reflection: spare crop / fleet mind
Danser sur la brume
En cercle et pointillé
L’étreinte de l’écume
Comme un déshabillé
Le sel s’écarte
Sur le passage d’un vent
Aux textures incolores
Qui scintillent gaiement
Sur les touches d’un piano
Une voix s’écartèle
Dans l’incendie d’un contralto
Au rythme fou qui s’ensorcèle
Une mousseline de lave
Irradie ses faveurs
Dentelle d’éclairs
Qui balise la plaine
Charme des forêts
Quand elles soulèvent
L’or de leurs jupons
Sur une odeur de source
Danser sur l’écume
En point de cécité
Etendre cette brume
Et la déshabiller
Dancing on the mist
In circles and points
The embrace of the foam
Like a lingerie lace
Salt discards itself
On the passing breeze
Colorless textures
Sparkling gleefully
A voice breaks across
The piano’s keys
Within a contralto fire’s
Enchantingly mad rhythm
Lava-flow of muslin
radiates her favors
Lightning lace
beacons across the plain
Charm of the forests
When they arise
Their gold slips
over the scent of springs
Dancing on the foam
Into blindness’ vanishing point
Expand this mist
And undress it
To read more work by GMC, click HERE.
To find other poems by GMC on this blog click HERE.
In my map of things you are confounded with
……….grey-green clouds
……….pressing against
……….bright ground,
……….like Shiva’s foot.
……….Creating – uncreating
……………………………………………………spring.
Though properly your colours belong
……….to summer of golden
……….gulf-beach sand and
……….blazing,
……….hephaestian-hemitite sweat
……….against the cuffs and
……….collar of
……….field, cotton white and
……….August sky or shallow
……….water running over
……………………………………………………stones.
“Don’t count on Heaven, or on Hell.
You’re dead. That’s it. Adieu. Farewell.” – Sherwin Stephen
In that heady perseverance of the renascent day
she worshipped every morning of the world
outlawing death and the untenable eclipse of the sun
Until midlife struck and she began entertaining
the inevitable sojourn into nothingness
dreaming its space and shape and speed
for a perfect exit out of the world
She thought without fear
comfortable as a woman who has taken
her clothes off for her lover a thousand and one nights
narrowed her selection to eight felicitous departures
each an epiphany as rich as dark chocolate
Falling in her flower bed as she pulls a last weed
Wrapped in the big screen of a movie theater
On the phone during long dissertations
with that one prized friend
In a restaurant among clatter and laughter
At a table set with sparkling china
With Merlot served in Baccarat
On an overstuffed sofa with this or that brother
and their wives reminiscing about our intertwined lives
Sipping a Proustian sentence and a cup of tea
Stretched out on thick green St. Augustine grass
Contemplating two lovely loved daughters
Making love in the crook of his bed
Copyright 2013 Liliane Richman, all rights reserved
To hear more poems by Liliane Richman, click HERE.
Le vent s’assoit
Sur un espar
Que le temps charge
De caresses
Sans qu’un instant
La nuit ne voile
Un zeste ému
Dans la respiration
Qui s’abandonne
Fragile et claire
Fleur d’ouragan
Larme tranquille
The wind sits upon
A spar, which
Weathers’ charge
With caresses
As not even for an instant
Does the night not veil
A touching zest
In the breath
Abandoning itself
Fragile and light
Hurricane’s flower
Tranquil drop
To read more work by GMC, click HERE.
To find other poems by GMC on this blog click HERE.
Bonnie McClellan-Broussard 