Leaves Die ...

Chris G. Vaillancourt

Leaves Die

Silent trees standing in the night, like armed guards
in a concentration camp. Yearning hands that reach out,

Touching nobody.

Touching nothing.

Grabbing for the end of the sentence. Hoping that
the words spoken will fall on somebody's heart.

Hearing nobody.

Hearing nothing.

Rain is gently slashing into the chill of the dark.
There are noises in the shadows.

Pushing paper across the grass. Hoping it catches on
the weeds growing in the midnight.

Being nobody.

Being nothing.

Slacking leaves that will not fall. Shaking limbs that
do not matter to anyone.

A cat walks across the lawn. It slithers like a
shape of evil. Glistening eyes that do not
miss a single raindrop.

It is the night that has the answers to the
confusion of the day. Drink a glass of sherry,
letting the cares drift away.

Anger.

Pestilence.

The plague of distant flavours that tastes as
bitter as the heart broken in the dark.

Loving nobody.

Loving nothing.

Autumn comes. Leaves die.
Grass browns.

It is night.

Hearing A Voice

If a voice is heard and opens me up
to wandering like a nightmare disappeared,
then I will know the emptiness of the cup
that glows like failure from my inner tears.

It seems this voice will have me grow bitter
with the travelled roads I must complete.
Inside I might feel the coldness and shiver,
but outside I will not display the defeat.

It's no good pretending it cuts like a knife,
for if so this only indicates surrender to fear.
Best to stay on track and handle the strife,
letting the memories I love staying clear.

I tend to walk down roads quite blindly,
ignoring the signposts that might be a way;
to carefully walk unburdened and so see
that hope is truly a matter of games played.

So I shall learn to listen to my inner voice,
to see if it can lead me to hopeful creeds.
It's true, everything in life is up to choice,
and this reality is the hunger I should feed.

Last Night

Last night
I dreamed
of solace
and rest.

Peace and
quiet. Solitude.

All the
darkness
permeating
into
one place.

One point
of
view

that

would

become

one

state of
mind.


Last night
I pulled
for differences.

Looking out
my
eyes


into the
gloom.

The doom-scenes
filled
the
dreaming.

Last night
becomes
this night,

becomes
every
night.

I still dream


All poems © 2010 Chris G. Vaillancourt


Listen to these 3 poems:

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 Poets, Quills, Unfeigned Coffee Fiend, Detour Memphis, Why Vandalism?!, Plum Ruby Review, Vox Poetica, Outcry, The Hudson Review, Whisper, Poetry Space, Dangling Verbs, Writers Forum, Poesie, Cafe Del Soul,
South Jersey Underground-Issue 6, Protest Poems, Poetry Stop, P&W, elffin&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.