Saturday, February 5, 2011

3 poems by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Flowers Are Growing Vivid

Flowers are growing vivid in the structure of my brain.
I sense them, the roots travelling like baby powder
trickling down my back.
Embracing this thought,
I inwardly grimace and
dance a dance of hopeless optimism.

Why are the words we use with one another
so often filled with bitter accusations?
Why do the smiles we shed like skin
reveal nothing of our hearts inside?

Landscapes are vibrating within the mental plane.
I lightly touch the symbols that promise
to bring happiness within.
Living this awareness,
I frantically calm down
and sigh the tones of acceptance.

Why do hollow eyes never speak
the truth they hold inside?
Why do we so often pontificate
when in truth we'd rather hug?

Legends are beginning in the internal world.
I structure myself into the dashing
ice cream melting in a bowl.
Being what I am,
I mention only expectations
and become the stress undone.

Why do we devote so much time
to distancing ourselves from others?
Why don't we just mutually confess
how much we all genuflect the same?

Hot Or Cold

I love you hot or cold,
wandering in or out
as it suits you.

Remember when we ran
like we were flying,
so anxious to be
holding one another?

My feet flew so fast
my body almost
couldn't keep up.

You blanketed me
in your cold/hot kisses.

I fell in love
with your lips
like clouded air
tickling my heart.

Just thinking about that day
a thousand small cravings

White Bread

White bread in plastic bag
dwelling on table.
Undecided as to what
flavour it would create.
Brain-dead maggots under the table,
crawling like white after rice.
We eat the definitions
we have been fed. Compulsive
behaviour aching like ticks on a dog.
Sonic boom blown apart like
chocolate cake
out of the box.
Existing on jumping worms
that tangle us into
deceptive cigarette butts.
We are one. We are many.
We are white bread in plastic bag.
We dwell on the table.
I dwell on the table.
I am the brain-dead maggot
crumbling despair in my arms.
Let me hold you and destroy you.
Unhinge your underwear thinking
set of values.
Unburden your soul
of all its pretending.
And we like to pretend.
And we like to eat white bread
with our teeth so perfectly
Be still heart of hearts.
Be quiet open grave.
I am transforming into
plastic forks and knives
spread out like a disguise
upon the picnic table of goodnight.

All poems  © 2011 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 four poetry books published, "Teardrop of Coloured Soul" entitled "I Walk Naked into a Cloud", "The Rushing Stream of Desires", and "A Yellow Sunshine Night". His new book, "Sky Stained With Tones of Red" is set to be published in the Spring of 2011


  1. nice poem..but need to focus a bit on it bcause i dont know the real meaning..nice!


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