Lynn Crosbie Poems

Poems » lynn crosbie

Lynn Crosbie
Lynn Crosbie (born 1963) is a Canadian poet and novelist Crosbie was born in Montreal, Quebec, and now lives in Toronto, Ontario She is a cultural critic, and the author of several books of poetry: Miss Pamela's Mercy, VillainElle, Pearl and a collection of new and selected work, Queen Rat. Pearl, was shortlisted for the Pat Lowther Award. Crosbie teaches at the Ontario College of Art and Design and the University of Toronto, and is a columnist for The Globe and Mail. She wrote her PhD thesis on the work of the American poet Anne Sexton. She is perhaps best known for her controversial book on the Canadian criminal Paul Bernardo, Paul's Case.

parable
 
 
The first time I appreciated
the story of the prodigal son
and how -- to the chagrin
... [read poem]
daily bread
 
 
We have cried often when we have given them the little victualling we
had to give them; we had ... [read poem]
squirrel
 
 
All around him November rain
hisses like a thousand snakes -- around him
and on him and al... [read poem]
iris holden, district nurse
 
 
`Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
But yet the body is his book.'

God would have b... [read poem]
the tongue's allotment
 
 
I.

"Come unto these yellow sands." At best
a shifty invitation. Simcoe, playing... [read poem]
a chest of angels
 
 
'I have always felt that desolation,
that hell itself, is most powerfully expressed
in an ... [read poem]
the contractor
 
 
When God made me, there was a war on:
Supplies were scarce, so He did it on the cheap.
Oh,... [read poem]
stones from ashbourn churchyard
 
 
Jesse Quantrill, Miller
The toll taken, the grist drest:
Here the bran, the flour w... [read poem]
ampersand
 
 
'He thought it had only been put there
to finish off th' alphabet, like, though
ampus-and ... [read poem]
the finger puppets in the attic dollhouse
 
 
If they, more petite
than the mice whose flittings
have pillaged their robes' sparkl... [read poem]
eyethurl
 
 
Sometimes, at night,
when the north wind slams against the house
and downpipes shudder and... [read poem]
villainelle
 
 
for Aileen Wuornos

Come now, do this, my soul! No secret murder
earns ren... [read poem]
an offering
 
 
When a creature dies ... the flesh
and soft parts of the body rot quickly.
All that is lef... [read poem]
a world of light
 
 
If I close my eyes now, I can still see them
canopied by the visor of my sunhat:
three chi... [read poem]
cool pastoral on bloor street
 
 
I. Consider the tragic fortitude
of mannikins, the courage it takes
under casual po... [read poem]
epitaph for m.
 
 
I slipped past the sharks.

I struck down the tigers.

What ate me up

Were the vermin.
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