Fabrice Poussin‘s poem: Let time fly.

Staring at the large hands high upon the wall

they scribble words with their worn-out pencils

chewed to the lead by anxious lips

why won’t the clock speed its course to recess?!

It may be that time has slowed to tease those who rush

for you see, none can wait to build that house

and watch from a safe distance the faithful buddy

who protects the roaring decades ahead.

From time to time some rest in the evening breeze

a week stolen from the busy streets made of gold

to drown into a sunset beyond the ocean line

the taste of salt barely seeping through their weary suits.

When wrinkles settle in the grooves of an ageing tale

they may not run the race of their wasted youths

yet they still seem to set aims to an impossible future

raggedy limbs trembling to the threat of unlikely dreams.

It is the wish no one will be denied, as they stumble

eager to find a place in a history too large for them

looking back to years that Not Much Ado About It

There was a profile somewhere in cyberspace

someone looking for hope in friendship

truthful to a fault perhaps.

Not much to look at after all these years

often sad in dark corners of crowded rooms

at home nowhere, afraid to be seen.

Why pretend to be a dream to strangers

claim happiness when all there is, is misery

deeper and stronger by the hour.

Desperate enough to fear a conversation

speaking of a future when one may not exist

an image a little blurry with perpetual tears.

The words warn that it may be wasted time

to read the plea of this lost soul

for knowing him may only bring pain.

Is it too much to ask for comfort here

they say it’s not all what you might imagine

those who find warmth in every corner of their abode.

She smiles in the depth of those greens

a gate open to the breath of a great heart

hair flowing red to her bare shoulders.

Freckles make her an eternal child

fragile as if fallen, wingless from the nest

she cries hidden by the towering crowds.

It may be too late for her gift

and she asks why with a quiet prayer

none seems to see her in all her magnificence.

The portrait remains uncertain as his fate

in the hands of humanity, cared by no one

will he perish ignored on an icy table?

Perhaps they must continue the masquerade

to seduce those afraid of a burden

seeking only a sidekick for their incessant laughter.

Gentle eyes tending to a reassuring embrace

moments shared with another’s intimacy

are they to die under a pale veil?

Poussin teaches French and English at a university in Georgia, USA. His work in poetry and photography has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other publications worldwide. Most recently, his collections “In Absentia,” and “If I Had a Gun,” were published in 2021  and 2022 by Silver Bow Publishing.  He is the advisor for The Chimes, the Shorter University award-winning poetry and arts publication. His writing and photography have been published in print, including Kestrel, Symposium, La Pensée Universelle, Paris, and other art and literature magazines in the United States and abroad.  

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