Fabrice Poussin

Poésie

 

 

Concrete

 

Deep into the heart through a smile sincere as joy

daring to take a few short steps

facing the agony of bewilderment and glee

she shines with sparks of sublime stars.

 

Phoebus plays with the golden touch of the hair

Aeolus is moved to animate it with life

she giggles softly and no one can see

as on the little screen she contemplates her days.

 

The park of oaks, blooms, cardinals and canines

all sing to celebrate what they feel through her

an aura glows close and stronger emanates 

aiming for the heavens above at early dawn.

 

From her the child leaps to play hard and soft, alone

yet she needs no other as if belonging to a different time

who can reach her?  who can imagine her at this hour?

her dress is of summer hues, still she laughs.

 

Woman, little girl, teenage darling she is eternally

a dream enchanting to the urban center unaware

her soul flutters its wings as she spreads fairy dust

so not seen, she leaves her bright grin on all.

 

Deep into a smile unbounded she is free

safe she is the creation of an infinite kind

now for the plunge into the abyss of burning light

where souls are in immeasurable passion.

 

 

 

Contact

 

On the ground brushes of green and blue also red

abandoned in a forgotten century or yesterday

not to be ignored under the sole of the newcomer.

 

Grass of vermillion, flowers of teal and black and white

crushed under a newborn volcano in diamond bright;

shards of transparent lives tell volumes to the walker.

 

Every cell in a surrounding space calls out to him

so he will not again speed through the galleries

hallways of a museum cornucopia of masterpieces.

 

The snake may slither in a microcosm of destinies

to recognize particles of a world his foe, his friend;

all senses on alert gathering memento for generations.

 

The great communicator must so record all around; 

details must not escape of the guilty one 

for a beauty none other can see and seeks with desperation.  

 

 

 

Ending

 

Walking in a fierce storm of daggers and blades,

fighting tornadoes, hurricanes, and earthquakes,

no overcoat, nor hat, not even the sturdy umbrella

will resist the changes which come with the storms.

 

Layer after layer, the fortress must collapse,

and leave way for the elements to erode at last;

what may have remained of a dying ray of hope,

arms clutched on a weakening chest in a final attempt.

 

Each step more arduous while the grimaces arise,

more violent with pain flashing like lightning,

through a crumbling pack of bones, flesh collapsing,

he is nearing the end, as soon, the knees will fail.

 

Fingers levitate perhaps, or is it mere illusion,

as the eyes filling with dust, sand, and tears

no longer certain of the vision so tender, beloved,

appears unattainable, but which is less real?

 

It is done, as he stops, bewildered by a last snap frigid,

a last glance from her soul as her path seems pleasant;

rays of warm light shine upon this royal presence,

hail continues to shatter the scenery for the observer.

 

A curtain raises to the skies, made of steal and stone,

transparent as if to enhance the suffering of him,

as he stays behind frozen, effigy to all lost dreams,

but he will not vanish, his agony must be prolonged.

 

She too continues to be, her step confident and adored,

nonchalant always; her figure keeps the same stature;

tortured by the impossibility, he is condemned to be

the spectator, as she gleefully goes on her solitary days.  

 

 

 

Killing the Tear

 

In a corner at the end of the line

she sits

a tear

wants to run its course to oblivion.

 

Alert to the prayers of another moment

silent

she sighs

a bundle of ache averts her gentle breath.

 

The ebony waves hide the sky-blue gaze

of her soul

she cries

inside in secret behind the wall of a past force.

 

Alone again, safe from the impending stranger

pain

she hides

everything to disappear into her shell of steel.

 

The crowd around her now an abstraction

she loves

passionately

the creation where she knows all answers reside.  

 

 

 

Mother

 

He was an explorer of sorts

aimless, a vagabond through dense forest

a babe falling upon the forgotten puddles of winter

child, seeking a way home.

 

A would-be Superman, eagle soaring to the stratosphere

he sought an entrance to the forbidden palace

desperate for the connection

back to his own creation.

 

The sea offered him a fertile land

mother of mothers, home to the origins 

some say, upon a shore the first man landed

but he goes on in search of a golden gate.

 

Man born of a gentle affair at the height of darkness

tadpole he fights a current to a great secret

as waters of fire bubble about his membrane

suddenly a flash, and it is light.

 

Wrapped within the eons of the universe his mother

cradled in the arms of warm constellations

so small, he finds his domain at last

infant of apparent infinity.

 

 

 

Fabrice Poussin is the advisor for The Chimes, the Shorter University award winning poetry and arts publication. His writing and photography have been published in print, including DM, Kestrel, Symposium, La Pensee Universelle, Paris and other art & literature magazines in the United States and abroad.