I Will

                         I Will

We've allowed ourselves to become,—sick
while waiting for a utopian dream
to crash-land at our feet
so we can snatch it up and claim it
as our own.

We've become evil,—dishonest and broken—
let down one too many times,
knocked down to the point
that we stopped getting back up
a long time ago.

Help stopped helping,—or so we've come to believe—
as soon as we stopped caring—
when we stopped wanting to change
the monotony of Safety,
the monopoly of the current Paradigm,
and the comforts of Distracted Reality.

The bars are full of Dreamers—
hopeless and overflowing
with artificial faith, of all kinds—
faithful to the fault!—that someone,
some thing, somewhere, will repair the problem
—somehow.

Believers in Magic!—Delusional Frauds!—
Fakers!—lazy and ruined—
spoiled beyond belief and crying
like little lost babies, afraid,
of their own, loving Mother.

—She's been calling us all this time—
And Look!—we have forgotten our own names,
the sound of her voice,
and the colour of her eyes—
we are Dead, in hers, and ours:

What will break this horrific spell?
who will stop marching in this Parade of Death?
who will turn around
so we all, can finally see
our own Reflection, in the Eyes of Another?

                  J.L.Boisclair
                December, 2018
               St. Augustine, FL

The Beach

                   The Beach

Ten Thousand Orchestras in the Wind
  Our Candle Dances to the Violin—
The Moon is Smiling as She Listens
  To the Organs Rocking the Stars to Sleep.

A Timeless Movement, subtle, and delicate—
  Willingly Lost, in our Upward Gaze—
Forever Searching, and full of Hope
  For Boundaries Broken, and Inner Peace.

And Here is the closest, we'll ever get:
  A Symphony Driven, by the Heart of All,
A Feeling that assures us, All is Kind,
  And Dreams that start to slowly make Sense.

That Northern Star is what we Know,
  And Fragile Hearts full of Life and Love—
Distance became a Comfortable Mystery
  As the Shadows Dance to an Imagined Beat.

Our Song Begins with the Anxious Wind
  As it Strikes some Chords that Resonate well,
And we quietly hum Notes,

                              of  Profound, Significance—
And the Waves, Splash, in Applause—


                          J.L.Boisclair
                        December, 2018
                       St. Augustine, FL

The Field

                  The Field

                        I.

Anxious Clover, among the Weeds:
  The Field is Crying, and Singing to me
The Wind is Violent, and Howling loud
  Disrupting Tranquil, Coloured Static.

From up Above, the Pastels linger—
  A Painting Displaced—Forgotten Purpose,
The Brush was Dropped, and in the Splatter
  A sign Appeared, to No One.

And in the Fog, seething with Silence—
  No single Bird dare soar above
The Chaos known as Lost Eternity,
  Where Few ever choose to Wander alone.

—Oh Helpless Sun!—the Sky's so Dense,
  Raining its Fears upon us All—
And we will Run and build our Shelter
  Only for Thunder to topple its Walls.

For what is Here, was here Always:
  The Songs of Tomorrow, the Canvas, the Page
Blank, as Beauty keeps Ringing the Bell
  In the Church that faded so long ago.

                         II.

And the Field, it Lay, contently Abandoned
  Except for the Laughter of curious Children—
Lost and Faithless, Fearless, Wanting
  To pick the Flowers from the Poison.

And along the Freeway lie cars Abandoned—
  Smoke and steam still swirling about
And upon the Horizon, through the Pollution—
  Faint apparitions of Broken Factories.

The Sky turns Darker the Farther you Look—
  Foreboding oranges, and clouds of soot,
Lightning is constant throughout the day—
  Stars hide stifled by damp, lonely Night.

And the Field lay Painted, Protected—still,
  By Ancient Goddesses lounging around—
Some claim to know them, or'd wish to at least
  While desperately searching for the Profound.

And to no avail!—It's blank and Broken!—
  'Round and 'round, Forever we'll go—
Hear the sound of Nervous Laughter,
  Amplified,  through speakers blown...

                        III.

And every Night, a Story is Dreamt
  Of ancient, abandoned, Fantastical Worlds—
The Anxious Clover,—still hiding out
  Away from Desires, burned and burning.

And as Luck would have it, the Books are gone
  Few pages found, faded and torn—
The Authors unknown, the Language Obscure
  But Centuries of Dreams all Translate to This:

Euphoric Eternity!—that Dream Universal!—
  Lost, then Found, then Lost again—
Captured by random, Innocent Dreamers
  Lucky enough to be able to Pen

The Moment which briefly, created a Pattern–
  Static Disrupted!—Decay Attacked!—
A Song Completed!–A Painting Created!—
  A Poem on Paper to Remain Intact.—

The Gods however, fain remain Silent–
  "But who are they?" asks, the Innocent Child
"Your Dreams are nothing but Fleeting Fantasy"
  Sayeth the Beast, taming the Wild...

And as the Walls, keep tip-toeing in
  With Scattered Portraits, still Incomplete—
Through frost-covered Windows we strain to See
  This World under constant Attack.


                                                            J.L.B.
                                                   December, 2018
                                                  St. Augustine, Fl.

                  SandCastle'

                         I.

All the Pleasures previously Known—
  All but Lies!—and Overgrown
With Toxic Weeds, Invasive Vines—
  Castles built with Stolen Time.
                        ~
And all the Laughter, shared and Shed
  Upon the Streets while Blindly Led
By Sick Illusions,—Nightmares turned
  From Fantasies, Forever yearned
                        ~
By Hearts which guide the Trembling Hand
  That holds the Dream in stark Demand—
Now Drowned & Sunken, its Mem'ry Fades—
  Mere Smoldering Whispers as we Age.

                        II.

