“ The Dancer ” – be the devil upstairs –

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“ The Dancer ”

            – be the devil upstairs –

I’d know the music

Just by listening,

To the patter

On the floor above,

And the pulse

That cajoles her feet,

As she capers

To a mystifying beat,

Like it matters

To the dancer,

In whose rhythm

With melodic flair,

She so adorns

Be the devil upstairs,

To mirror,

The center of a storm

Frenzied to a level,

That shan’t be mistaken

As the dancer who conforms…

 

She’s the devil I can tell

Tho follow I with ease,

For her dance casts a spell

Which leads me to believe,

I’m destined to her hell    

If she decides to leave,

Yet just so I can listen

To the rhythmic patters,

Bent by that devil upstairs

Be the dancer who so matters!

 

                                                   inspired in Vence, Fr.

                                               written in Sweetsburg PQ.

                                                         April 21, 2003

 

   

” The Way Home ” – looking for the road –

Just to let you know that I have been honoured by Francina of Poetry and Art, who a few days ago, published my poem ‘The Way Home’ on her post…
https://seasonspoetry.wordpress.com/…/the-way-home-by-jean…/

                                                                                                                 Listen to audio

” The Way Home “

            – looking for the road –

I’d moved on

For reasons vague,

Like vision fades

For bygone days,

Where but a trace

Of puerile dreams,

For untried place

Fashioned a need,

That time in wait

Might so achieve,

An understanding

Not yet discovered,

Wants one explore

Afore life quenches

That thirst to roam,

Till years suggest

Look for the road,

Leads the way home!

                                                                written in Sweetsburg

                                                              © Jean-Jacques Fournier

                                                                        June 27, 2014

 

” The Crow ” – in the dead of night –

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” The Crow “

– in the dead of night –

I am the crow

In a grave

Dark world,

A soul in plight

Black as the night,

Forced to live                                                

This endless flight,        

Looking for a path

To the freedom I seek,

As anxiety nears

This aging cryptique,                                                   

Who’ll suffer hell

Or fly with the devil

For a ray of light,                                

That shows a way clear

For I the crow,

To end one’s journeys

In the dead of night!

                                                                    o.v.written in Grasse, Fr.

                                                                  © Jean-Jacques Fournier

                                                                          March 21, 2005  

 

“ The Devil ” – is upstairs –

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                                                         painting by Jerome Bosch

” The Devil ”

            – is upstairs –

I hear the patter

Of a prancer,

Held the devil

Playing dancer,

On the floor

Upstairs,

Comes from hell

Just to frolic,

In a manner

Casts a spell,

Her intention

Guised to prance,

Impishly carefree

Issues to imbue,

Like a banshee

Taunting you,

Of such rhythm

Be of voodoo,

Off the wall,

That conforms

To an eerie storm,

On the floor upstairs

She infernally performs!

 

                                     © Jean-Jacques Fournier  

                                         wrote in Vence, Fr.        

                                           April 21, 2003  

 

        

“ The Raven ” – a mysterious fellow –

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Be the raven’s bent

In a populous stead,

Did ye gods ferment

He be of noble head,

Thus to be potentate

Rates occupy a state,

For the raven to lead

As he’ll find placate,

In mind and in deed

Despite he so deigns,

Be notion one heeds

As held cause of bane…

 

Too long perceived

Said distorted vein,

Of pods vulgar seed

Be ill-informed say,

To induce bias feed

Will imply be stray,

Yet will recall face

Of kind behaviour,

No matter the place

To share information,

Among fellow ravens

That identify humans,

Who mean recognize

A genius well proven…

 

Thus so cawing bellows

Assumes adorns the heavens,

Till be croaks rendered hollow

To attest be a mysterious fellow!

 

© Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

 

“ Clouds for Dreaming ” – of ethereal things –

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On a whim I can fly 

In a dream,

As I soar on wings

It thus seems,

Of ethereal things

Be a flight so real,

The ascent I can feel…

 

As I ride on the wind

I hear Zephyr sing,

Yet could not tell

If it spoke of Phoenix,

And his trip to hell

When rashly he’d fly,

Which I’ll ne’er risk

As so high he did fry,

For my soaring is fixed

In the dream I so fly…

 

Now on billowy clouds

Soft feathery things,

Their gentle pull bides

The while one clings,

To this surreal ride

Said fabric for dreams,

That dresses the skies,

In clouds made for dreaming!

 

           written at Amsterdam Airport

                                             © Jean-Jacques Fournier

                                                                   April 10, 2002

 

 

“ I Want To Tell ” – of things that sing –

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                                                             Photo, Marianne D

 

“ I Want To Tell ” – of things that sing –

 

I want to tell

Of time that brings,

In early spring

Of things that sing,

Restoring life

To summer brooks,

With twisting ripples

Through shady nooks…

 

I want to tell

Of stars that twinkle,

In your eyes

As you allow a smile,

 I want to tell

About the wind,

Plays in the trees

To kiss the leaves,

That flutter lightly

In a gentle breeze…

 

I want to tell

Of things on wings,

Held butterflies

Who decorate the skies,

Be of nature’s doing

Hence until they die…

 

I want to tell

Of bumblebees,

Bumbling leisurely

Where they please,

As summer plies

Its mellow zephyr,

Thus till fall requires

Nature’s dance defers…

 

I want to tell,

Of world defined

As a man made hell,

May spare a mind

That so wants tell,

With love to give

Thus so to bring,

That we find live

The while we cling,

To things that sing!                                                                      

                                                                       © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ The Last Train ” – may have gone –

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                                                            painting by Claude Monet

“ The Last Train ” – may have gone –

I’d bought in too

A youth’s fallacy,

Ye want find true

Save failed to see,

Fate shan’t renew

A life forever be,

Tho we continue

Frivolously free,

To ponder pursue

And endlessly roam,

Tho state of askew

Too far from home,

Long past ye renew

Will find one alone,

When the last train

Now may have gone!

                                             © Jean-Jacques Fournier