the poetry that matters

Josh Stewart 

Josh Stewart is a Mississauga-based poet whose work has appeared in The Cortland Review, Misunderstandings Magazine, All Rights Reserved, and Ascent Aspirations. His first chapbook of poetry, Invention of the Curveball, was released in 2008 with Cactus Press. His unpublished manuscript A Trick of the Light was short-listed for the 2008 Canadian Aid / BookLand Press contest, and he was awarded first place for fiction in the 2006 Norma Epstein competition.

Approaching Dusk

let us walk dear friend --                                before we run out of time,
                before fingers smudging the horizon       curl into night’s fists
step on every crack                                         in these winding sidewalks,
                challenge fate to change                                our trajectories
our resounding footsteps                              clearer as we trace memories,
                these familiar paths                                         etched like scars
across the surface                                            of this city.
will you still stroll                                            with enviable ease,
               so comfortable in your skin                         you could never be naked,
you, who taught me how to                          breathe in each moment,
               walk without your shadow                            tangled in each step --
is there still time                                               before today’s hardships restrain you
               in the endless wires                                         of everything possible             
will I still listen to                                             the voice of the present or
              the past’s incessant whisper,                       questions that it poses
to the distorted reflections                           we still carry with us –
              the men we were                                               mere mirages, or
those young men                                              simply fools
              who raced the sunset              and                 lost to the horizon.


Running In Slow Motion

it looks ridiculous –                                         lacks the elegance of
            any other creature’s                                         press against air, ground
primal bodies beautiful                                   in primitive pursuit
            we look like the declawed animals             we have become
pounding of our hearts                                    roar of our blood
            forgotten syllables                                            in our mother tongue

we are falling                                                       waiting to be caught
            hoping for our feet                                            to catch up and correct
the tilt of our bodies                                         leaning in desperation
            against mortality’s borders                           becoming more tangible
with every passing step                                   impact shutters
            through sinew, bone, muscle                        shakes the core of our beings
reverberating in tune                                       with the undeniable force of earth

            receiving impact                                              rather than delivering
victims of our nature                                       being led by faded instincts
            our breath rattles                                             in our lungs like echoes
in a hollow jar –                                                 the desperate gasps
            of prey                                                                 being caught


Big Bang

Nothingness like
reverberating cosmos through
words. Whisper thought into
life-breathing lungs,
contracts and expands dust
yet as meaningless still. And
beauty begins time,
motion in universe,
symmetry ending -- never.

Never-ending symmetry,
universe in motion.
Time begins -- beauty,
and still meaningless as yet.
Dust expands and contracts --
lungs breathing life
into thought. Whisper words
through cosmos, reverberating
like nothingness.


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