"Clinging to what saves me" by Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt

Tanya at work

 Clinging to what saves me

Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt

 

When I’m writing a novel,

there are certain things I can control:

who says what, and where, who gets to fall in love

and who must die a tragic death

alone, on a bridge, under a moonless sky.

 

I make wondrous things happen:

like finding hidden treasure

or a message in a bottle,

a new constellation

or a city hidden beneath the sea.

 

It’s exhilarating and exhausting

to exert such control, to be the mastermind

of my detailed maps and charts and timelines,

my lists of names and dates and perils.

 

But when the world beyond my desk tilts sideways,

slides off the edge and is swallowed into the abyss,

when catastrophe and plague threaten

like pirates to set my ship on fire,

grab me by the throat and rob me blind

 

my stories are the flotsam that will save me,

the driftwood oars that will row me to shore,

build a fire to warm my shivering body

and shelter me from the raging storm.

***

Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt is an accomplished author. Her latest memoir, Carrying War, was published by Dundurn Press in August 2026 (see here). She’s also the author of her critically acclaimed memoir Peacekeeper’s Daughter, available through the publisher, Thistledown Press here or order it through your local bookstore (see here). 

Tanya has also published two volumes of poetry with Shoreline Press: Chaos Theories of Goodness (here) and The Hospitality of Trees (here).

Tanya’s award-winning essays, poems and fictions have been published in numerous journals and anthologies including Grain, Prairie Fire, Malahat Review, The New Quarterly, and Best Canadian Essays 2015 and 2019. She holds an MA in English Literature from McGill and an MFA in Creative Writing from UBC.

Visit Tanya online here.

Read more short pieces about reading and writing here (and scroll down). Read other short stories, essays, and reviews by your fellow writers here (and scroll down).

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, afternoon workshops, and wonderful writing retreats here.

Two poems by Sara Aharon

“I don’t care if it’s not forever” 

Life chases me
And finds me in the kitchen
In the bedroom
In the bathroom
In my paintings and my writing
Sometimes
It’s hard to stop
Running
When life chases me.

I don’t care if it’s not forever
If life is not forever
Some moments
Are endless
Grabbing me by the wrists
Wrestling me to the ground
The bottom falls further away
And I don’t care because it’s not forever.

 And when the roses bloom 
Their scent knocks me over
Like a wrestler’s winning move.

 And when the sun peeks
And the music plays
I tremble
As the breath of life kisses my lips
And I don’t care if it’s not forever.

I do long for a
Forever
Bliss
But I know that being wrestled down to the floor
Gasping
Repeatedly
Is what it takes for the rose petals to smell like
Life’s Sweetest Escape
For
Vibrations of colors and music to take hold
The sun to shine brightly
And for me to miss your lips.

 

“Seven Plots”

We are of the same blood
of the same pain
of childbirth
grief
dreams
pleasures
disappointments
it’s all variations on a theme – which
one of the seven plots
did you survive?

Overcoming a monster?
No, that was your children’s story.
Voyage and return maybe,
you travelled the seas but did you return?
Comedy?
I doubt it.
Rags to riches, maybe.
Tragedy, sometimes. Losing a child counts.
The quest – what was your quest?
Did you think
you were allowed to have one?
Re-birth, I hope,
In me.

In another life
you didn’t see me
Yet.

Seems unfair
that I see you
you are in me
but in reverse it doesn’t work.

Do you ever dream what it might be like to hold
the last of the blood line
young blood mixed with old
hold the one that folds into
me
into you
into us
in an endless cycle of the seven plots.

***

Sara Aharon is an Israeli living in Toronto. She makes her living as a psychologist and is the proud mother of two adult daughters.

Read more short stories, essays, and poems by your fellow writers here (and scroll down).

See Brian Henry's upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.

 

 

"Women in Shakespeare," a list poem by Meg Freer

 

Women in Shakespeare …

Show every human emotion, sometimes in inhumane ways.

Act strong and bossy, proud, empathetic, impatient and impulsive.

Dislike it when others make them an object of fun or take advantage of them.

Do not hesitate to insult or criticize their male counterparts.

Frequently condemn men as inconstant deceivers incapable of change.

Believe that disrespectful or downright bad behaviour looks good on no person.

Easily become leads in operas and musicals, where females often dominate the stage.

Resist being seen by others as weak, but realize we’re all only human.

Forgive the temptation to blame themselves when things don’t work out.

Try to live with everyone’s imperfections and make the best of it.

***

Meg Freer grew up in Montana and now lives in Ontario. She is a musician and editor, a member of The Ontario Poetry Society and League of Canadian Poets, Poetry Co-editor for The Sunlight Press and Contributing Editor for Traces Journal. She co-hosts a monthly series featuring poetry performed simultaneously with live improvised music.

Her prose, photos, and poems have been published in many journals​ and in ​four chapbooks. During 2024-25, she served as Poet-in-Residence for the McDonald Astroparticle Physics Institute at Queen’s University.

Read more short pieces about reading and writing here (and scroll down). Read other short stories, essays, and reviews by your fellow writers here (and scroll down).

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.

