“ Conversations ” ~ with me, myself and I ~

I am curiously held aware

Being conscious of converse,

That it’s natural to beware

In an age amorally perverse,

Where humankind despairs

Of conversations so adverse,

Suggesting interest to be fair

Yet holds intent to be averse…

 

Tho it be of and by myself

I fancied be a person free,

That which would dominate

The better part of early me,

Who’d ideate a perfect fate

To fill that emptiness I see,

In dreams imaging a wake

Conversely so I want to flee…

 

Be a time knew not of fast

Nor forcing to make haste,

Or find way to further last

In concert with moral taste,

Whose worth would so cast

The value of contented state,

While forgetting not the past

To help shape avert mistakes,

In conversations that will task

Beyond with me, myself and I!

                                                                         © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

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“ A Boy ” ~ face down ~

A boy floating on a rug,

May have better chance

Than with mother’s hug,

Who wants effort enhance

Survival on a perilous tug,

Fleeing seditious advance

Save errant boat capsized,

In a bid to flee the conflict

Where peace be said alive,

But its refuge not explicit

As bureaucracy deprives,

In silence to the desperate

A boy’s fate is compromised,

To be sadly found face down

On a rocky surf too helpless,

As man wallows in indifference…

 

How to save a drowning child

From a country war torn toll,

In spite of civil servants’ bile

Held wanting a declare untold,

For said bureaucrat’s dusty file

Ignores a child’s reaching hold,

Finds fellowman fail, to go the mile!

 

                                            in memory of a boy called Alan Kurdi,

                                                   and all war-torn children sacrificed,

                                                           thru man’s warring need for greed!

                                         © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ Conjugated People ” ~ by shade ~ the poem.

 

People are played

To lend disorder,

Sorted by shade

Ranked in colour,

Thus to persuade                                                        

Reluctant objectors,

Thence to dissuade

They who so claim,

Black white or other

Meant be the same,

Yet ignore brothers

Made suffer in vain,

A hand that fosters

Segregationist game,

To ostracize druthers

While man plays blind,

To coloured skin cause

Gives marginalized time,

And its racists’ applause

Conjugates them by shade,

Fixed in fellowman’s mind!

                                

                                       oh to find survive, as a one people world,

                                                         with a rainbow coloured spine!

© Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

“ Let Me In ” ~ I want to live ~

Let me in, he pled,

I’m so frightened

And so hungry

I’m near dead,

Thus in a world

Without a stead,

He finds has bled

Away the heart

Of they he’d beg,

A place to start

That he may live,

Among the fated

Who would give,

Tho humble gift

Said kindly deed,

Plied moral lift

That he may seed

Enough for those,

Who needed feed

The debt one feels

To they who chose,

Should let him in

That he may live!

                                       ode to they who chose to let in,

the ravaged by war and terror…

                        © Jean-Jacques Fournier      

 

“ A Poet ” ~ on more than allusions ~

When is a poet

A poet to be,

How will he know

It won’t be free,

To find reveal

What he’s to tell,

Starts on journey

Going thru hell,

Hence be the way

He learns to feel,

Afore he can say

What is real,

Thus to give sway

To worthy notions,

Be want of attention

To issues deserved,

More than allusions

Kept in reserve,

The while he lives

Born of a heart

Which can but give,

To occupy minds

That a poet seeks find!

 

                                                                   © Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ Life ” ~ be but a minute ~

As journey’s impart

Finds  compose,

A life held chart

Of  fading echoes,

Images seek focus

On a wistful past,

As recall delves

In dormant baggage,

Where marks a start

Of minute’s living,

Which is to be our life…

 

As life be but a minute

I’ve no time left to waste,

So overlook my rancour

If you crowd my space,

Or find ye be  anchor

In my short-lived race,

Tho I sound rather terse

I’m not without candour,

So empathize my strife

For with so little time,

I’ve reason to make haste…

 

I might have shown fear

Or shed a meagre tear,

To decelerate the process

That fixed  fall’s arrival,

In the wake of all that dies

As will a prized September,

Thus with all it finds allied

Seek peace with December,

For soon you’re gone to rest

To lie neath earthen blanket,

Should minute’s life end next!

 

                                                                                    © Jean-Jacques Fournier