Poetry

‘Leftovers’ and other poems by Fabrice B. Poussin

By: Fabrice B. Poussin

Leftovers

The select few in assembly had taken a huge bite
of a feast destined to a multitude of destitute
those in rags who erred from scrap to crumble
quietly, abandoned dogs of skin and bone.

Incongruous bursts of laughter echoed through space
from those swollen bellies of gargantuan profiles
they could have swallowed these worlds in a gulp
and still begged for seconds and thirds without shame.

Sitting upon thrones of gold and precious stones
they grinned from ear to ear on those rotten ivories
while miniatures of what they were rushed around
a last attempt to find the sustenance of another hour.

They could not see that the festivities were at an end
blinded by the greed of their insatiable appetites
for even the cherished ground of their beloved kingdoms
were now falling to dust beneath their grotesque ankles.

It would require but a feeble quake of the cosmos
for their timid smiles to vanish into the thickening grind
and so it was that the obscene orgies of the few
were consumed and their treasures rendered to the void.

 ###

Long Distance Call

Maddened by the silence of the darkness
I think I may scream to eternal winds
calling a name without syllables.

No tool of man can cover the void
distances made for learned physicists
perhaps a mere wish will take me there.

Climbing to a realm free of limits
I inhale the universe free and clean
to make a sound devoid of words.

How does one reach without a phrase
to voice the message of eternal hopes
upon an ear gifted of an alien tongue?

The mystery will remain a little stronger
and I will generate those dreams
of a tingle and her tease in her breast.

 ###

On the Walls of the Old Fort

Kaki shorts may not suffice
to make the dream of a war complete.

Toy guns shaped of fallen oak limbs
and popping sounds from the mouths of babes.

Distant images of boys and girls at play
on a battlefield once of crimson rivers.

Pondering the last days of a scorching summer
an aged visitor leans upon a curvy stick.

Scanning an endless panorama eyes closed
the old warrior recalls confused memories.

Summer dresses, sandals with flowery giggles
and the surprise of a gentle fall in blades of grass.

Stumbling with a deathly thump into a muddy pool
surrounded by the darkness of many a running mate.

Still on the prairie, the flaneur feels a teasing breeze as
tears explode upon the face where once peace had a home.

Child again, child at last, innocent of a genderless youth
cries for the hours of ecstasy on the tragedies
still echoing within the walls of the old fort.

 ###

To Charles

Anonymous among the ghosts of the city
hiding beneath the musty top hat
elegant with the dark cane
he continues briskly through the rubble.

He might be absent in this pitiful mob
dark giants haunt days of yesteryear
mountains luring with evil eyes
as fog thickens like a hostile cloud.

Homes to turbulent lives in the night
memories of times when bodies still touched
a thin rain shocks the mirrors of cobble stones
while the gas shines in a timid glow.

He might have seen the forgetful lady
shivering within the dress dark as death
had he yet had hope warning his blood
their shoulders brushed for just moment.

It was another missed encounter
electricity numbed by the thick ether
in what could have been paradise
perhaps next day they will meet at last.

 ###

What World Yet?

Swimming in an ocean of sweat
too close to the shells of strangers
she runs in her summer dress
on uncountable broadways and 5ths.

Feeling a flesh waving with the rivers
prisoner of those synthetic threads
she seeks an exit at the end of the asphalt
her feet hoping to not again touch this ground.

They are all aliens to her estranged breast
by the millions they hover in slow motion
so many ghosts in the bright alleyways
oozing with the stench of an early death.

She began her desperate race long ago
when yet she wore the dress of a girl
terrified by the din of those odd bipeds
cold as ice in the heat of tropical climes.

On she will continue to the edge of a precipice
dearest end to a hopeless cause
goddess in a world of demons
to take flight into a warmest oblivion.

Immune to what they may have called love
fortunate in her absolute loneliness
she must leave this hostile realm
world of corpses living in fiery armors.

Categories: Poetry

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