Poems by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Poems by Chris G. Vaillancourt

When The Wind Dies Down

When the wind dies down, the world will reflect
indifference. Consumed with the growling
heart that falls like the panic from
the mind.

Front door closed. Locked.
Empty rooms. Everyone has left
the house now. It is once again
an address on a map.

Not a home.

Toppled heat that wanders like a
whipped cream desert smashed
onto the floor.

Not a feeling.

A sense, a wondering that escapes
the grass-stained knees of the man.

Biking the tongue-tied streets where
flashes of memories dump themselves
like ashes in a fire.

When the wind dies down, and the
sound of its insistence is no longer
the main event. Then the ending
will have begun.

Not a beginning.

A real time ending that features
the main characters from
the wedding photographs.

Goodbye.

Listen to this poem:

Midnight Train And A Man

Midnight, the shaking of the limbs signifies something.
He pretends to ignore the shallowness of the dark.

Focuses his attention on crying like a meadow where
the river runs free. He calls attention to the plants

in the ground, growing, changing, becoming the flowers
they will be. Dark windowed trains rushing past the clock

as it ticks. Time running on and out. Shapeless figures
on the track waiting for the train to smash them into

pieces of dust, dying emotions. Caressing the image of
his reflection, he reaches across the patterns of rejection

to touch his soul. It is sleeping. Ignoring the underlying
distress that permeates the ground. The clacking of the wheels

motivates his attention to the tobacco laden fingers that
hold nothing. Yellow stains of past mistakes hanging onto

the drunken flashes of insight and resentment. He is determined
to push ahead ply his words in the darkness of the midnight world.

Impotent sentences dangling from his freeze dried heart. He cringes
at the noise of the insects crawling madly in the ground. Distance,

numberless yearning for serenity that insists on its own sympathies.
Midnight train rambling across the brain wave of his mind.

It is cold out tonight.


Listen to this poem:

What Do You Do?

What do you do?
which translates to;
How do you make your money?
Money is a drug.
We are a drug culture.
Why do you?
which suggests that you
are acting incorrectly
if you act to be free.
We are conditioned for
self-denial.
No matter what you do.
No matter what you think.
Mindless bands of steel
will circle your mentality.
The only way to act
is to learn not to react.
We are surrounded by
plastic scenes that are
as relevant as death.
Blamed if we do not
blindly love the machine
like drone of our lives.
We have lost the right
to determine our own
methods of existing.
What do you do?
which hints at the
premise that your
occupation defines
all the goodness
that is inside of you.
We've slipped back into
the stone age.
Mindlessly hunting wild
animals in a pursuit of
something we can never
define.
Reversing the process of
independence; replacing
freedom of expression with
conformity and status quo.

I see a box.
This box is for I.D.
Place my pieces of paper
inside of it.
In doing so, I have
declared my
non-existence.

What do you do?
As much as I can to be free.

Listen to this poem:



All poems © 2009 Chris G. Vaillancourt


Chris G. Vaillancourt has been involved in the art of writing as long as he can remember. Chris is a Canadian poet who has enjoyed publication in numerous small poetry magazines and newsletters, such as Pagan Lady Poetry Journal, The Inkling; The Lance; Ydrgasil; Poetry Space; Poesia International; Plum Ruby Review; Protest Poems; Quills, Poetry Sharings, Poesy, Poetry Stop, Detour Memphis,and a host of other print and ezine publications.. He has enjoyed the publication of several chapbooks of his poetry, such titles as "Doors And Windows" (4 Winds Press) and "Teardrop of Coloured Soul" (PublishAmerica) Currently his new book, "I Walk Naked Into A Cloud" is set to be released in January of 2010. He has a BA in Psychology from the University of Windsor and a Diploma in Sacerdotal Ministry from the Saint Andrew Theological Institute.

Chris lives in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.