Poetry & Writing Samples

"The Witness"

By Connie Robillard


The breeze whispers secrets in my hair:
braiding darkness and light,
weaving joy with sorrow,
repeating patterns,
chaining moments.
securely knotting,
common threads
into the colorful fabric,
of life.


The soul sings and sings
Songs of poetry
Songs of beauty

It drums out its pain
into patterns of

Dark, light complementary
Shades of pain and joy

Weaving its threads
Strong and sturdy into
The fabric of survival

by Marcel A Duclos


"The Barn"

by Marcel A Duclos

His Story....

"So you came, kid," I hear Bailey say from somewhere in the garage.

"Bring your bike in.  Leave it by the work bench and come on back here first."

I can see the top of Bailey's head.  He is sitting is a canvas lawn chair like the one my aunt Celeste likes the best on the shade side of the farmhouse.  It seems strange to me that the chair is not facing out to look at the fields, the woods and the river on such a bright sunny day.

"Get over here if you want me to fix your bike.  I don't have all day."

As I step to the side of the chair, a hand flies out at me and grabs me by the shoulder and slams me to my knees."



Her Story.......

He's here, he's here, don't look at him. His big hand lifting the soupspoon up and down is all I can see.  I promise myself not to look at his face.

He is looking at me and he won't stop!

A lump, as big as a rock, comes into my throat.

I can't breathe.  I gotta get outside.

Sliding down from the chair, I hear my feet hit the floor.  I can't feel my feet walk to the door.  Outside, the air feels cool as I run up the stairs to the rabbit barn to be alone.

In the dark, the floor creaks.  I hear footsteps and I know he is already here.

"Do not scream," he whispers, "Do not make a sound or a move, you hear me"?






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