Joan Shillington

Welcome to Joan's Website


Joan is a Calgary poet who has been published in numerous literary magazines across Canada.  Her latest book of poetry Folding the Wilderness Within was published by Frontenac House in 2014 and was nominated for The City of Calgary WO Mitchell Book Prize. 


Revolutions, published in 2008 by Leaf Press is the story of Tsar Nicholas II and his family as they journey through their lives to their violent death.


Joan is also the Poetry Editor for 

FreeFall Magazine.  Check out their

website for submission deadlines and

our annual Prose and Poetry Contest.

Site Content


One of the joys of writing poetry is editing, not only my own work, but other poetry also.  It's why I enjoy working as a Poetry Editor at FreeFall Magazine.  And now,

The Alexandra Writers'Centre Society

has hired me as a reviewer for their Manuscript Critique Services. Just click on the link and contact the office or email.


I love to share my poetry with others, isn't that the reason for writing - to connect, to see the world in a new light!  Here are some interviews and articles that Folding the Wilderness Within has generated:

The Toronto Quarterly Blogspot

George Elliott Clarke

Bruce Hunter,

        Under 'Conversations"


Shelf Life, 1302 - 4 St. SW, Calgary carries both my books, Folding the Wilderness Within and Revolutions.

Frontenac House Publishing

Owl's Nest, 815A - 49 Ave. SW Calgary


In every one of these dreams, I am a bull moose

careening through the forest.

I am the little girl who eats the moose

and inhabits the moose's body.

My skin becomes fur,

feet and hands cloven.

Sometimes, I become the hunter.

In my hand, a shiny revolver

as black as night fever.

I pull the hammer back,

press the trigger. A bullet splits hairs,

explodes a heart.

I seek his forgiveness, but he cannot.

His dead eye reflects thunder

and lightening anger.

I am as empty as the magazine.

Spinning, spinning.

As cold as steel.

I am the nightmare.  The letters

and words go on and on.

There is no beginning.  No end.

The beast circles the forest, the cottage,

the city.  He stalks the alley,

ascends the stairs.  I hear him every night.

He is the glint behind the leaf, the glass eye in every shadow.  The gun beneath the pillow.


Drop me a line, order a book, ask a question, send me a poem. I would love to hear from you!