you want, it only makes me think of you.

I write too many love poems, but I can't help it,

When I talk you catch my words when I throw them.

-- ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.

 

 

She understands

 

She writes, she doesn't fight.

She listens to those with a voice, and she does that by choice.

She speaks with power, like Pisa she’s lean as a tower.

She hears those who don't talk, and helps those who can't walk.

She's kind like birds and sings with them like chirp chirp.

She has soft hands that can paint incredible art.

And a genuine soul that sits graciously with her heart.

She feels your pain and cries with you.

And like Marilyn, she's beautiful too.

She knows the suffer and understands the scars.

But she’ll sew up your wounds by speaking to the stars.

-- ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.

 

 

They say and never do

 

They vape then complain they’re struggling to breathe.

They drink all night then complain their head is pounding.

They do the deed before marriage, then say they didn't know it was a sin.

They cuss all the time and get called out, then they say it wasnt me.

They say God’s name in vain, then say “oh my God it's not a big deal”.

They say they're Christian, then say they don't pray every day.

They take part in sinful activities, then say I'll just pray for forgiveness.

They never ended up praying.

-- ©2025 Avery Nault, St. Catharines, Ont.