blackmail press 31  Marginalization
David Groulx

Marginalization - Pauline Canlas Wu
David Groulx was raised in the Northern Ontario mining community of Elliot Lake. He is proud of his Aboriginal roots – his mother is Ojibwe Indian and his father French Canadian.

After receiving his BA from Lakehead University where he won the Munro Poetry Prize. David studied creative writing at the En’owkin Centre in Penticton, B.C. where he won the Simon J Lucas Jr. Memorial Award for poetry. He has also studied at The University of Victoria Creative Writing Program. He has published six poetry books – Night in the Exude (Tyro Publications: Sault Ste Marie, 1997); and The Long Dance (Kegedonce Press,2000). Under God’s Pale Bones (Kegedonce Press, 2010), A Difficult Beauty (Wolsak & Wynn:Hamilton2011), Rising A Distant Dawn (BookLand Press:Toronto) is due out in the Spring of 2012 as well as Our Life Is Ceremony (Lummox Press: California).

David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets, as well as a member of The Ontario Poetry Society.David recently won the 3rd annual PoetryNOW Battle of the Bards.

David’s poetry has appeared in a 117 publications in England, Australia, Germany, Austria, Turkey, New Zealand and the USA. He lives in a log home near Ottawa, Canada.    
This Is My Canada Shelia

In my Canada it’s cold enough for the cops to freeze
Neil Stonechild to death

In my Canada there are still two thousand
shell casings Gustafsen Lake

In my Canada
Poundmaker was broken and harrowed his flesh to
feed the earth

In my Canada we broke Big Bear too
and followed him all the way to his granddaughter’s

there we built prisons for
the land
the animals
and the brown people

We slept beside the water
before Mahigan died

In my Canada
I’m afraid to go places
this new Babylon
and new Palestine
growing sick

In my Canada
I can hear my mother cry
like a strong wind

it drives me

Mahigan- Ojibwa for Wolf


police drive by

all night
the poor have money tonight
tonight we will be livin’ large
cooking in the backyard
boiling in the summer heat

the police drive by

We’ll be pouring drinks
and running to the store
for chicken
all night

the police drive by

tomorrow we’ll be working at
whatever we do
nobody gives a shit

after the landlords
are paid off
our backs
the merchants
holding out their hands like bums

and our children
will drink milk

with empty pockets


The police are dancing
with their batons to
whatever tune comes to mind

there is my welfare worker
worker swing
How come you don’t work?
Where did you drink all your money?
She sings

politicians on TV swing-crack
am I my brothers keeper?
am I am I am I am I swinging

the landlord is coming
the food bank running out of food

its thanksgiving and
nothing to shoot
except twenty-five partridge

can you here the tune?
can you hear it now?

It goes swing-crack
swing-crack banker
swing-crack miser
misery swing-crack
swing crack