Poems that have appeared on my main blog, Shameless Words (link in the sidebar).
no, really, we could’ve,
heck, I just don’t feel,
I just ought to, needy?
I’ll tell you what, um,
no, nothing, not crying
if only I’d not been so,
you know, like it isn’t,
ahem, you know, bizarre,
right, caution to wind,
only, tossed right back
that’s cool, I ought to,
aha, absolutely, I see,
it’s just, um, unclear,
talking sideways? maybe,
yep, I get it, I’m gone
© Copyright, 2006. Shameless Words.
I wrote this for halloween, 2006.
One of the many stories I remember reading about this festival, Samhain Sabbat, was how spirits of those who will die over the coming year gather for a march through the streets. People are supposed to have left lanterns outside their homes to scare away the spirits, to make sure they didn't recruit any family members for the "flight" at summer's end.
the flight of the chosen
you're not out there, I've been looking,
seen the white faces, for miles and miles,
thanks to the lanterns, guarding the gates,
not on the list for this new year, I promise,
made doubly sure by my yellowy mixture
it's watery, without butter, nor sour cream,
tepid, lumpy, stains across the bowl's rim,
my pumpkin potion, says the sweet child,
stepping back from her wicked coughing,
the high whistling the doctors frown at
in her frozen hand the spoon hangs lifeless,
a faint smile between her laboured sipping,
the legend, the stories, now she's regretful,
sow-en, he'd repeated, the Samhain Sabbat,
the flight of the chosen, their summer's end
he's laid down marigolds, chrysanthemums,
feverish, relentless chanting, until he sleeps,
right up beside her, dreaming of the lanterns,
it'll be better tomorrow, lots more summers,
the surgeons will take back what's been said
Copyright, 2006. Shameless Words.
This original poem was inspired by the daily French market that takes place on the pavement in front of my building here in Lyon. (Click on photos to see larger version).
the Saint Antoine market
in between elegant madams
lofty Xaviers and Sophies
a first kiss is remembered
tears tumble on mandarins
this brisk line of folly
becoming his daily ritual
a crowded, wistful canvas
royal hue, timbre, aromas
the Saint Antoine market
the place they’d first met
an ending never imagined
food and wine for eternity
bonjour, a vendor shouts
blue cheese for your love
the woman no one can see
whose pale hand he chases
brioche for one is bought
the old man turns for home
his lover is left to stroll
the playful market zephyr
And just to give you more of a flavour:
Copyright, 2007. Shameless Words.
