Poetry
Laconic Thoughts from the West Side

Laconic Thoughts from the West Side

Today, The West of West Review is proud to bring you the first part of a larger set of poems by Stephen Cruikshank. A local poet and graduate student at UVic, Cruikshank’s poetry is heavily influenced by the culture and life of Victoria and the island in general. However, as with any successful writing, today’s...
Dislocated: A Poem by P.C. Vandall

Dislocated: A Poem by P.C. Vandall

Today the West of West Review is excited to feature a poem by Pamela Clarke Vandall. Her poems have appeared in a variety of publications including Bare Hands, Poetry Bus, Unfold, The First Cut, Ginosko and most recently in Corvus and Island Writer. She is currently working on her first collection of poetry. Vandall resides...
Katie, sister

Katie, sister

Andrew Wade is a writer of all trades. We’ve previously featured an award-winning short story of his and a humourous autobiographical essay. He also writes a fascinating blog on his life as an actor. Today we are featuring a poem of his that was originally published in Walk Myself Home, a charity publication that helps...
Christ, another Private Dick

Christ, another Private Dick

Only the third poem featured so far on The West of West Review, “Christ, another Private Dick” melds together a compelling blend of noir images and religious implications. The seamless mix is fascinating and guaranteed to get the cogs turning on a Monday. The author, Patrick Gray, is a poet and essayist, a self-described “card-carrying...
Evening, And

Evening, And

By Chris James evening, and the tint plus prestormy light out the window makes the world up like from forest-green, heavy gas. ribbons, ties tied in my sky. I shoot’em down. blast your forethought, your suit, you must be wrong, you must be to blame. or your parents, or your parents’ parentage. or else my...
Sketch of a Longer Poem

Sketch of a Longer Poem

Bona Dea! But she is tearless the ancient woman within walls that creak in the vine-green spring stone against stone pulled down to stones the feral serpents returning only to breed                              tearless with a green and morbid youth. The pumps have stopped their poisons their pipes that hung are vanished                       like an adder...