A Place

         – said earth –

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A Place

– said earth –

Tho crave
From birth
To grave,
For worth
Ye want save, 
A place
Said earth, 
Now must skirt
To suffer waste,
Tho be alert
Of mans tricks, 
Ample so to burst
A planet at risk, 
Not find accept
Failed mortals akin,
In state of gorged excess 
Hides yet a desolate grim,
Obscuring a need for address
While mans memory grows thin, 
As he begs for too long ignored access!
                       
	                           © Jean-Jacques Fournier

	                                                    written in Sweetsburg 
                                                                        July 21, 2022
Imagery - Marianne Dessis 
Music – Tenderly by Chet Baker
Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier

People

      – in last resort –

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People

      – in last resort –

It’s about space
As tho one’s life,
Be without waste 
Nor cause of strife, 
Wants but embrace
Fate’s meagre slice,
For disparaged people
Of need more than twice,
Found arrive in last resort
Assume realize its paradise,
Tho to find not be meant retort
But for people with a pair of dice,
Do for good or bad, end in last resort!


Image - Source -Wikimedia Commons …
Music - Chet Baker – excerpt, of Alone Together…
Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier…
                                              © Jean-Jacques Fournier

                                                                         written in Sweetsburg
                                                                              February 18, 2022

Alive at Stake

          – in futile haste –

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Alive at Stake

 – in futile haste –

It ought count
Tho ye be late,
By the amount
We deliberate,
Given account
In futile haste,
Of tantamount
To a gale waste,
And life be cast
As to expediate,
The useless sass 
Need find erase,
Fixes mind blur 
Till ye learn way,
Set plan deferred  
Wants obviate play,
The while alive at stake
Realizes ne’er too late,
To preclude futile haste!


                                               © Jean-Jacques Fournier

Imagery - Wikimedia Commons ...
Music – excerpt of Bach - Toccata & Fugue
Audio - Jean-Jacques Fournier ...



				                  written in Sweetsburg
					              January 14, 2022
					        edited February 1, 2022

While Ye Sleep

          – life aims to recur –

Falk’s Sleeping gypsy

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While Ye Sleep

          – life aims to recur –

Ought to count
Ye contemplate,
A given amount
Thus undertake,
In a set response
End futile haste,
With life too fast
Fixes we’ll waste,
Even a mind blur 
Finds lessen state,
Life aims to recur 
Tho be fates take,
We fail not deter
Yet whilst awake,
To find won’t last
The while ye sleep,
Life ever rushes past!

                                   © Jean-Jacques Fournier

				                  written in Sweetsburg
					         January 15, 2022


Imagery - Source Wikimedia Commons
Music - Alone Together - Chet Baker
Audio recital - Jean-Jacques Fournier

“ Life ” – be but a minute –

images

                                    Listen to audio

“ Life ”

         – be but a minute –

The journey starts

Tho moves so fast,

Seems off the chart

As conjectural cast,

Life means impart

On a short tenure,

Found is my part

In fates September,

As I a minute ark,

Will soon surrender

Seen ephemeral part,

May hold remember

A diminutive minute,

Mans unwitting enter

That is to be ones life…

 

As life be but a minute

Do pardon my rancour,

If you crowd my space

I am short of candour,

As be no time to waste

Nor room for squander,

So I’ve cause to make haste…

 

In the wake of all to die

As will prized September,

When reality need not hide

Find ye peace in fall’s slumber,

And the minute to live described

Thus as said of life, be but a minute!

 

                        © Jean-Jacques Fournier

Imagery, symbolic of depicting life…

Music, Miles Davis Ascenseur pour l’échafaud…

Wrote for audio, in Sweetsburg August 14, 2020…

“ Life ” ~ be but a minute ~

As journey’s impart

Finds  compose,

A life held chart

Of  fading echoes,

Images seek focus

On a wistful past,

As recall delves

In dormant baggage,

Where marks a start

Of minute’s living,

Which is to be our life…

 

As life be but a minute

I’ve no time left to waste,

So overlook my rancour

If you crowd my space,

Or find ye be  anchor

In my short-lived race,

Tho I sound rather terse

I’m not without candour,

So empathize my strife

For with so little time,

I’ve reason to make haste…

 

I might have shown fear

Or shed a meagre tear,

To decelerate the process

That fixed  fall’s arrival,

In the wake of all that dies

As will a prized September,

Thus with all it finds allied

Seek peace with December,

For soon you’re gone to rest

To lie neath earthen blanket,

Should minute’s life end next!

 

                                                                                    © Jean-Jacques Fournier

 

“ Life’s Time ” ~ left behind ~

In my life past,

I may have left

Some time pass,

Thus feel bereft

So precious be,

Its loss apes theft

Be sad discovery,

 One shan’t forget

Its careless waste,

Fills me with regret

For time left behind,

Thru foolish neglect

With risk ne’er find,

Be days edged lost

Has me resigned,

Demons tilt recall

Beg gives attention,

Save be offer small

Could ere well lead,

To one recovering all

With ostensible speed,

For it’s ne’er too late

To find time left behind!

 

“ The Wanderer ” ~ on solid ground ~

 

I’d drifted round

Wanting for life

On terra firma,

Tho near full span

I’ve not yet found

To understand,

The held wonders

I failed endorse,

Accepting state

Akin to vegetate,

What life abounds

There to taste,

Instead of waste

All that surrounds,

While I the wanderer          

Has not yet found,

The likely bounds

Offers but solid ground!

 

“ The Lane ” ~ dead men stalk ~

 

The lane I walk

In dead man’s land,

Is one that bands

The forlorn souls

That dead men stock,

They who trudge

Hoping to find

What’s left of time,

And so survive

Their soul gone blind,

Unsure they be alive…

 

Thus as I walk

In this non world,

And watch in vain

The suffered pain

Those souls do feel,

Who try to taste

What once was real,

That man laid waste

With insane zeal,

Yet nil a peep

From alleged sheep

To save remains,

For they but follow

Big Brother’s lane,

Who need not walk

In dead man’s land,

Where dead men stalk!

                                                                          ode to Edgar Allan Poe