same

by

Man’s Façade

– fore to hind –

Listen to audio

Man’s Façade

– fore to hind –

Persistent mind
On the façade,
Of fore to hind
No pasquinade,
Wouldst define
Nor satire’s aid,
Thus, so in time
Will play a game,
Not feigning blind
Ne’er ye find same, 
To suffer a like mind
Nigh as fixated to change, 
Tho be born in man’s façade!

                 Ode to they of so-called, 
                                nonconformist persuasion... 

                          © Jean-Jacques Fournier 


Image – Wikimedia Commons
Music - Almost Blue by Chet Baker
Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier



                   written in Sweetsburg
	         © Jean-Jacques Fournier
		       December 4, 2021
		edited December 13, 2022
by

“ Façades ” – that all seem the same –

Listen to audio

“ Façades ”      

– that all seem the same –

You try blind

Façades game,

Front or hind

Seem the same,

As man’s kind

Some be worm,

Wriggle round

In fixed squirm,

Won’t be found

Save you’re firm,

And thus bound

To want uncover,

Man rates exposed

Thru endeavours,

Hence he compose

Of a bent measure,

With baleful mind

He works his game,

Of a greed’s assign

And without shame,

He’ll find time,

To deploy his tricks

Meant keep us blind,

Thus be man’s façades

That all seem the same!

                                                © Jean-Jacques Fournier                                                              September 2, 2020

          A reflection on alleged world caretakers,

              in these yet near leaderless times, of this year 2020…

Art, by Félix Vallotton…

Music – exerpt of Twilight of the gods, by Richard Wagner…   
          

by

“ The Child In Me ” ~ tho but a shade ~

It matters not,

Be but a shade

Of used to be,

He does exist

The child in me…

Many will say

It can’t be he,

For what we see

Is but a hint

Of said once be,

I play their game

Knowing full well

He’s still the same…

 

Yet more claim

I am for naught,

The child is gone

Tho I think not,

For we remain 

One and the same…

 

I know the child

Yet lives in me,

As so he must

From birth

Until meant day

One turns to dust!