Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication
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by Fiona Smyth

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by Cem Turgay


leekasing.ca (being home)
by Lee Ka-sing

a new photograph every day
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Caffeine Reveries
by Shelley Savor

Scattered Showers

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by Madeleine Slavick 思樂維

I want to swap the 'A' for an 'E'
and I think of Piet Mondrian
who for years ate little or no meat.

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by Kai Chan

Spring Drawing 11, 2021 watercolour on paperr

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DOUBLE DOUBLE issue 0716-2021

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Holly Lee - NIGHT OWL SONATA (in one movement) “Reflecting on the two ideas of migration …..” / Lee Ka-sing - A selection of photographs I created for the cover of NuNaHeDuo (DISLOCATION) from 1992 to 1994


Poem a Week
by Gary Michael Dault

tiger tiger
keeping cool
lounging there
beside the pool
what cosmetic
hand or trace
could lend you
that complacent face?
what has happened
to your flame?
to whom shall I direct
the blame?


From the Notebooks (2010-2021)
by Gary Michael Dault

From the Notebooks, 2010-2021.
Number 94: Walking Cloud (October 2, 2018)

This miniscule painting on cardboard (3 3/4" x 3 3/4") is of course not from one of my notebooks, but was stuck inside of one.  

It fell out while I was browsing through a notebook from 2018.  I don't remember making it, but when I held the little painting in the palm of my hand, I began to enjoy it a lot.  

Now, a few days later, I've come to see it as one of my best things ever.   One of those small mercies.  

Travelling Palm Snapshots
by Tamara Chatterjee

India (December, 2016) – Dazzled by the weathered charm, we mounted our way through the various levels of the Achrol Mahal. We gained entry into dilapidated private palace by chance, arriving in time for tea with the gatekeeper and his grandchildren. Our arrival brought a fleury of activity; the younger crew amused me with their curiosity, questions and dance moves - between an inappropriate marriage proposal and chasing monkeys from the roof.

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Some Trees
by Malgorzata Wolak Dault

Number 84

As a tree grows, it gives

Leaving Taichung Station
by Bob Black

The Color of Bodies Along the Tongue of the Sea

We live in neighbourhoods damp with voices,
memories that flag and flutter along the streets like lost balloons,
Ripen over water the way steam rattles its teeth from a pregnant kettle,
While echoes poke beneath our feet and leave palimpsests of others trampled and squeaking in the dark,
in the morning green palm fronds fallen from a tropical storm sweep away the evening prayers
ourselves and our vices, tattered over
a strewn blanket finger-poked and tangled from a once fitful child and still
these voices linger along the spine backward until we are warmed
and fed thus long after, and what remains,

The bitten smile of the sky’s dark morning, eyes made slender by our touch.


Let this spinning world unite, let the light and shadows dance in the bright genius of tropical light. Let your heart peel underneath the sky as spiky fronds. Let you be you sheltering and alight, palmed beneath the southern hope.
Let my heart ring out like an old brass bell and name it love. Let the darkness ring, let the river cast constellations upward and name it yours.
Let it mark out you grappling, that long past meadow meandered from the cypress and mango swamps, the shadows and torment, dreaming beneath the palms and wayward seabirds and the pelican song.
find this shimmering loss and name it, make your life in that crease and now, in a moment of cloud-clubbed light, thrown like diamonds and know
You are home

And somewhere a boy curls himself upon beach awkward for its disappearing
His smile the lightness of bridges spanning green over the land and spreading shadow-run currents
And he dreams his body sharpens
And his heart twists unraveled like the unspooling of yarn
And thunders hollow, his still silhouette wading as he draws furtive colours with his calloused fingers
Picking shadow puppets with his toes in the sand where a damp secret lingers
And the the sky’s fade joins the sea with the colour blue as a fisherman’s line:
Expectant, baskets and lost fields-the toes tongue and eyes taste and

The sky lit as sea beneath our twinning lives.
And still,
All oceans inside us, breaking

The sky lit as sea beneath our twinning lives.
And still,
We are all oceans, breaking wide and long
sung upon our knees

Later, a beach comber picks up a shell as if it were her very life
Nurture in her hands and infant waiting for mother’s milk
A fisherman drunk on brine and a weedy net whispers surrender
Breathing wax to a bee
Sweet truths in a bar
Their likeness a canopy that offers its dropping protection to wayward light,

And well-beveraged, our life
Bridges long with music, betrayals and betrothal vows inked upon our lips and hands,
The quiet steps of quickly stolen stars, the fishbones left at the front door by the neighbour’s cat
The whiteness of your mouth in the early morning hours
The light accompanying the heart, the recipes we scribble on the backs of brown bags
Or with shells in the sand pushed into paragraphs by our scraping toes,
All that is here too, the love letters replaces in the form of cooking instruction
Our hope stirred in the shadows of the voice in hand-written stories:
The heart arun in its tugging, agreeance and this:
Run the light upon you, everlasting stretching

Along the spring of our lives, bodies slowly glisten.
Along the stretch of our lives, our bodies slowly sweeten.

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(Breakfast area and small shop)

Located on the second floor of an art space, INDEXG Bed and Breakfast has 4 guest rooms, all with ensuite bathroom. Since 2008, INDEXG B&B have served curators, artists, art-admirers, collectors and professionals from different cities visiting and working in Toronto.

50 Gladstone Ave, Toronto

ISSN 1918-6991
Published on Mondays, with columns by Artists and Writers
Published since 2002, an Ocean and Pounds publication


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