Sunday, May 9, 2010

Heat Stroke ...

Poems by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Heat Stroke

Heat stroke dangling, cold ice
upon the embers of flames.
Flaking of paint,
through amber green
The teeth sharpened to coals of anger.
Falling asleep
in the tent with the
yipping dogs of yesterday
who have flipped burgers
in the groin.
They care, but who else does?
They stare, but no one is aware.
Fly, let the neon lights glisten....

In A Very Long Time

The bills need to be paid
and I haven't been laid
in a very long time.

Eviction notice under the door.
Suspension paper in the heart
and the shattering light bulb
may have been caused by me.

I'm my own destruction,
my own creator.
I run the show
I run from the show.

The special underwear
that I like to wear
protects me
from the rambling verbs
cascade down
like sermons in Church.

"You must"
"You should"
"You have to agree"

The only fresh message
is the one I subject
myself to.

Dumping the ashtray
on the floor.
Drinking the last
glass of juice.

The bills need to be paid
and I haven't been laid
in a very long time.

Poor Orphan Child

In truth, he was an unflavoured soul,
a vessel of despair fashioned in clay.
A misfit of intense and wild emotions,
that fled the world, gone astray.

He created his own sheltered universe
from which he built a life of fear.
Running, fleeing, his reality of disgrace
which had defined his growing years.

Poor orphan child, a stranger to respect,
who satisfied himself in his own eyes.
Travelled like an ant away from the hill,
to seek his space, to avoid hidden sighs.

The flesh can burn, the soul can wither
like an empty cup left alone on the table.
This he knew, for this was his existence.
A world weary, tired, emotionally unstable.

And if he let a sleeping tear escape
from untrusting eye that blinked in pain,
he knew that strangers would object
to any thought that he might complain.

Poor orphan child, man of no respect,
who drifted like a leaf in a summer wind.
His face a mask of tolerated stone,
which hide his constant sense of sin.

What would his salvation prove to be?
Oh soul, what is your purpose and plan?
He would not know, he would not see,
for little of reality did he understand.

All poems © 2010 Chris G. Vaillancourt

Over 200 of Chris G. Vaillancourt's poems have appeared in more than one hundred journals in the U.S. and Canada, in Japan and Australia, and the U.K, including Real Angry PoetsQuillsUnfeigned Coffee FiendDetour MemphisWhy Vandalism?!Plum Ruby ReviewVox PoeticaOutcryThe Hudson ReviewWhisperPoetry SpaceDangling VerbsWriters ForumPoesieCafe Del Soul,
South Jersey Underground-Issue 6, Protest PoemsPoetry StopP&Welffin&elffa, and many others.

He has had a series of chapbooks published in the 1980's by 4 Winds Press, such titles as "Doors and Windows", "Dancing in the Eighties" and "Slow Burn".

He has had two poetry books published, the first "Teardrop of Coloured Soul" in 2005 and a latest one, to be released in January 2010, entitled "I Walk Naked into a Cloud".

Chris is also the founder and Editor of P&W , an online literary emagazine.

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