Poetry: Fabrice B. Poussin

* Author of the Month *

A rampart has appeared beyond the blue
reaching to unfathomed heights among the stars
and our light has died in its vertiginous collapse.

Its substance unknown it rejects the warmth
solid as pure metal smooth as a silky shroud
it propels frigid waves to the seeking wanderer.

There remains a faint glitter at the foot of this fortress
for its energy will suffer, refusing to be extinguished
flame within the ashes of entire civilizations.

The night is cold and it is yet time to rest
again upon the slab of a would-be tombstone
gazing to this lost horizon and a sliver of hope.

The morrow may not be too late to awaken
perhaps a new sun will shine upon this flesh
for life to strive and conquer the icy expanse.

Burning ground

Bubbles up from an asphalt unfinished,
he walked at a swift pace, head down, proud,
his blood too boiling in hardening judgment,
another one, determined, looked up and screamed.

Bubbles red, fat with melting air, bursting with death,
legs jumped to the curb, a magical move to ward off terror,
little stream of infinite droplets vanished in the blink,
the first saw naught, swimming in only his own answers.

The other wondered looking for a key to the mystery,
crossword without darks, borderless on a dateless clock,
little heart of warmth felt no fear, lived in a question,
while nearby hunchback, almost a mummy, the other, ran.

Unshaken, the one stood still as he saw the other
vanish in the smog seemingly born of the stranger,
he, unable to look, judge, jury, executioner of the
innocent, he remains soiled to the core, a mere evil.

Echoes of a raindrop

Today with hair down to her waist,
she is the big girl mommy needs,
for mommy cries in broken pieces.

Times has come, a decade vanished,
she sits on the city bench, alone,
rain drops echo in her soul.

The games have changed,
a child has died, a woman emerges;
she walks away in nail polish and lipstick.

Creator of that other life, she sees all,
the body still transparent as when yet,
it belonged to hers.

A magic moment, they both look up
for a ray of hope, a continued friendship
sealed above; the rain perseveres.

Faint smiles, echoes of a single raindrop,
they know all will be well again,
as they share eternity for it must be so.

Onto a somber light

A door shut upon the bright light of the dream
opened on a miracle to reveal a dark alley
as the wanderer passed upon crushed destinies.

He paused and pondered the secrets beyond
a gentle touch upon the breast of the stranger
a gaping gate inviting to a bravest leap.


Reading, sitting in the corner with Mr. Hemingway,
ignored of all, covered by a soothing blanket of semi-darkness,
the paying resident may be on the verge of an undue nap.

Of a sudden a bell, unlike the church’s, or your home door,
it chirps, it screams, it growls, murderer, it kills a moment
disrespectful of the trained tympanum, it causes revolt.

The vehicle rolled upon a wire mysterious; in the rain
a child set a foot before his mother’s at the counter;
a strange implement of cooking decided it was time.

Warn, signal, honk, threaten, it is a siren from an outer world,
thought of in an error, created of particles, and petroleum;
the nightingale, redbird, sparrow and even the crow flee.

It has taken over, similar to the ants or the bees busy at the task,
workers, queens, kings, and slaves, their spill is constant,
relentless, they violate all life, a virus unbeatable.

Without rhythm, without rhyme, and for reason unknown,
they protest their very existences, in a cry of despair,
confused by the very purpose which seems theirs, pure folly.

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