“ Border of Extant ” ~ upon a genuine human ~

We walk about

Held be human,

Allude forever

To so function,

Claim a stance

Above another,

Borders extant

Far from other,

Of mortal man

Said corporeal,

Having a mind

Debatable real,         

Tho often time

Musters appeal,

Of tilted regard

That fail conceal,

His soul’s discard

Hides there upon,

A genuine human

Nigh wholly gone,

Reached near extant

Finds robot for his pawn,

Till swallowed as its servant!

                                            

                                                    © Jean-Jacques Fournier

       

 

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“ Knowing ” ~ what I think ~

Though some profess

Knowing what I think,

Divining thus, at best

Held a dubious blink,

Yet claim pursuer eyes

Find enter with a wink,

Adept at reading wise

Human or robotized,

In man too often blind

Hence so to scrutinize,

A baseless notional line

Of thought unrealized,

Alleged did fit my mind

Asserting ‘tis not guise,

This thought said known

Might ne’er materialize,

As knowing what I think

May not want to survive!

                                     © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

 

“ My Septembers ” ~ for a time beguiled ~

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

Till too soon understands

A day there’ll be no other,

For life assured ill stands

Save to reach life closure,

Tho not a very long while

Measures the meagre stead,

From first steps to immobile

Held borders bland to dead,

Said be last of my Septembers!

“ The Mass ” ~ killing of minds ~

Of sanguinary incline

Whole of man be alas,

Found so unreachable

To celebrate the mass

Killing of man’s mind,

Hence to spur appetite

In amount meant bind,

With ferocity held light

As to scorn mindfulness

Of insatiable self serve,

Tho it destroys mankind…

 

Ever wile inner monster

Of man readily persists,

In fixing soul be blind

To his power gone amiss,

Yet demands full assign

Of his tempestuous controls,

Tho man’s dead mind matter

Ignores a bent reach for disaster!

 

“ The Mind ” ~ of a voiceless child ~

Looking to hide

In a ravaged crowd,

Where war has him bide

In rag-torn shrouds,

For all that be left

Of this voiceless child,

Be a mind bereft

Feeling cast aside,

In a torturous tide

Of victims’ loud cries,

As dead bodies fall

From gory guns bane

Of spent soldiers insane,

That no longer recall

Were once poets near all,

Now brain-damaged mob

Be creatures caballed

Who follow a broken god,

Said maker of orphans

Who find shelter in rubble,

A place they’d once called home!

                                                                           ode to war orphaned children