a poetry e-zine










Poems By Joseph Veronneau



Uncomfortable in the pew,

I'd genuflect

and make my way to an exit;


an usher's eyes filled with

the look of betrayal,

my absence one of

disobedience toward a greater cause.


I haven't been inside the building for years,

and the last time I was in one

was to pay my respects.


What holds as one person's truth

holds as another's fib; a wholesome

tale of the heart

that wishes to hold something dear

close by, whether it remain

disposable at any convenience

or held onto for life.


People have wanted me to believe

in something since I was born

the mind says softly,

thinking peace is just

a second tongue away. 







Fingers sliced,

a band-aid decorating several tips

of flesh that got in the way.

As I pass through the kitchen,

the pots say my name.

I am wanted here,

aiming to fulfill a hunger

that has long since needed to be filled.


My blood that drips

to each accident, an offering

to the fire, the salt-licked wounds

that gave my own nectar

to a floor asking for a taste.


As I gather enough towel

to clean the stain, I draw closer

to the blood, examining its hue

as a signature of life:

colors filling landscapes

with endless imagination,

granting us signs of trouble

and remembrance that separate and intertwine


like so many vines before,

catastrophic and peaceful,

grabbing a slice of pie

to eat silently between

walls settling their own conclusions.



Joseph Veronneau has been published throughout the small press, including Chiron Review, Word Riot, featured poet at The Guild Of Outsider Writers, and featured poet at Chantarelle's Notebook. He ran Scintillating Publications from 1999-2009.

Copyright 2011  Chantarelle's Notebook