Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘Beyond the abyss’ and other poems by Fabrice Poussin

By: Fabrice Poussin

Beyond the abyss

It is a leap of faith above infinite space
Darkness below to another danger
Looking up to the azure of a peaceful realm
What lies beyond a dreamed yet feared.

From a desert land burning with numbing aches
To the lush meadows of gleeful lives to be
Crimson nectars flow into stormy torrents
Holding a course to an ocean so promising.

Stranger trapped in a no man’s land
Between a preface and another chapter
Knight in need of adventure idle with terror
He contemplates a void choking his breath.

Imagining the treasures to be awakened with a touch
Why postpone any longer the step into another day
Perhaps he values the quest over the victory
Certain in the odd safety of an everlasting ennui.

A glimpse of mist hovers beyond the reach of his gaze
There he may envision hopes fulfilled in a flash of life
Bliss at last in leaves of a soothing prairie wrapped
In the arms of a destiny made of warm eternity.



An image of a dream came to his soul
fleeting as it seemed to swim through moments.

A burst of warmth invaded his world
to turn to ice as he closed his eyes again.

The apparition returned to tease his heart
if only he could find a way to make it real.

Where to begin this creation became his quest
but how could he build a statue to the muse.


My New Home

I awoke in a thickest night
laden with restless dreams
swimming in the rains of darkness.

Flesh upon satin my soul burnt
naked to the core seeking another home
I may have wiggled as once in the womb.

Discerning the fibers in burgundy ooze
I closed my eyes to plunge into a future
as so many dawns before to a fresh skin.

Near the alcove a memory lay
defunct on the undertaker’s icy tile
what I had been but hours before.

Snug inside the silk of my cocoon
every pore came alive with as many sighs
to deepest sleep I surrendered this life.


Last snows

Kilimanjaro melted my heart one more time
listening to the hyenas’ call at midnight
I followed the stars to the line in the desert
wondering if the old wound would heal at last.

And I lost the keys to those noble blue oceans
watching the dying typewriter fall into decay
alligators smiled feeling the full safety
of the faithful double barrel once a best friend.

I contemplated the great lake near a first home
icy for an ultimate visit when all memories gone
a mirror spoke the harshest words I ever heard
it was time to move on, go away, for good.

Often I thought of a last wish, like a cigarette
but mine was for the fruit of Idaho
when nothing was any longer, all ended
the double-barrel again a precious ally.

I saw the eyes of the king in the high brush
sharp with the passion for a life I perhaps never had;
he stared knowing his future far too well
I too now see down the rifle; at last I know.


Rue de Fleurus

Words commas sentences seemingly incomplete
grumpy lady ageless lost in a sea of paintings
sitting on the same old chair like a master builder.

Architect of a new age syllables became bricks
cemented by chance, into a kaleidoscope of voices
inspiration of a broken time with solidly shut doors.

Rough old lady wearing dresses of worn out burlap
pulling no punches for the unsuspecting wannabe
surrounded by the electricity of a generation.

Sizing them all up as they walked in for tea and talk
so few knew of the true depth of an unfathomable heart
still found everyday in the old apartment on Fleurus.

No ghost haunts those streets for none is large enough
to carry with it the legacy of the colossus marble Venus
on the contrary it is you to be found on every corner yet.

Fragments of a life everywhere, from Appalachia to the lights
cubist in your soul, with your words, as you appear still
piece by piece you are more whole than wholeness could be.

Sing my dear, sing your dislocated lines, with the voices
of automobile engines broken down, lost on a country road
your voice echoes through the ages and warms our rhymes.


Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.  

Leave a Reply

Related Posts