Chris G. Vaillancourt

Chris G. Vaillancourt Poems

Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are sleeping
like baby lizards in their caves. Breathless from
a day of pillage. Restful after a time of destruction.

I have scratched the loneliness
that never knows its path
Bright as black
I flowed into its waters

Come to me fickle words.
Lift the weight from
my mind.

In my understanding
of this hemisphere,
I sense a certain

Where am I going? Isn't this the question that
filters into most of our minds? I have spent my

life questioning the borders erected around me.

You had me stand naked in the snow.
Then you undressed my soul
as if it was a paper plate
that you could rip up and

Suddenly I am thrown and tossed,
...................broken and fixed.
Discontent. Unhappy.
Content. Happy.

Whispers struggled out by the lisping of
the hands are
not promises that shall be kept.

In August the grass discovered it could grow all by itself.
It could stretch its green almost to the sky.
The grass-cutter was being removed, it was free!

Two Niggers, talking to a Jew,
An Asian man listening in.
Dance the hate.
Feel the verb.

She sat inside her ice-cream life
and guessed the number of
bingo markers it might take
to win the jackpot.

Sorry to interfere with you lunch hour,
but I felt it necessary to open your mind.
I spiked your cupcakes with reality.

Sometimes sunshine streams through the windows,
like a tossled head of hair. Bright and solid light

Sheltered dreams always seem to end.
They filter down like
drops of hopeless water
which fall from the sky

I am alone.
We are together.

Your imprint stays in my mind.

She looked like a ghost of herself
When she first came stumbling into my sight.
I asked her if I could help her, perhaps I
Could make what was wrong right.

The last wind of winter has ceased its power.
It is memory now, and has no message to give.

The rains of spring have replaced the snow.

Help me to remove my feelings.
Drop my insecurities.
Open my soul.

What is this passion
that so fills my soul?
This insisting urge to seek the
hidden pathways of my mind?

Do not be disturbed
by the
little disturbances
pervading the atmosphere.

Chris G. Vaillancourt Biography

Over 200 of my 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. I have 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'. I have had six poetry books published, 'Teardrop of Coloured Soul' 'I Walk Naked into a Cloud', 'the Rushing Stream of Desires', and 'A Yellow Sunshine Night'.'The Sleeping Clouds Dangle Like Rocks In The Skies' and 'Crayons Dipped in Flowing Colours')

The Best Poem Of Chris G. Vaillancourt

A Boy And The Dragons

Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are sleeping
like baby lizards in their caves. Breathless from
a day of pillage. Restful after a time of destruction.

Somewhere, on the other side of the hill, a boy
is playing in the woods. Caressing his manhood,
he becomes a symbol of self appreciation.
Be quiet. Don't disturb the boy in his game.
It is his only means of achieving satisfaction.
A reaction would disturb the molecules from
their expected conclusion.

The boy does not realize how close he is
to potential danger. If he awakens the
dragons, he awakens his death.

Shhh. Tell no-one. The dragons are dreaming
of future conquests. Illusionary REM's of human
body parts dancing in their heads. Helpless
after a day of mass frustration. Hopeless
after a time of complete desolation.

The boy is finished his game. He smiles
to himself at his clever disguises. Yesterday he
was a soldier in the war of indifference. Today
he is a hero, a legend in his own mind.

He screams in abandoned pleasure. He
yells because he can. Racing through the woods
until he comes upon the entrance to a cave.

Takes a breath, than slowly enters in.
The dragons are no longer sleeping. They are
preening their scales in preparation. Their red
soul-less eyes look at the boy. The boy, with
his brown empty eyes looks at the dragons.

None of them make a move.

Each of them recognize the emptiness of the other.

Chris G. Vaillancourt Comments

Sylvia Frances Chan 30 October 2021

Dear late Chris died in 2016 and never in 2006, a great error I made, my deepest apologize. Thank you so much!

0 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 08 August 2021

I know Chris from PoetFreak.Com, no more now, this Poemsite shut its doors in June 2016 and Chris died of lung-cancer at 6 April 2006. May Chris R.I.P. I did not know him yet when he was on this PH poemsite. He was also on HelloPoetry poemsite

0 0 Reply
Paul Sebastian 13 July 2015

You are like musician who can weave notes into a music piece. Here you are doing with words, weaving poems that are deep, abstract, thought provoking and intricately woven. You are a destined poet. You owe the world your talent. Keep writing for us.

2 3 Reply
Valsa George 08 May 2014

Chris... Since you don't allow any comments to your poems, I register my appreciation for your poems in this slot... You are indeed gifted.... Poems like Alleluia.... Alleluia.... are very worth reading over and over again! I wish you a fruitful creative career ahead ! ! ! Thanks for your great comments on my poems !

2 8 Reply
Akhtar Jawad 04 May 2014

He is a poet of great thoughts., his thoughts may be very useful for common men. My I humbly request him to be a little simple in in his descriptions so that persons like me may be more benefited?

1 8 Reply

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