Painter of galaxies

 

She was spotted on the edge of an aura standing upon

circles of glowing gazes icy as azure diamonds

in her palms brushes wide as other milky ways.

 

A giantess of vaporous glory armed with infinite hues

she swings to the end of the universe

flowery traces of innumerable rainbows.

 

She is a creator manager of distances reaching to

unknown corners where a nucleus pulsates gently

while membranes collapse in sweet earthquakes.

 

Mad woman endowed with unfathomable kindness

floating inside a dress sown with comets, stars and

darkest moons, she swirls as a world comes alive.

 

Thrusting colors upon invisible ramparts of mists

her task must not end for all things to go on

living for she is the source to continue into the deep.

 

 

 

Exploring the prison

 

A story is often told of the old citadel

built of steel, rock and perished sweat.

 

Ghosts laden with heavy memories

lament under the regretful weight

of existences past into oblivion.

 

Curious little souls venture twixt the thorns

colorful knights errant armed with giggly souls.

 

They leave joys of a gentle summer mornŐ

to escape beyond the ramparts of the mighty castle.

 

Ancient floors feign a scream as they walk

holding onto hopes of a new fancy chapter

for a story to fall upon enlightened ears.

 

Scarcely caressing crannied walls they explore

squinting to capture the imagined vision

filled with dresses and armors of yesteryear.

 

Screams from another realm speak a fresh tale

men in shackles, rags and tears of coal

once visitors to a similar playground they cry.

 

It is too late for those reluctant tenants

yet their spirits remain hovering above the darkness

 

Cautious explorers continue on this noble quest

they seek the hint of a light into the deep

the only treasure they will ever cherish.

 

The eternal residents make way for their guests

bowing to the living for their eyes still shine

eager to hold even a dim candle to their legend.

 

 

 

Rains in my sun

 

It rains in the heart if my sun

fumaroles venture to the surface

as if calling for mercy from the surveyor.

 

They wave with their shy little souls

endless in their race for eternity

for the storms persist within.

 

Rivers freeze in the depths of my star

born of a flame shunned by a tempest

hopeful perhaps for prolonged desire.

 

Sinuous of blueish streaks as cooling lava

they will rest in their bed of cutting swords

dreaming of the next fiery eruption.

 

Time comes to a standstill in the cavern

veins of thunderous wishes no longer flow

filled with the thick substance of the dying.

 

Voracious hurricanes hover below

yet no one suspects the rolling clasps

beneath the glowing shield of a grander dawn.

 

 

 

She, the monument

 

Stoic she stood gazing in fear at what once was

A giant towering over the mangled dwarf her pleasure had become

Tears frozen on the cheek icy blue as marble upon the tomb.

 

A slight tremble moved the gentle frame in the hurricane

She could not budge a fiber in her terror of dawn

Only a dress of white satin dared tease her soul.

 

Ground to fleshy crimson morsels fed to the arid desert

Her soft chest had been ripped apart and shredded to pain

By the fury of a destiny without care for her soft breath.

 

She remembered images of carnage in deadly wars

Now she lay a corpse at the hand of a former servant

Flesh on fire in an ocean of the rusty nectar he drank. 

 

Her breast full she only longed to explode her grief

Calm, she remained pondering the girl she had been

Tears frozen she cried deep within her heart. 

 

 

 

Sowing a new world

 

Giving birth was a daily routine for the gentleman;

the Earth bears witness to the creation he left behind

forgotten shells of new worlds never quite finished.

 

Fallen hazelnuts mix with the seed of another spring

sparrows watch in wonderment at the wealth their gift

from harbor to garden, a bounty nourishes a paradise.

 

His secret garden of contemplation restful for the plum

preserved from the strangerŐs eye, a royal site

for the majesty of soul still busy in his art.

 

A great yard, of peaches, nectarines and grapes

avidly swallows the rays of the august sun

aromas of colorful blossoms carry their dear essence.

 

The domain of a painter, vast with the grandeur of a heart

carefully gridded rows of his own moments of glee

cherries, beans, peas and pears, smile at this noble kind.

 

The overhang of his castle often cries in its loneliness

unsure of the presence of the spirit it fills the grounds

with a precious nectar so life perennial always returns.

 

© Fabrice B. Poussin

 

Bio:  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.