Poetry: Selections from Fabrice Poussin

The Mane Man

Wild a creature, hiding behind the mane

stealthy as a rattler, hovers in the rafters

eyes piercing with a golden venom.

 

Any prey will do for the voracious appetite

of this invisible sociopath in a tuxedo

rented by the generous purse of a stranger.

 

Fraud among the gullible souls

it smiles of the innocent

scheming the gentle victim.

 

Many have fallen for the pretense

the tears, the moans, groans and grimaces

of the gargantuan hunger.

 

The head buried in the dreadlocks

the orbs float with empty waves

black holes at the end of a darker path.

 

It complains and it lies in a green meadow

turning the silver of a deep cloud to hurricane

for there is peace for the seeker of constant storms.

The Sound of Everything

There was a viola on the face of Neptune

a nymph in her pearly gown of gasses

caressed its body seeking a melody.

 

Mozart never traveled to the outer realm

of this vaporous galaxy carrying a harpsicord

content within his paradise of notes.

 

Perhaps the moderns explored the unknown

like Cobain, Morrison and Jagger with their glass pipes

and heard sounds unfamiliar to the common mortal.

 

Humanity should be in awe of the visionaries

who journeyed into those unexpected chambers

broad as the infinite space reserved for dreams.

 

Usher may have appeared on the edge of madness

as his soul succumbed to the many stimuli

within a house built by unknown hands.

 

Are we missing so much in these little shells

unable to travel with the waves

to dimensions privy only to the gods?

 

Imagine the wonder he felt when at last he was free

roaming a universe now his to explore

receptacle of voices no man ever heard.

 

Tonalities of colors flavored with tastes of other worlds

what to the touch could be this new discovery

scents to penetrate through the pores?

 

A funny thing these parts, interpreters of infinities

translators gifted with a minute vocabulary

surrounded by mysteries the living will never know.

The Treasure Inside

A child he remembers the unraveling of a gift

it was one holiday or another, perhaps a birthday

crushed with the excitement of a tickling hug

he ran to the next age, the new faces in his crowd.

 

And so she too took great care in the unwrapping

of the moments she could face with an open soul

walking between those high ruby walls in the city

fearful of naught but the undiscovered secrets.

 

They met in those wonder years when they could laugh

at no cost to the wealth of the decades passed

facing the journal upon which to write tiny notes

one page at a time, uncovering the thrills together.

 

The present received while learning to crawl, yet hidden

they will tear at the satin sheets with each pearl of sand

to find just one more doubt about what may come

reaching despair perhaps in the frenzy of their hopes.

 

Layer upon layer, the instants of their memories

written ahead on the arabesques of a rainbow shroud

they stare into the partner’s delicate realm

wondering where they may at last find their peace.

Hello Again

Daniel saw his life cut short at sixteen

on a wet road with his buddies

full of joy for their weekly rest

I see you from time to time

in this faded photo forgotten upon a slab.

 

Annick with her girls and much despair

missed a turn they say into the oaks

thus, darkness overtook what remained

of a dim light shuttered by the unfaithful

her twin cousin still misses her from time to time.

 

John, an old man by the standards of a child

at the wheel of a jalopy made in heaven

always meaning well he worked to his death

tall in his wisdom I remember his room

at the end of the house his guest home.

 

Not so long ago they became three

when David went his own way to another misery

to sleep in the field with Dan and so few memories

alone, crushed by unfulfilled promises;

who remembers the child confused into decades?

 

To say hello again to the departed

an assurance that nothing was in vain

but not yet in the words of the old bishop

for there is still time to gather the adventures

and share those with them beyond our time.

Property of Infinity

Just like the Vetruvian Man

she stands still facing a night star

nothing of hers remains.

 

Not a soul recalls the years

elapsed since she first came

submitted to the darkness.

 

Great poetess, divine artist

her arms outstretched

she is also a conqueror.

 

She might have belonged to another

statuesque with a taste for infinity

instead she chose the solace of the cold.

 

Revealed to the creation she seeks

her body speaks to distant galaxies

electric waves of light loan her a warm glow.

 

Immobile she will wait for the miracle

when all she is will vanish and join

the immensity whence she came.

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. His work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review and the San Pedro River Review in addition to other art and literary magazines in the United States and abroad.