“ Being Perfect ” – within ones imperfections – revisited

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                                       Sculpture “Searching for Utopia” by Jan Fabre,

                                                                                Exhibition in Firenze, It. 2016

 

“ Being Perfect ”

                    – within ones imperfections –

                                                         – revisited –

There’s perfection

In my intent,

And high purpose

Of objectives,

Tho often I fail reach

Dedication I so seek,

That which heighten

Held pursuit

To avoid mediocrity,

Ever poised to posture

Over looming insufficiency…

Thus I struggle

To construct,

Words of import

As meritorious I must,

Apposed in a fashion

To inspire interaction,

Being perfect my resolve,

Like a more inspired fellow

May find within ones imperfections!

 

                                    written in Grasse, Fr.

                                                © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

“ The Sound of Silence ” – a blissful pleasure – revisited –

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“ The Sound of Silence ”

                             – a blissful pleasure – revisited –

 Ah to be free

Of obstreperous sounds,

Man’s din vociferous

That so abounds,

Ever torturing

An anguished ear

Implied inured,

We’re made to hear

Too far beyond,

Man meant endure…

 

Oh for the sound

Of deafening stillness,

A resounding calm

Of blissful pleasure,

In the healing balm

Of echoing silence,

You can almost hear

From the quiet whisper

Of a falling tear,

For the sound of silence! 

                           Music, Laburnum by Kai Engel                                              

                                                   © Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ I The Bumblebee ” – in bombinate flights – revisited

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                                     Music, Flight Of The Bumblebee – Rimsky-Korsakov

“ I The Bumblebee ”

              – in bombinate flights – revisited

 I am the bumblebee

Said happily plump,

Bumbling with glee

In my furry rump,

Among the flowers

Find devotee’s play,

Thus as to pollinate

On a summery day,

To alert I bombilate

In gentle fellow way,

In black and yellow

Nature fixed to stay,

Pick pollen aplenty

Kissing the flowers,

No matter the many,

While time be mellow

Hence too spread life,

Ne’er destined hollow

In bombinate flights,

Be so the bumblebee

As the gods fated my plight!

                                      ode to the ever diminishing bumblebees,

                                                      be cause of man’s pollution gift to nature…

              © Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ The Gift ” – of you – revisited

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“ The Gift ”

                 – of you –

I want not to forget

Fail having tried,

Or simply accept

I’ve reason to regret,

Mindful so I could

Be able to affect,

Without need to try

As if I could deny,

Our love grew beyond

You being easy on the eye…

 

I wanted to recall,

The times you tried

Offering your all,

And I too blind to see

Might’ve realized,

You so needed me,

As I you even more

Tho the gift offered,

I ne’er realized before

Had always been of you …

 

Doesn’t tax one’s memory

To recall there’d been many,

But none the worth, if any

Yet didn’t know enough

I’d the gift of you to hold,

But only now can tell

When grown wiser old,

While you, now too long gone

Be the gift, for someone else to hold!

 

written in Grasse France           

                                                © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ A Secret ” – I’ve to die with

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                                                a Moroccan Secret Box

“ A Secret ” 

– I’ve to die with –

I’ve had secrets

Rates not to keep,

Some by the by

Merits not a peep,

And one or two

Made me so blue

I’d given a bye…

 

But I’ve a secret

Shades my life,

Tho cannot share

Or fail to keep,

Thus held to bear

Finds futile weep,

Without concede

While I’m awake

Or in my sleep…

 

‘Tis a secret

That won’t heed,

And so remains

Despite I plead,

Be of a memory

Begs god-speed,

Hence to forego

Yet I find realize,

Fixed be of a kind

One can’t be freed,

Held thus a secret

That I’ve to die with!

 

                                        written in Grasse

                                               © Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ Solitude ” – be coexistence –

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“ Solitude ”

               – be coexistence –

Moot be strife

In solitude,

A carve of life

That negates

Platitudes,

Be coexistence

With oneself,

A quiet distance

Gives credence,

To relinquishing

A social imitate,

Finding release

From conformity,

For a timely taste

Of anonymity,

Said tranquil pace

Of held composure,

Be worth reaching

Without disclosure,

Tho cause to choose

A further exposure,

Save less so bemused,

One opts to visit solitude!

© Jean-Jacques Fournier

Music – In My Solitude, by Duke Ellington’s

“ I Never Do Insist ” – tho I so bid –

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I Never Do Insist

                      – tho I so bid –

I badger

I pressure,

I brow beat

I pester,

To evoke lament

For cause gone amiss,

If need be torment

But I never do insist…

 

I dismiss

I displace,

I’m remiss

To disgrace,

And erase

To save face,

When I’m out of place

But I never do insist…

 

I coerce

I compel,

I harass

I cajole,

And kick ass

If they sass,

Save always with class

But I never do insist…

 

I dare say

I don’t grieve,

When invited

Tho peeved,

I do state

I’ve a knack,

If there’s call

To achieve,

Any way        

There’s a need,

Of obtuse to be rid

It’s no feat I so bid,

But I never do insist!

 

                        © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

“ If Only ” – ‘twas wishful thinking –

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If only

‘Twas wishful thinking,

Of probable reality

Evidenced an inkling,

Mightn’t so endorse

That of every wish,

Be credible of course

Save the odd amiss,

Held dreamers

Of likely myths,

Be dubious design

Confounded as a gift,

Questions waste of time…

 

If only

Suffered wanting,

Said ‘twas wishful thinking

Be thus understood,

One may not be bidding

For mind games’ likelihood!

 

                                        o.v. written in Grasse

                                                       © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ If Only ” – I’d known when –

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“If only ”

       – I’d known when –

If only

I’d known when,

To tell you

What I should,

Words that spoke

Of feelings then

Were misunderstood,

We might’ve found

To comprehend,

There came a point

That our affair,

Bore signs of thinning

Despite alluded tend,

Rather than beginning

Had started at the end!

 

                        written in Montréal

                                 © Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ The Hat ” – tit for tat –

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“ The Hat ”

– tit for tat –

He wore the hat

To dress his head,

Tho tit for tat

And so with dread,

He wares it now

Hides pilus dead,

Or gone so thin,

It fails be coaxed

To grow back in,

Thus pate regrets

That bushy hair,

Of peacock fame

Beyond repair,

Held chose delimit

Its germinal game,                                              

Evokes sad memory                                                

Of his lamented mane!

                                                                                                                                                                                                          © Jean-Jacques Fournier