This page chronicles my ongoing poetry journey. It includes pieces shaped by memory, people I’ve observed, places I’ve been, objects that have held meaning, and my own experiences with mental health.
Some poems begin here as part of a regular practice; others are revised over time and gathered into larger groupings. Together, they form a body of work that will continue to evolve.
I hope you enjoy my works and it encourages you to write your own.
Latest Poems
skull
there you lay,
a sea of charcoal black.
bleached from blizzard snow,
yellowing in the thaw.
you bloom where you fell
beneath the oaks,
accompanied by
mold and morels.
once full-bodied and tall-of-tine,
you’ve shed your suede jacket
for something lighter—
understated.
gone is your antlered crown,
cut cleanly from your cap.
unearned decorum
on a wall.
leg bones scattered,
where you crumpled
gouged and scraped
by canines.
your spine nearby.
a puzzle.
your pieces missing.
so.
many.
missing.
“how did you die,”
I wonder aloud.
not by arrow
or bullet.
“you were sick, weren’t you?”
food and water
feet away.
gorged yet hungry,
quenched but famished
porous.
dust.
you
would’ve preferred
my arrow.
please rewind
the borrowed film
before the DVD
rows of worn cardboard spines
Blockbuster,
Family Video,
convenience stores
Act II buttered popcorn
Raisinettes in half-filled boxes
VHS tapes
the mechanical spooling of brown ribbon
whirring in tandem
the hum stretching the moment
streaks of choppy black and white
cleared by a thumb
“tracking”
the white-on-blue warning
no duplication under penalty of—
the lion’s roar
family dinner at the tube
on a stained comforter
a film a night
one-liners our language
neon spines in a crowded cabinet
now obsolete in basement bins
waiting to be tossed or donated
but
I
refuse
roman candle
my spark
always there beneath me
(in the cracked asphalt)
when my body burned to ash,
circles in the pavement
amid the nicotine and pilsner aftermath
how little it meant
water, music, naked skin
outshined by the sputtering ignition
of a gas-fed Bic
horns blared
soles scuffed gravel
(jumping)
flagpoles rattled at the armory
they gasped,
they applauded my combustion
shop kids war-whooped as i crackled
two-fingered whistling
(I unraveled)
jacked-up tires screeching
my red, white, and blue flames faded
(extinguished)
but for a moment
my wings wider,
my flame brighter
(i flew)
window seat
thousands of feet above it
worn soles grind
into the paper thin carpet.
steel scrapes frost
from the clouds.
belted in, reaching
for the sun’s warmth
through a half-shaded window.
the others cast anxious glances
at the stewardess,
and pray for the last
Diet Coke.
Nick Viau 