Alexandra Writers' Centre
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Alive by Julie Smith-Allen

26/3/2026

0 Comments

 
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Prompt: wild around the edges

I was 11, 
sweet, shy, solitary,
the darkness sliding into the night sky 
outside the bedroom I shared with my sister,
the day’s heat still pulsing through the open screen.

Alone in the two-storey house,
I was changing 
into my nightie, peach-coloured, nearly transparent,
when a distant, unfamiliar excitement 
sent me from the bedroom 
down the hall
down the stairs
feet barely touching the cold linoleum.
Anticipation quivered 
as I swept through the kitchen
out the door 
into the yard.

Distant stars looked on
as a breeze tousled my long brown hair, 
riffled my nightie 
and breathed through the thin material
onto my bare chest.

I stood tall on the cool grass, 
arms outstretched, alive--
then, seeing headlights 
I moved back inside
through the kitchen
and up the stairs. 
(Fifty years on, it stirs me still.) 


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Julie Smith-Allen lives in Lethbridge and has been writing since her angsty teenage years, as therapy, as joy, as a way to make sense of life. She has a Creative Writing Certificate from U of C, has had a couple of items published, and is proud mother to two adult offspring and two feisty felines. In her off-writing hours, she works remotely for Jasper National Park.
0 Comments

Strongbox by Simon Sharpe

26/2/2026

4 Comments

 
prompt: tiny sparks flew
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Why would anybody have a box with no key? I’d tried everything. Maybe Harry could help.

When I phoned he said, “Bring it in and I’ll take a look.”

His garage smelled of solvent and tires and needed a coat of paint. But it was clean, organized, and had no girly pics. He’d always looked me in the eye and never any lower. When Honda told me I’d needed a new exhaust, Harry had welded it back together for thirty bucks.

I hefted Oma’s strongbox up onto his counter.

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4 Comments

The Unchangeable by Bryony Lorimer

27/1/2026

1 Comment

 
prompt: The Time Bubble
Picture
On Friday after work, Alice walks the snow-covered streets towards the tea shop two blocks north instead of riding the subway home. The shop advertises palm readings: Open late weekdays. 

Despite frozen fingers, she hesitates, considers how desperate she is. Very. Six months of pining for him, six months of grief. Is the future just more of the same? Pushing open the door, a bell rings overhead and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior.

“Can I help you, dear?” asks an elderly woman.


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1 Comment

The Vigil by Scott Pieschel

26/12/2025

1 Comment

 
prompt: nothing yet
Picture
The departing locomotive’s whistle echoes across King’s Cross station. Stragglers hurry through the steam creeping across the platform and board the train: businessmen in fedoras, trench coats and briefcases; young women with pleated skirts and pin curls striking out on new careers; soldiers on their way to the countryside for family reunions and the chance to build a life that was crudely interrupted by the war.

Jack moves at a more deliberate pace. At precisely seven o’clock each morning, he makes his way to the bench in the corner of the platform. The flat cap rests 

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1 Comment

Releasing Flames by Keith Robinson

26/11/2025

2 Comments

 
Prompt: an unexpected legacy
Picture
Last night the water hit the rocks, releasing flame. My birthday, seventy-one broken and brilliant years, deserved fireworks.

The weather people had warned of heavy snow, November winds, possible blizzards. The hell with weather reports, I’d chosen a sweat on the reserve to celebrate. My first. So, I googled “preparing for a sweat.”

An article on the Internet said hydrate. No alcohol, drugs, or caffeine. Not a chance to prove my manhood or gain cultural points. This was to purify. Be open, it said. 


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2 Comments

Waiting on his Words by sydney baxter

30/10/2025

1 Comment

 
Picture
The first time my dad took credit for his poetry in public was a tribute to his mother at her funeral. He masterfully articulated that her hands, now tired, bent and broken, were solemn evidence of a venerable life, dedicated to serving, lifting, and loving others. I never knew his words could be so eloquent and kind. I envied that he held her in such high esteem. Just a few weeks later, at my wedding, in his father’s tribute to the bride, the contrast was palpable and cold. It morphed into a mumbling apology to the groom. A penance that he couldn’t make me into someone worth taking off his hands. We have hardly spoken since that day, so when cancer came for him, as it inevitably does in our family, I yearned to salvage our 

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1 Comment

Five Seconds Acrostic by Antoinette bekker

24/9/2025

0 Comments

 
prompt: five seconds too early
Picture
Five is my magic number: five fingers, five toes. Add a tongue to two eyes and two lips, and you get five. Two ears, a nose, one heart, and a brain form the final quintet. Bring in time, too, because love needs to be measured. Without time, how will I know the value of you? Time keeps track of a stab of pain, a whole lot of laughs, and a tally of the days running into each other while your car eats the miles on a road trip through hamlets with regal names like Empress and Duchess. Then summer ends and fall sneezes into scattered leaves, only to be dispersed by hives of snow. One by one, I drop pebbles in a tin and shake it until spring bounces in like a filly, her legs flailing and her neck 

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Baby Teeth by Pam Mchugh

26/6/2025

3 Comments

 
prompt: the silence is suspicious
Picture
​Jillian sits bedside, forehead in her hands. Her mind rewinds to November 5, 2013. The day of the baby teeth.

She’d just climbed the stairs and stood in the second-story hallway. Bedroom doors were ajar, lights were off. A few random socks strewn here and there.

“Emily?”

The silence was suspicious, practically foreign in this household.

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3 Comments

That's What Heroes Do by Keith Robinson

29/5/2025

5 Comments

 
prompt: almost hero
Picture
When Jacob Oblonski of Seven Valour Lane woke up that bright May morning, he did not expect the front lawn hullabaloo.

He flinched from the lights, raised his arm to ward off questions, and tried to shoo the crowd from his rose bushes, as if they were pigeons.

"Wha—?" he started, but was drowned out by reporters.

A horrifying realization: he was wearing the 'Super-Squirrel' pajamas his nephew had outgrown.

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5 Comments

Drifting by Marcia M.G. Bastos

25/4/2025

4 Comments

 
prompt: it didn't come with a manual
Picture
You went again, then came back in my dream
I awoke - sheets tangled, like the years since you left
 
Counting aloud now, six years - and still in tears
The gravity of the void your going left in my throat
 
I remember the days when I took you for granted
I remember when I realized I would no longer do that
 
It didn’t come with a manual when your home turned to hospice
After we knew, after it began working its way through you

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4 Comments
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Alexandra Writers' Centre Society
460, 1721, 29th Ave SW
Calgary, AB T2T 6T7


403.264.4730
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  • About
    • The History
    • The Mission
    • The Team
    • Board of Directors >
      • Meet our Board of Directors
    • Employment & Volunteer Opportunities
    • Our Donors and Sponsors
    • Brand & Media
    • Contact
  • Youth
    • After School Clubs and Workshops
    • In-School Programs
    • Summer Programming
    • Events & Community
    • Culture, Mandate, and Voice
  • Adult
    • In Person Schedule & Events Calendar
    • Courses & Workshops
    • Featured Events
    • The AWCS Community
    • Community Partner Events
    • Programs & Services
    • Corporate Programming
    • Books, Gifts and More
  • WWC Festival
  • Members
    • Membership
    • Free or Low-Cost Programs & Drop-Ins for Members
    • Scholarships
    • J Michael Fay Subsidy Program
    • Resources for Writers
    • Book Your Space
    • AWCS Library Loans Form
    • Member Showcase >
      • Many Voices Winners
      • A Poem a Day
      • Two Truths and a Lie