by Chris G. Vaillancourt
Succinctly, as a pen being laid to rest,
The creative killer, foreign and tall.
A mixture of apathy was manifest;
Like a bowl of water, or a single call.
At Ouellette Avenue in Windsor he arrived,
His passions evident and surely not deprived.
Tired, and hungry, aching from several ailments,
He professed with affirmations of dark and light.
Known to be one openly seeking compliments,
To his friends, he was as fickle as day to night.
Heads turning as he yawned and then he spoke,
Of illustrations ripped to shreds, and also broke.
Enough of this professing of his constant labour!
His embraces as shallow as the love of his honesty.
Parables of nonsense were his party favours.
No relief to be had, no purpose to think free.
The young man would grow to old man nurtured
By the approaching chasm that is to be his future.
- Share this Poem:
ABOUT THE POET ~
Chris G. Vaillancourt was born on, April 5, 1959, in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. From an early age, writing poetry was his primary means of explaining the world to himself. His first poem was published when he was still a teenager, and as he aged, his portfolio has grown. In the 1980's his first chapbooks were published, paving the way for an extensive list of published works. He has had 4 books published, with more surely to follow. Chris G. Vaillancourt may be considered one of the best contemporary poets of this age.
Last updated October 24, 2011