Three poems by Fabrice Poussin

Down Below

The celebration continues 

strange as there is so much sadness.

Spontaneous fireworks come alive

of colors unknown.

Fibers tingle with electric energy

alive in secret.

There is nothing to be done in this moment

but to relish in this privacy.

Light shines unseen in impossible obscurity

heat seals every particle.

Life takes on an infinite glow

revealed to the deserving ones. 

Such a privilege to own

what no one else can know. 

Hissing Man

It smiles with bedroom eyes

hidden behind a curly fur

a soul hisses with each syllable.

The thing touches with pretended attention

holding a little too tight to the other

he takes possession of the innocent.

Hello, is said coated with thick honey

to soften the shell of the perceptive one

orbs piercing through the intimate garment.

What does it want so late in the season

when all has been laid on soft silk fabric

as it despairs of a table upon which to spread the bile.

In the strange shape of a half-finished human

it tries to spread a virus between its fangs

while at home it should be content with comfort.

But its hunger is insatiable with this soft sound

it wishes to seduce so it may lie better

and steal the lives from the kindhearted.

Free us from this evil with soft mittens

for it is fire it spews beneath the skin

consumed by the very sin of the flesh.

Never satisfied with the granted gifts

it seeks to take all from those who suffer

glad to feed the pain only Satan ordains.

Just another stranger

It is a quaint promenade through the grey halls

seeking shelter from somber days outside

in the eerie silence of solitude.

No echo but the sounds of plastic footsteps

caressing the sterile linoleum of abandoned buildings

and a thought of emptiness in the constant absence.

Another hour with no one to see

past a night with the sounds of the dark

a saunter with no purpose yet.

Do they know there is a life hovering

that seeks to be applauded for its persistence

is it aware of its form when no one says hello?

Motions continue even among the stones

without a care for those Infinite lives around

all strangers within this oozing humanity.

Absent to the thought of all close and far

he walks aimlessly hopelessly alien

to the gentle smile of their homes.

A ghost for endless days he may wonder

why only his labor gives meaning in their eyes

but his heart remains invisible.

They have too much to see to set a moment aside

mend the fractured hopes of this child

who stays alone in the dark corner of a neon lit hall.

 

___

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.