Poetry Blog by Jeannot

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Jeannot on The science of aging (3 days ago)

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Jeannot on The science of aging (3 days ago)

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Martin Elder on Selfless selfie (Mon, 17 Jun 2019 09:38 am)

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Jeannot on Selfless selfie (Sun, 16 Jun 2019 09:42 pm)

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The science of aging

Wrinkled clothes and wrinkled face

Sagging limbs and sagging mind


Sick friends bowled over

All strikes

No spares


Time pushes through the open door

The cosmic land of forgetfulness


Forgot the names

Forgot the dates

Forgot the words

Forget it


Losing all the wars

Gravitas to gravity

Wisdom to stupor

Elegance to deadpan


All dead end...

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There must be a way

Is there a way to be

The poison you turn to

Your best enemy

When demons hover around

Your burning flesh?


Is there a way to be

One of a thousand monks

Kneeling face down


On the cold, raw stones

Of your bodily temple?


Is there a way to be

A thorn in your side

To remind you of

The excruciating pain of

Not touching you?


There mus...

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Selfless selfie

We have it all wrong


Serial selfie abusers are among

The most selfless, the least egotistical

People we should strive to know




This act

Repeated over and over (and over)

Of extending one’s arm

In the middle of, well, anywhere

Stopping time, and traffic and pedestrians

To share memorable pictures with, well, anyone

Of sunrises, sunsets, beaches,...

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Coming to terms

Sitting quietly on a seamless day

Contemplating the unsolvable riddle



Searching for truth is out of the question

I am after

An agreement, a coming to terms



Eternity is all time, so there is no time?

God is everywhere, so there is no God?

I ask


And everything else

Earthly possessions, love, friendship, happiness, desire, health, lif...

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The dreaded train

Lying in bed

At night or in the morning

Looking up through the rectangular window

At blinking lights or fleeting white clouds

A perfect still life


First an underground murmur

The floor rattles, the window whistles

Then the roars, the thunderous cascades

Interrupted like clock work

clickety clickety clickety

Then the angry crescendo surely

Announces ominous dev...

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If I forget…


The slow blissful days filled

With miraculous nothings

Are with you


The light hand reaching out

To whisk me from the dark, cold places I sometimes live in

Is your hand


The names, the dates, the places, the faces

And finally, fatally, 



Like my father before me


Please know

I am not me

And letting go

Is not treason

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The burning of one's church

Churches have been burning everywhere

For various reasons since their creation

Some made of wood and stone

Most of beliefs and hopes

Each time the fire takes everything on its path

Leaving behind either ashes and water, or delusion and despair

In equal parts

Each time the scorching heat inside the soul



Now the cathedral is on fire

People congregate fro...

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The possibility of a garden

Trying to access you through

Dishevelled words is

An hopelessly wandering venture


Your heart, mind and whole deserve

A flowery motif of 

Delicately arranged, precious words

Exquisitely nuanced in pastel shades of tender feelings


But I keep ploughing through

Words smelling like dirt

Grey, sad and soggy

I keep digging ever deeper until

My hands, my head hur...

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Let me tell you

Let me tell you


It’s not about seeking some undeniable existential truth

by scurrying through a life’s worth of pain and regrets and pain


Not about clinging to the shadow of an unlikely god (or not)

to justify the belief in a sliver of meaning


Not about the fear of technology terminating us or

augmenting our already overwhelming reality


Not about squeezing ...

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Silence is officially dead


Total silence is nowhere to be found on this planet anymore

Not in the park, the woods, a lake, a mountain, the bottom of the sea

Not in a bottle, a church, a cave, the bottom of a pit


And certainly not in the long dark nights of our restless minds


We have chased away and killed silence

Loudly, excitedly, proudly, relentlessly



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Lifeless, empty words

Thrown in haste

On cold-blooded paper


Feelings crossed out in shame

Sincerity submerged in ink

Furtive lies

Disheartening small talk


All over



I received your letter

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Waste of time

Your stories are too long

I don’t have time to hear them

Don’t you know my days are numbered?


Your stories have too many unfinished

sentences crashing into each other until

they reach their unrevealing conclusions.


I can imagine perhaps your longing 

to communicate in a flow of sounds whatever

is passing through your mind at the very instant

it is passing, so i...

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Coming back


I am coming back to you                                                                                       For no good reason                                                                                            Eyes wide open, empty hands                                                                              To kill time                                                          ...

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