Who would've thought?!–who could've Known?!
  That Castles Crumble, built of Stone?—
That Time runs out, no matter what?—
  That what we Found was never Sought?—
                        ~
That all we Want, is somehow Free?
  While we've gone Missing, in Fantasy?—
Escaping the Weight,—the Consequences,
  Robbing ourselves, and Burning our Bridges.
                        ~
Now all the Pleasures previously Known—
  Buried Alive, not a single Headstone—
What is there Now, but constant Longing
  For things Familiar and not so Foreign?
                        ~
Whom I to Be, now that I'm Searching—
  Blank as a Page at the Beginning of Eternity?
From where will Laughter and Pleasures Arise?—
  From an Ocean of Meaning?—or another's Eyes?
                        ~
Patiently I'll wait, and Dive Within—
  This Abyss now Silent and Violent as Sin—
With newfound Hope, ready finally for
  A Time which I'll not need Steal no more.
                        ~
And when did I finally, Define what is You?—
  When Lightning Struck? When I finally Knew?
Or when Death and Darkness Pummeled the Shore
  And Knocked, so softly, on my, Castle Door?

                
                                                     December 12th, 2018
                                                   Rehab, St. Augustine, FL
           

            Sustain

"Four chords and six strings
are enough to rock the World
but who sees slowly, mountains moving
across that stale Horizon?"

               ~
Empty are the Hands
that play the saddest Chords
and Broken are the Hearts
that wrote them—

Full is the Glass
that tips and spills
Breaking,
upsetting the Silence—

Loud are the sounds
of Echoes and Wind
for they remind us all
of This:

When Excited strings
do finally rest
the stubborn Heart
keeps beating......

                                      st. augustine, fl
                                        october, 2018

----------------------------------

                   Timeless


King Time rules and we're his Fools—
  No use fighting, what would it prove?
Death is imminent,—Love profound!—
  So why not believe in the Underground?
                        ~
A world that exists Beside itself—
  A world Alone, in need of help—
And who are we to question time?—
  That thing that is neither yours nor mine?
                        ~
Helpless we fall right into its Arms—
  Even though long ago it lost its Charm—
Love resides and hides within
  The Chambers of the Now and Then.
                        ~
The Future yells and screams, and cries
  To Time's deaf ears, & blind, blind Eyes—

Oh Underground, Rise!—and Pull me Under—

  It's long been time, to Finally,—Surrender—

                            St. Augustine, Florida
                                  2004–2018~

Alone, in the Dark
                           Christmas 2017,
                                         Malmö, Sweden


The sun hides behind the rain
and the smile, the clock,
as life's tragic decay laughs in the face
holding back its shape.

Speech has become pointless
and speaking, painful—
as nothing and no one is able to keep pace
with our own wonderful chaos.

Aggressively we splash through Reflection
and our Clothes become soiled:
oh the horror of all horrors!:
we can no longer look up! nor out!

Inside we Are,—but wait!—
ah! –there is no waiting—
the clocks tick on
and we must Obey.

Alone, we scheme up a plan
to overthrow,—
in the Dark, we see
the horrific Joke, which is,
...the Human Condition:—

Tick tock tick tock:
and who the hell knew?—
hear the ringing of the bells,
—always on time

Tick tock tick tock:
and who the hell are you?—
count your steps as you walk
for the Park prefers
tiredness, fit for walking.

Alone, a Country crumbles—
the Holiday disrupts—
satellites crash into each other
and there is no way to record.

In the Dark, our ghost sits beside us
and we've turned the world off 

to hold its Hand—
we feed it our last supper
and Intoxicate this last chance.

Inside, it's warm by the fire,
our glass is full & there is much laughter—
but oh!—through the same glass stares
the bane of our existence.

So keep it full! oh keep it full!
with the darkest, strongest wine
for we know not when,
no we know not when
the prison clocks shall break their time.

And notice now!—the skip to your step!
your singing voice unfettered!—
your beating heart has stolen wings
and you, without hesitation, have chosen flight!—

From the air we dream, from above we see!
below, the war carries on unbothered
by our perspective and unwavering,—
it was there all along….
it was there all along.

There shan't be any bashing through the present
to get to the future—no!—
for We are Here, and Here we Are!—
and our own Weight was Nature's first Mistake!—

The Ghost That Haunts Me

       The Ghost That Haunts Me

Thirteen years and she's still here
   This Angel-Witch I've always feared
Her beauty far too much to grasp—
    Her hold on me leaves me gasping
For the Breath I wish I had
     But cannot know without her asking—

...Through all these tears, she still swims
     In the ebbing currents of my whim
Her anxious stare is holding strong
     Knowing that I've long been longing
For this thing to finally Be—
     But she like me,              

           ...is shy,
                   …so we've been waiting—

For a time when all is right
     When all is silent, full of Night
For when the moon is overhead
     Drenching us in its violent light—

Oh keep me down! thou silent one!
     My frown has injured more than none
I wish to hide and ride the rays
     Of your reflected, ancient sun.

And mother, mother,—hold thy mirror
     Up for me while I'm crying—
Let me see my Foreign shame
     To set me free from Idle game.

Oh dearest lover: don't you see her?!
     There she stares, by the window
Pale and lonely, in the light
     Of her source, the Ancient Widow.

Hellish sounds now ring throughout—
     The world of Thought, the world of Doubt
The Angels hide, and I would too
     If I were in their shoes.....

But alas!—I envy wings!—
     And so have invented, many things—
After all these years, she still waits
     As I learn to live with my Debates

And she protects me as I dream
     And holds my hand while I am Flying
Through the land of Lucid sleep
     Gently suggesting that I am Dying—

—And to this I laugh!—
     But Scream within—
From the Ghost within us
     We'll forever run!

                       
           .Philadelphia.
                .2017.