Category Archives: Montreal

In A Tunnel

Listpoem Amy Vaillancourt


run off

 Amy Vaillancourt

canal truck stop

An epic adventure along a dead dream.



the tunnel


ice cold

in to the cave of our minds

thick with icy dreams

and thawed sparkles


take a seat, i’ve got two




montreal and listpoem, nyx and wren


hung out to dry

montreal's street team, listpoem is in your backyard.

listpoem knows about your underwear

the parade


bring me the sky



blue bird



building dreams


Just Cos’

heavy metal

some salvaged flesh of a dead laptop.

some scraps on the floor.

some skin in twisted shards.

new shapes

and stray cats

sending out a signal

can you hear me?

the wall


raccoon candy-cane

flavor of the week.

old fashioned friends

the light lowered
words lessoned
a photo was snapped and then night came.

out for a walk

cage. bird.

feast on this

a hot summer day

hints of summer’s shadow

soon the leaves will fall
then the snow will follow
in gusts of swirling silence

can do

stone wall

layers on layers

full reach rapunzel

not half full

all that was in the pool is on her mind

vaillancourt and toes.

if you seek a body a water
to cool your feathers,
you may run into amy
and her pet duck, toes.
they never leave each others side.
often, in pursuit of a sitting pond,
they must resort to hoping fences
and illegally quenching their thirsts.

standing giants

steel skeletons exposed against the sky.
a perch for only the bravest of birds.
standing giants


the street hits back.

tree top treason

yellow sun burns

even the trees were crying

futuristic sailors

the nautical hour of brilliant light

forecasting our sights
into falling night

been a long time, your clothes or mine?

mustard and chartreuse
wending your way
burgeoning feathers loose
goodbye, you say

highway prism

the turcot interchange was originally built as a “dramatic” display of montreal’s global position as a metropolis, yet it has become a crumbling problem. its design accommodated both ships and trains to pass underneath its expansive footprint and in this case, deviant youth.


you may have been there before but not anymore

broken glass

in the darkened belly of places left to sit
creatures become silhouettes against
the light of the whirlwind sun.
gaze they do out into the world
trapped by their own innards
and insecurity.

crush it


untouched snow where green grass grows

pigeon playground

last leg of the journey

ominous buildings conceal the snarl toothed beauty of nature.

outer body experience

lucid perch

moments fluttering with contemplation, self-reflection
images of escaping reality.
an attempt at being grounded
left as shadows cast upon the horizontal.

it comes to a point

not everything has to be right angles

perspective: when lines get fuzzy
all the way up there, one step at a time

dying every second

depths of layered reality, somewhere between shadowed pasts and ghostly futures.
haunted we are by glimmers of far off white.
even the stars are dying every second.
their light may pass us eventually but it continues and expands the universe further.



“No, it’s okay, I got it open myself.”

to be a park legend

tender on delicate branches, facing the slope to infinity of a brick wall.
feral city beasts using parks to their maximum.

heart shaped snowflake

inspired by the massive amount of snow that had fallen and continued to fall we decided to go out into the night and try to capture some of it’s enchantment. out in the alley we attempted to get some action shots of jumping off dumpsters into the puffy blanket but all that produced was strange ghostly flashes. we did however manage to catch this magical moment. it arguably took all the chaos of the universe to procure this chance encounter.

an ant’s perspective

the corners we forgot
remembered with two blinks of an eye
i like looking at the ground because i am shy
but sometimes it is nice to look up at the sky

pigeon life

pigeons sit on electrical wires, vests puffed, toes warming.
but, they are anxious there and take flight, only to become cold and lonely again, wanting return to their friendly wire

columba livia; the rock dove; the pigeon.

pigeons came across the atlantic as food, for colonists, starting in the 1600s.
these pretty, feral, winged, city-rats breed four to five times a year. there have been attempts to halt their successful reproduction with serious measures, like electrical fences and food stuffed with contraceptives.

the winter’s tale

Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to everyone. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some withered bough, and there
My mate, that’s to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.