– by the way home –
Le Pont du Diable… The Devil’s Bridge… Fr.
– by the way home –
I’ve long roamed
Where gods play,
Enchanting Rome
To Tuscany’s day,
By the way home...
I hold the memory
Of insistent places,
Has ye transformed
Afore its life passes,
Find a bridge known,
As by the way home!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
written in Sweetsburg October 31, 2021 edit November 20, 2022 Imagery - Photo by Marianne Dessis
– in morrow’s space –
A Face
Tho near impossible to climb Finding the image of her face, That meant will form in time A face, be from an awry place, Has thus but aging to define To hold in morrow’s space, For a visage fixed sublime Be set as tho a part effaced, In a façade in need to find Be of memory ye do prize, With its recall of total bind Thus, so more than surmised, From a failed god’s ambuscade Who’d long forgotten to be wise, Till such shenanigans he displayed, To a face in morrows’ space implied Yet not his play, tho but of nature’s say!
Imaging mans’ unconsciousness toward reality...
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Image - Wikimedia Commons ... Music - Weekend Jazz, no artist names ... Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier ... https://www.facebook.com/100011435760626/videos/836685244048319/
Written in Sweetsburg
November 17, 2022
– that was –
The Day
– that was –
The day
Set as was,
Did have a play
Despite faux pas,
Would find a way
Bearing the cause,
Of one’s living stay
Thus, to make room,
For a fated new day
Fixed next to come,
And find its allay
Hence while alone,
Will not be at bay
Tho set afar home,
Holds shy of say
Had need to roam,
Implied being alive
For allotted time,
Be ne’er very long
Ye will soon find,
The day long gone
Next to be, that was!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Photo - Marianne Dessis Music - except of Almost Blue, by Chet Baker Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier
Written in Sweetsburg November 1, 2022
– man can nay tell –
Merited Spell
- man can nay tell -
Man can nay tell
If life disregards,
Said merited spell
Save benign bard
Bids serene dwell
Despite ye regard,
That risk may well
Be placidly marred,
By set endured hell
Of invasive sounds,
Affirm be the knell
If ye maker ignores,
Beyond human intel
Ye having long past,
Find point of return
Will fix obtain cast,
Should merited spell
Ne’er be meant to last,
Tho a man can nay tell!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Imagery - Wikimedia Commons
Music – excerpt by Chet Baker, of Alone Together
Audio – Jean-Jacques Fournier
written in Sweetsburg
March 27, 2022
– of a forlorn smile –
The Look
– of a forlorn smile –
I picture the look Of a beguiled face, That wants to brook Find an affable place, For the very long while Hence want not lose pace, Nor to misplace found smile Tho all gods shan’t pay grace, When irrelevant be man’s guile Who wouldst try calm sadly face, With the tacit mind, of a forlorn smile!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier Imagery - Amedeo Modigliani & John Singer Sargent Music – If I Should You – by Chet Baker Audio – Jean-Jacques Fournier
written in Sweetsburg
January 18, 2022
I’ve journeyed Far and long, At times hurried Thus to prolong, That meagre stay Palpably foregone, A notable evidence Recall diminishes, By limited passage Thru hazy distances Now on the ledge, Blurring defines Life may allege, Tho be insistent Prays on a mind, To suffer existence In dwindling time, Tho but an instant By recall’s decline, Reaching the edge Of life’s design, Fate shan’t pledge Be shadows assign, To offer life hedge On finale it deigns, Past illusion held fast As image perceived disappears, In the dusk of a lifespan once cast! © Jean-Jacques Fournier written in Sweetsburg October 25, 2020 Imagery – MD & private collection – Music - excerpt from Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade op.35
It seems a long long while
Since my first September,
When I was but a child
With little to remember,
Would for a time beguile
What mind found render,
Bar be time on my hands
Allowed youth meander,
To later years September
Did too soon understand
A day there’ll be no other,
For life assured ill stands
Save to reach life closure,
Tho not too long the while
Measures a meagre stead,
From first steps to immobile
Held borders bland to dead,
Said be last of my Septembers!
Poetry on a Canapé 