Click on title to see poem
Join The Line
February 26, 2021
Sheer Cold
January 15, 2021
Where I'm From (Bee Kim)
December 16, 2020
Where I'm From (V. De Caria)
December 16, 2020
December 16, 2020
Blue Jeans
November 18, 2020
November 18, 2020
Smarter Than That
October 15, 2020



February 26, 2021


By: Anna Carsley-Jones, Grade 12


When you choose to stay comfortable,

Instead of helping the vulnerable,


And choose to be still and polite,

Instead of being brave and joining the fight,


The fight goes on longer.

Because some aren’t ready to be stronger.


Your silence is violence.

Avoiding the alliance.


Your complacency causes harm.

It's time to disrupt, dismantle and disarm.


Make the signs.

Join the lines.


March the streets.

As long as we need to, we will repeat.


Say their names.

Be ready to exclaim:


“Never again.”


The fighting spirit must remain.





January 15, 2021

By Madeleine Bhamjee

Sheer cold

It crawls over green, over warmth, over life, relentlessly 

It runs rampant and sees no end

How it glistens, how it gleams but its bitterness is overwhelming 

Its beauty is immeasurable and yet it is so destructive, so brutal and unloving  

Someday it will take its leave, for now it lives on comfortably, ruling over us 

Sheer cold



December 16, 2020

By Bee Kim, Grade 11

I am from the jukebox.

From the vinyl and the transition to CDs.

I am from the water, next to the woods,

(Untamed, sparkling, and uncanny.)

I am from the outdoor foraging, wild mushrooms.

Blackberry bushes with their thorns sharp.

I’m from the play fighting and the dance battles.

From Cavallo and el tic tac.

I’m from the fine line between belligerence and affection.

I am From an empty bag of Ms. Vickey’s chips.

From “Joyoung Yehae!” and “Exactly.”

I’m from the night walks with the full moon, stargazing.

I’m from the land of hope and night views, Yeosu, Korea.

From the apple foraging and a quirky guide to a secret tree.

The cooking, crying to movies and songs.

I am from the music, the woods, and the burst of laughter.

The photos, located nowhere but in our hearts.

Because time goes too fast to even savour the little moments.




December 16, 2020

By V. De Caria, Grade 11

I am from candles,
From sugar and leather.
I am from dust in the sunlight,
(Iridescent, Warm, slowly drifting through the air.)
I am from the white spruce,
The monterey pine cone,
Whose sap smells festive and crisp like blades of grass covered in frost.
I’m from homemade red wine and big green eyes,
From Andrea and Francesco.
I’m from the story tellers and stubbornness,
From practice makes permanent and non si tocca.
I’m from meatless Christmas eves and baptisms.
I’m from the halfway of Westboro and The Glebe like those before me.
Roasted chestnuts and fresh pastries.
From the bullet that grazed the side of my Great Grandfathers head while he fought in a war he
didn’t believe in,
The Great Grandmother from whom I share my name with.
In an unrevealed location lies a cold metal box,
Only my father is able to unlock,
For what’s inside is irreplaceable,
As priceless as a famous painting hung at the Louvre that people stop to admire.




December 16, 2020

By Linda Berry, Grade 12

We live in a world that is consumed by ourselves.

We can’t escape our need to be the best, to escalate, to be invincible.

When I say need, I mean need, because wanting it isn’t optional.

It isn’t enough to be good at something; we have to be good at everything.

So we have two people that we are trying to be. 


Someone that can be displayed to the world, who is smart, attractive, unstoppable.

Someone with a picture perfect smile, with teeth that are so straight they look unreal.

This person is unreal, and people say,  “I want to be them.”


Then we have someone who is hidden from the world. 

Someone who has bad days, and cries at night.

Someone with insecurities about their body, their abilities and their future. 

Someone who wakes up some days, feeling like they can’t take life any longer, and thinks, “how will I ever do this?”

Someone who is human. 


But so many of us have hidden this person for so long, behind filters on our phone, vacations in the sun, and an unwavering smile that only lets its guard down when we are alone with ourselves.

The only place where hiding from the world is finally over.

Because hiding was never the truth.

But some of us have spent so long hiding, we’ve forgotten the truth. 


This is considered normal.

It’s normal to hide, to ignore, to repress.

We pretend that we are better than others, and vice versa.

A story in our heads that plays out through our display to the world.


I hope someday this changes.

I hope that someday it’s ok to just do something that you love, not because you’re amazing at it, but because you love it.

I hope that it’s ok to care about humanity not just when it’s a fad, but all the time.

And most importantly, I hope it’s ok to post a picture on instagram not because it’s “cute”, but because it’s YOU.

I’ve been real in a fake world for so long; 

one day I hope to be real in a real world.



November 18, 2020


By Linda Berry, Grade 12

We buy them without thinking.

Fresh, soft, sky blue.

Rips and tears, the latest fashion.

We feel better, instantly when we get them.

Like a shot of adrenaline pulsing through our veins.


Because they’re so much more than just a pair of jeans.

They’re not at all like all the other pairs of pants we have- no, these ones are special.

Maybe they’ll make our crush notice us, or maybe someone else will.

Despite the fact that everyone else wears them, they’re unique.


Nevermind who made them.

That’s a different story.

One that we aren’t exposed to- a story that is far away from where we live.

In a country with a name we can’t pronounce, where the people speak a language we don’t know, where they experience a way of life we never have.

Somehow, this makes the other country seem like an alternate universe.


Maybe that’s why we don’t care. 

Because we can’t imagine that what we’re doing right here, right now, has any impact that far away.

Because we just can’t believe it.

We can’t believe how young they are when they begin work, or how they are treated, or how they live.

We think that because we’re kind, good people, we’re not the ones causing them any pain.

And we just want the jeans.


The jeans that we paid $20 dollars for, but that they were only paid pennies for.

The jeans that we bought in a cute store, that they made in enormous, overheated, overcrowded factories.

The jeans made by children who never got an education, an opportunity at life.


I guess it's easy to just pretend.

Pretend that we don’t know, or pretend that it’s not true.

Convince ourselves otherwise, then move on with our busy lives.

But the truth is, everyday we vote with our wallets.

And whether you vote for injustice or justice is up to you.

But your vote counts.

Every vote counts.

 Even if it's just for a pair of blue jeans.



November 18, 2020

By Anonymous



There was a time where they'd argue

You'd run into my room

And I'd shut the door and hold you tight

Like a dream fading from my mind

I'm sorry I can't always protect you

But when I can I'll be there

Looking across wherever we are

As if to distract them from the fact that I'm squeezing your hand so tight

Almost like I'm ready to run off

to protect you

And your happiness

From their fights

Even though they think they mean well


October 15, 2020

By a Grade 10 Student



It has been said

Your best was all you could do

And that’s enough


Moods and feelings are like seasons

They change so quickly

You don’t even notice until after the change

I felt good

I felt confident

I felt hopeful

But then that changed


It has been said

“You’re smarter than that”

My best was all I could do

And that wasn’t enough


I’ve always asked questions

I’ll always try to look for help

But that can’t always work

That hasn’t been enough


My disappointment will fade soon

I know

It will blow away like the leaves of Autumn

My tears will stop falling

I know

Dry up like a Spring in heat as hot as Summer


But words are like a plastic

They can stay composed for a thousand years

And both can do harm


I’ll try my best

Even if you think I’m smarter than that