‘Tolkien’s Night ‘ by Paul Fournier 2001 Monotype- Pastel & Acrylic on Paper. 32″×24″

It’s high stress all this loving.

Heart beating hard now triple timed.

I’ve been parked now on the off-ramp.

In those shadows less than kind.

She’s been worried about high flying.

I don’t fret about those fears.

Riding rough and sick of trying.

Now stop crying, faking tears.

I’ve been writing a new chorus.

I’ve been looking for fresh chords.

Rich man drives fast now in a taxi.

Passing poor men in their Fords.

We all are walking in cold shadows.

Under blue skies filled with rain.

I am quiet, no more promise.

I will let you live your pain.

There’s a lesson if you listen.

To a voice that lives inside.

Telling me that it’s not over.

Doesn’t care how hard you cried.

I am nothing if not present.

And it’s always been that score.

Even when I couldn’t see.

When my back was at the door.

I hear distant sounding music.

Played by someone who was on tour.

Someone who can be that wise.

To know how and why and more.

In those times, I need to listen.

To those who came before.

Sometimes, I just need to be.

In the draft of troubadour.

I was tired when I woke up.

I guess now that’s just the norm.

I was up to something different.

When I found shelter from the storm.

Time is fleeting, not illusions.

On my face, you see the strain.

Where once were lines of laughter.

Are now harder to explain.

August swung with beauty.

At a world so tired and torn.

Warm winds beat back the rains.

And I slept in past the morn.

I was dreaming about something.

That was lodged inside my head.

Now I don’t know what that was.

So I think of you instead.

Nhien brings me finer things.

Like grace and smiles warm.

Like, no August that I remember.

She’s my shelter from the storm.

I’ve been checking out the classics…

And the Russians and the woke.

And those crazy fucking Liberals…

Spitting words, so not to choke.

And all the world, they say a comedy…

Or a tragic staged surprise?

All the tears are not from laughter.

But their words are mostly lies.

“The world is changing. Grinding on its gears. Seemingly to new sets of rules. People are afraid and confused.”

Opening line of soon to be published novel be Dennis Mantin…

I was caught up in a storybook.

Or it might have been a song.

Or it might have been her beauty.

Made me think I don’t belong.

I was looking for something somewhere.

And I didn’t know how or when.

I lied and said I didn’t care.

And still, the chances came again.

Then I finally got it figured.

Got caught up in time and speed.

Just take it in, enjoy it all.

And discard what I don’t need.

I finished off the census.

Questions like what’s your name.

With a claim of anonymity.

I had to hang my head in shame.

I guess I’m at that age now.

Where I believe no claim at all.

And I’ve resigned myself to destiny.

To watch society at the fall.

It would be like such an honor.

If it weren’t so dumb and lame.

It’s like Nero and the Christians.

Without the hero or the fame.

The Villians all wore dresses.

Don’t say they were disguised.

It is more about fashion feelings.

Then, any plans that they devised.

There was a rumble at the diner.

No much more than throwing grub.

Someone didn’t like the service much.

So they left to find a pub.

It’s not about good or evil.

It is more like circumstance.

You might not be asked to join in.

Might be best to run than dance.