"The Caregiver" by Deanie LaChance

The Caregiver 1

My dog leans against my left leg
Staring up at me intently
Willing me to go outside and play 

His whole body pulses
A rhythm against my thigh
Not now, I say 

He knows the nurse is here
To tend to my husband
He knows I have a few minutes off 

I don’t want to look after you, I say
He tilts his head sideways
Try to understand, I plead with a dog 

I only have this time
Once a week
These are my minutes 

Minutes to find my rhythm
To find the thing that I want so intently
I will stare down the world to get it 

His eyes insist it’s his turn
So, I walk to the back door
To go outside and play

***

The Caregiver 2

I position my chair to catch the morning light
And much as my head reminds me to get busy
I am watching the dust motes that are floating
In the light from my study window 

No direction, no aim, no next thing to do
Waiting to be buffeted by my inhales and exhales
Forwards. Backwards. Because another has breathed
Moving because another has moved 

I am like the dust motes, suspended in my chair
Not moving until you cause me to move
Hoping for you to inhale again so that I can exhale
Being buffeted, then hanging, waiting, floating 

Inhale. Exhale. Hanging in air 

I am relating to dust motes 

I am relating to dust motes 

***

Deanie LaChance lives in Peterborough, Ontario. She worked as a high school English teacher, and then as a mental health counsellor. Now she is enjoying this stage of life where she can spend her time and energy developing her creativity. 

See Brian Henry's upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here.

Read more short stories, essays, and poems by your fellow writers here (and scroll down).

 

 

 

Two poems by Julie Whitley

 

“Lessons in Natural Writing”

  Make the mental shift: feel yourself float,

let words and                          associations freely

mix.  Sense that time             changes pace, sidesteps

as the world                                                         surges past.

Make the mental shift;                                         let emotions

and images rub                                              shoulders, pictures

whole but mute.                                                          Unstop your

innocent, random                                                             wondering.

Make the mental shift;                                                               feel the

rhythms, hear                                                                   the sounds

play with the                                                              language of

ideas and                                                        shape a choice.

Make the mental shift;                                         focus

the emergent patterns                             complex

and unique, the                         lightning flash

of vision that begs                   you to write

Now make the  mental shift

 

Life’s Circles

Life circles, souls renew. Ancient friends and lovers,

Seek each other anew, In the faces now of others.

In the eyes, dwells the soul. When like hearts meet,

The exchange is whole. And half becomes complete.

 

Julie Whitley is the author of the Secrets of the Home Wood series, a fantasy adventure. She has been enjoying her retirement from nursing with a return to her early passions of writing prose and poetry and painting. She works in both oils and watercolour. Her three grandsons joyfully occupy the remainder of her time.

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

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“Wild Woman” by Denisha Naidoo

 

The moon is high
full in the sky
my skin tingles
gleaming eye

with laughter and joy
for what comes next
the transformation
is the best.

On my limbs
soft thick fur
a top my head
triangle ears appear

I can sense the world
through my snout
scents that tell me
what’s about

Fierce and strong
running free
when I get to be
authentically me

it’s part of being
who I am
not two-legged woman
but four-legged “man”

I laugh at the stupid
myth they tell
as though a wolf
came straight from hell

they say a werewolf
is a male
a white European
Fake news! Fairy tale!

And accuse him
of eating human flesh
when herbivores
like rabbits are best

And what else
did they get wrong?
If I start
I’ll go on and on…

As though being a wolf
were a tragedy
like a curse
in need of a remedy

what they don’t know
it is to be
a wild woman
running strong and free!

***

Denisha Naidoo is a South African born Canadian poet, writer and Wild Woman living in Guelph, Ontario, with her dog Maverick. Her work has been accepted by Braided Way Magazine, Outpost Magazine, Ladies Briefs: A Short Anthology and Tree Talk. Her documentaries have aired on CBC radio and she published a podcast of her novella, The Amazing Adventures of Wig Girl {see here}.

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

 

“Beckoning” by Angela Varghese

 

Like the scent of a rose that beckons the bumblebee
This blank page calls out to me

Like a dance
that moves and twirls
These words that choose
To waltz and whirl
Around inside my head to see
If they come tumbling out from me

Onto the page
push and pull
words will be
sharp or dull
tug of war
back and forth
find the image
evoking more

thinking, writing
rearranging
words into sentences
then back again
to the beginning
so it goes
never quitting
always fitting
words together
this is pleasure
beckoning
almost there…..almost
then back again

***

Angela Varghese lives in Oakville; she has four children who are all grown up now and have become adults.  It took 27 years.  This now leaves her time to write and take Brian Henry’s writing classes.

***

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

 

“Whispers in the Wind” by Karen Zehnal

 

The invitation wafts gently

In the cool autumn breeze

Floating lightly as the leaves

Twirling, lifting, dancing on air

Playful as the laughing children

Skipping happily along the lane

 

Oh, to frolic with them 

In nature's world of delight

To feel one's wistful senses

Surrender to the gentle pull

Joining in the heartfelt music

Held in the whispering wind

***

Karen Zehnal's lifelong passion has been the study of the human experience through various lenses including medical and health sciences, philosophy and the eastern wisdom traditions. The beauty and eternal nature of our human soul forms the groundwork for her written verse.

See Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.

“The Manor Ghost” by Kimberly Schols

The rain drops drum

Against rippled glass,

Grey distant views disappear,

And yellowed etchings

Curl and die in their gilded frames.

The damp rises.

A sting upon my senses.

Carpets soiled and bare

Hide many the stains of

Long forgotten parties.

 

If I was to climb that staircase

And feel the soft cool

Railing against my palm,

Would I ever really touch

What went before.

What spirits, souls and beings

Flitted through the hallways

And are reflected in the mirrors.

 ***

Note: This piece was written at the September 2022 Briars Writing Retreat. For details of upcoming writers’ retreats, see here (and scroll down).

Kimberly Schols is following her muse and letting it inspire her pen and her brush - grateful for the space to do that.  Kimberly holds a M. A. in Counselling Psychology and an M.B.A. in Marketing, has raised two fearless, horse loving daughters and lives in Oakville and Arizona with Hans.  Kimberly was raised in the utopian town of Deep River, the unusual home of atomic science, which might explain her artistic sensitivities.

See all of Brian Henry’s upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and weekend retreats here.