David Fournier
Bio
I am a writer, poet and performance artist. My whole life I have loved the beauty of words, whether I'm writing them into a narrative or using them to make silly voices. I am poised to publish my first book and kids series.
Stories (34/0)
We Passed Upon the Stairs
We passed upon the stairs. A radar for a gentle breeze turned on. I looked right. You looked right at me. Deliver to me that which a moment is measured by. Never has tension been so liberating. I turned left. You left the turning point. Perhaps if I listen to the vibrations that feed me I will gain a new sense of hunger. For retracing my steps will only leave a deeper and more permanent mark. There is a divide that must be chosen. One road will force my hand with unbridled determination. The other road will always keep an ear open for time’s answer. Snap back to that vertical convergence. What if I looked left? How many roads would be open and how many would be shutdown? You can see the future best through the peripheral.
By David Fournier3 years ago in Poets
An Underground River
Remember? Remember how it all seemed like a dream? Like all the dreams you’ve ever had. The way she looked at you, her growing smile. You never had a chance and you know it. There was a breeze, soft and salty, up from the moon-lit shore. The coast glistened like a beach of diamond crystals. But you hardly noticed it. Your mind was on other things. When you were young, there’d been moments like this. Brief instants when you didn’t think or care about the minor imperfections that your mask hid. You laughed when she laughed, and ran behind her, feeling the sand slide and crunch beneath your feet, a cool wind brushing the hair from your brow. You felt the night, as you’d never felt an evening before. It’s like discovering an underground river. You don’t know how you found your way and you don’t know where the light is coming from. Don’t waste time trying to figure out where the river flows. You may never see it again. Make it count.
By David Fournier3 years ago in Poets
For More Ears
Dear Donald J. Trump, Have you had enough yet? Are you as surprised as I am that it’s reached this point? What was your plan? What were you prepared to do? That’s the real question here isn’t it. What are you prepared to do? What are any of us prepared to do?
By David Fournier3 years ago in The Swamp
Crack the Code
Crack the code of my eye and all turns to ethereal tears. Lines that stretch across seas of stone. Every which direction that is sourced out. What is the word for depth without end? The power to grow is the iris of the open hand. Who am I supposed to be? How far must I dig? My spirit animal is a winged Appalachia that sings a theremin. Unleash her with the sacred words. I would give it all away for a little bit more. The only colour that exists in my ice is neon fire. Take shape and mould it into invisibility. It stops fetching evocative and starts receiving undiscovered textures. I have been and forever shall be this moment. You can never take that away from me. All of this comes from the power of one eye. And I have two
By David Fournier3 years ago in Poets