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Three Sizes Too Small Arts 

Three Sizes Too Small

I don’t have much too give you Certainly not love Maybe companionship at best Love died with the last guy Rest in peace Should I be angry about this? I’m not Things were different Life was different Eventful and full of colour He could make me smile as soon as my tears dried up It doesn’t matter what I had been crying up He could inject passion in one lonely moment Strong enough to be felt Sweet enough to savor I would worry about him more then I worried about…

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Sick Arts 


We were born to watch Her burn In the hands of selfish Men Without faith, hearts or concern, For the life around them Since money doesn’t grow on trees, What exactly is their use? Not one of them cares, nor sees That our purpose is not Abuse How our messed up weather, Foreshadowed by the first crown and throne, By those who think they can control Her, Yet are weaker than a lifeless stone   The Earth will go on. With us or without Weather the birds still sing their…

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Scare the Insider: 1st Place Winner Arts 

Scare the Insider: 1st Place Winner

My Friend’s “Daughter”: Earlier this month, I had one of the most horrid experiences that anyone could have put me through. My- used to be- dear friend Augustus called me upon for a visit. He apparently wanted me to meet his new “daughter”, which I deemed a particular demand considering that he never even got married. To be sincere, I thought he had given up on love. But, I accepted anyway, for how could I not be exited too meet the child of a lifelong friend. From the moment I…

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Scare the Insider: 2nd Place Winner Arts 

Scare the Insider: 2nd Place Winner

Insomnia: I can’t sleep, I can’t blink, I can’t dream Day by day, I feel tired and not a bay The sky is always gray and my eyes barely awake I tried to meditate  Even as far as to medicate Pills swallowed just to suffocate But my body always feels awake   I can’t sleep, I can’t blink, I can’t dream My eyes get darker each day The ray of the sunshine can barely put a color on my face I feel like a skeleton walking endlessly in a fray…

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Untitled Poems Arts 

Untitled Poems

Poem 1   Whenever someone turns The lights on Why Why do I constantly seek These dark shallow surroundings I want to see Feel the things light Does not permit Not void Not emptiness But the serenity That these ominous beings give me I do not feel pain Around them Or fear Not even as they creep Closer And closer And closer Come to me In trance They put me there And dance To that sweet melody The one that plays In the background As you eat me As you…

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The Henry Lehmann Gallery’s Scholarship Exhibition Arts Campus 

The Henry Lehmann Gallery’s Scholarship Exhibition

On Wednesday October 9th, The Henry Lehmann Gallery hosted its first opening of the Fall 2019 semester, showcasing the works of the recipients of the Vanier Art Acquisition and Peter Gonda scholarships. The academic dean Annie-Claude Banville was present to give a few words about the gallery. I, the head curator of the gallery and the assistant director of the gallery Clara Riga presented a speech at the opening as well. Also, the artists were present to speak to attendees about the creation of and message behind their artworks. The…

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The complexity of war Arts 

The complexity of war

The Canadian Soldier: Hero or murderer? Honourable or corrupt? Patriot or traitor?   Their missions in the Middle East: Home to invaluable oil supplies… Do soldiers really aim to protect civilians? Or rather, do they exploit their oil supplies, Protecting the resources instead?   Is their presence a catalyst for ongoing wars, Or a resolver of conflict? Does it promote peace, Or encourage combat?   There is propaganda going both ways, But the truth is far more complex. War is a disease that spreads quicker than the flu in a…

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Fireside Memories Arts 

Fireside Memories

There was a time When the photographs decorated the mantel, For visitors to study fondly, As they remembered the elated smiles And glistening lips, coated with liquor, That sipped from crystal wine glasses.   There was a time Before the images aged, Along with the surrounding furniture, Collecting dust, Fraying at the edges, And fading…   Just like the memories We stowed away in the attic, Entered scarcely on drunken nights, Where we dusted off the photo albums, And toasted, “To the good old days!”   Poem by: Fin

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Moths Arts 


As the sun, Travels to foreign land, Ours is struck by blackness. But no. Our skies are lit with the fluorescence of our own doing. Our creations scrape the stars, Stealing their shimmer, To use as a spotlight, That lights our nightly escapades. For after all, We have become moths; Craving the warmth of the flame, And afraid of the dark.   Poem by: Valentina Tsilimidos

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