Words have the power to paint pictures and translate emotions. Through poetry, the audience can embark on a journey of textured memories and feelings. Featured on this page you will find poets we have been lucky to collaborate with during our monthly event Textures of Music.
Upcoming Poetry Readings
Each month the CTTC hosts a concert in collaboration with the Oakville Arts Studio, featuring local musicians, poets and photographers. The cost to attend the event is $15.00/per ticket which includes one glass of wine and appetizers.
Past Poetry Readings at the CTTC
March 26th, 2017
I hear you, bird of prey, your cry is bleak
as the snow enveloping fallen trees
that once raised their leaves
to tremble in rapture at the warmth of spring,
but now lie insensible to winter’s spite
primitive bird with reptilian eyes,
to whom do you listen? for whom do you wait?
through a sunless indigo that does not glow
you flit like a fearful ghost
that cannot find its home.
Do not weep for these giant trees—
they have had their century
and leave in their wake
their seedlings, saplings that soon will rise
and spread their branches to the sun
see now in the moonlight,
pushing through a dying winter’s shroud,
sleeping twiglets soon to bear leaves
one day to bear talons...
giving respite to your seed
so rest then and be comforted
April 30th & Nov. 27th, 2017
Born alone into a world devoid of worship, Alone among men too willing to curse,
I sought the blessing of the forest.
Seeking the company of lonely hermits,
I learned all that they had known, And resolved to live with memory.
Setting out into the world,
I walked alone among streets and vaults, And temples built to alien gods. Stepping softly so not to disturb,
The ebb and flow of daily life,
I lived, loved and was forgotten.
Returning, again, to lonely forests, I came to be, beneath a tree,
and sit content by tranquil water.
*This poem is based on Hermann Hess’s fictionalized biography of the Buddha.
John M. HASTINGS
Jan 28th, 2018
June 25th, 2017
Jan. 9th, 2017
Feb. 26th, 2017
His lips curl around the cigarette and he breathes in deeply. The end of the cigarette flickers with orange sparks. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and his lips settle into a pout. He looks up from his paper and sees me sitting there on the floor watching him. My eyes jump to looking at the dolls on my lap.
“Aye girl,” he calls. His voice is loud. “Come here!”
I know what he wants.
I stand up and let the dolls fall to the floor. I walk over to him. My eyes never leave the floor.
I know what he wants.
“You know what I want girl.”
I lift my head and I look beyond his head to the bright, yellow wall behind him. Cracks in the plaster ripple through the yellow and add texture to the surface.
“Girl, smile for me.”
I feel my lips quivering to hold the smile in place.
“Nice, real nice,” he says.
I feel my hand come up to protect my mouth. My hand hides the teeth that sit uneven and imperfect.
“Now go back and play with your toys,” he orders. I can smell the cigarette.
I turn and walk past my dolls. My teeth now hidden behind the tight line of my clenched lips.
I walk out of the room. I can still smell the cigarette.
May 27th, 2018
The Little Red Box
A little red box
With 2 doors that unlocks
People so tiny and small walk in
Some with a frown and some with a grin
In small whispers they say
What they feel and withought delay
The next little red door on the little red box
Opens up and now unlocks
Only letting the ones with a frown stay
So I can hear what they have to say
The ones with kind words get forced out
So they begin to scream and shout
So that I may hear
Before they dissapear
Their little kind words so happy, not sad
But the doors close leaving words so bad
From the little people with a frown to say
Letting the smiles and fun be in delay
In that little red box that can be found
In my mind safe and sound
Nov. 26th, 2017
May 29th, 2017
Singer & Poet