– in a deadly race –
Pending we find
Be fated space,
Afore we in time
Do evaporate,
Past our assign
At carnage rate,
Thus so spent
Oblivious of state,
In a desolate bent
Of what we’ve left,
In a deadly race,
Too soon reduced
To depleted place,
Of carved out caves
We’ll surely face,
In dire need to stave
Forces waiting hungrily,
Held lowly knaves,
Who’d greedily engage,
Imperiling earthly space,
Albeit by then our grave!
written in Grasse, Fr.
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Alas old crows,
Ever so black
Fly by in rows,
Tho rather old
For winter flights,
Must suffer cold
And failing sight,
Be on spent wings
Bide dying light
Heading for spring
To end their plight,
That they might rest
Thru dead of night!
Pending we find
Before our space
Evaporates,
And spent
Ourselves in time
At carnage rate,
Ignorant of plight
To desolate
What we have left
In a deadly race,
Too soon reduced
To depleted space,
Of carved out caves,
We surely face
A dire need to stave,
Forces waiting hungrily
Like lowly knaves,
Who’ll greedily engage,
Our precious space,
Albeit by then our grave!
Poetry on a Canapé 