Said of a minute
Born to life,
Be a need for it
Tho enters strife,
Despite commit
To its short site,
Life persists to emit
Tho maybe a plight,
Holds of portent
Yet it is swallowed,
By the hour
And this to follow,
As if to scour
Chose be the fellow,
To do another
As if led by the echo,
Of a wilful brother
Not for a minute,
Would let fate posture
To fix a mindless habit,
Of disaffected bother
Ne’er now or then submit,
Tho for but a minute, now or then!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
In predictable peril
Be now my world,
Made fatally ill
By apathetic ogres
Who covet excess,
To feed their power,
For want of posses,
Thus be man’s state
In a world gone to hell,
Yet ignores its fate
And chooses not tell,
We’re destined endure
A moribund dwell,
Tho once vibrant world
Now exists in unsure,
As man deaf and demur
Tends cause damage afar,
While ecological cure
Be word fix he holds thin,
Save its echo he knows
Whirls in ne’er ending spin!
In my attempt
To reach beyond,
A stride the length
Of friendships bond,
Want but to take
Unwavering step,
To thus find place
Allegiance kept,
Composed of men
Who lost and wept,
Yet create space
They mean abide,
Blind now and then
To critical misguide,
For steps that echo
A language of regard!
I can yet hear
In echo’s reach,
A lingering sound
Of surging waves,
Resounds in each
A plea begs save,
Tho well beyond
Risk may be found,
To now gain near
This time around,
That one may hear
Man anguished cry,
Wants but survive!
I’ve come to feel
More than I hear,
Sounds that echo
Disquieting fears,
Of memory’s stead,
To suffer imagines
Played in my head,
That come to haunt
Tho long felt dead…
Yet lingers there
In lugubrious tell,
I’m made endure
Alleged indeed
By way of hell,
What so remains
Of minds loth claim,
Held worrying echoes
Of melancholy!
Poetry on a canapé 