Vérités factices

“It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.”

–       Noel Coward

“During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.”

–       George Orwell

“The great masses of people will more easily fall victims to a big lie than to a small one.”

–       Adolf Hitler

“For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.”

–   William Shakespeare

* * *

Vérités factices

In the beginning

The mirror was cracked

Fragments dispersed

Edges splintered

Scattered

Unrecognizable

As to the piece

Of origin

Dust-like particles

Swept up

Glued into something

Resembling

Legitimacy

Recorded by the

Proper authorities

These lies follow me

Those who could testify

Are dead, save one

She drones on

Spinning her

Webs of

Deceit

* * *

Bisous,

Léa

Fin du monde – zeitgeist

“The world began without man, and it will end without him.”

 –       Claude Lévi-Strauss

“The world dies over and over again, but the skeleton always gets up and walks.”

–   Henry Miller

***

Fin du monde         

...
Pic du Bugarach – the upside down mountain

On the eve

Of the world’s

End

I sit

In my village

Reading poems of

Renewal,

Beauty, and

Tomorrows

A short drive away        IMG_4399

Bugarach

The final portal

 Des gendarmes

Des journalists

Paying a premium

To cover the

Spectacle

To witness

The end

Bugarach village
Bugarach village – Pic du Bugarach

Make a dash

For the final

Portal

Another world

To trash

And

Burn

Security is

High

Sensationalism

Sells

While I

Make plans for

L’printemps

***

Bisous,

Léa

ce n’est pas vrai

“We can speak without voice to the trees and the clouds and the waves of the sea. Without words they respond through the rustling of leaves and the moving of clouds and the murmuring of the sea.” – Paul Tillich

“Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupery

***

ce n’est pas vrai

it is not true

that a word

or thought

hurtled

in the dark

does not travel

far

a single word

whispered

into darkness

reverberates

throughout

the night

around the planet

through time

in perpetuity

triggers synapse

life,

love and lies

cannot be

extrapolated or

quantified

a word

in the dark

like a sigh –

hush, you can hear it

even if it

was not spoken

it will

summon

bid you

home

***

bisous,

léa

peinture

“When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college – that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared at me, incredulous, and said, “You mean they forget?”

– Howard Ikemoto

“Painting is just another way of keeping a diary.” – Pablo Picasso

“Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.” – Leonardo da Vinci

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.”

– Oscar Wilde

***

peinture

canvas

neither blank

nor barren

elle est un taquinerie

knowing how

i must spread, smear and spackle

her porous skin

as vast

as the mind can explore

just beyond this

mortal’s reach

creamy, thick, luxurious

stories to be told and

lies with which

i seal

her fate

***

bisous,

léa

She knows me so well…

“Long hair is considered bohemian, which may be why I grew it, but I keep it long because I love the way it feels, part cloak, part fan, part mane, part security blanket.”

– Marge Piercy

***

She knows me so well…

YES

She knows my hair

Knows me so well

The muddy colored tresses

Cloaks my fears

Hiding my shame

Soaking up

Tears and shields me

From un-approving stares

These locks cool me

As the wind blows her higher

In the past

Yanked, pulled

Cut against her will

or imprisoned in clips, bands

Tossing my head – exposing my face

The only sense of freedom

My only sense of glory

Imagined myself safe

Enveloped in her embrace

Today

Raising the flag of defiance

I set her free

***

Bisous,

Léa

Operative Definition

“Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.”

– Mark Strand

“Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”  – Robert Frost

“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.”

– W.B. Yeats

Operative Definition:

The poet is a cannibal

She must gnaw all the meat from the bones

Then suck up the marrow

 

Bisous,

Léa

 

Trad-ing Winds

“A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.”
– Catherine the Great

“As time goes by, I realize that I do trust the wind. And I often write my songs for myself.”
– David Friedman

“Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”
– William Butler Yeats

Trad-ing Winds

Born where

The Santa Ana’s

Drove me

Indoors

Pushed me away

Made me ill

Literally taking

My breath away

Cutting familial

Ties

I now live

Where the

Mistral

Is a frequent

Visitor

Howling

Outside

My door

Slamming

My beloved

Wooden shutters

I laugh

As the leaves

Swirl

Today the

Forces of

Power

Have shifted

I walk with

And against

Her fury

She whispers

Kindly

In my ear

Bisous,

Léa

And the rain fell

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall
see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your
delight.”
~Kahlil Gibran

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the
hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly
sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud
only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a
drawer… and everything collapses.”
~Colette

“Breathe.
Listen for my footfall in your heart.
I am not gone but merely walk within you.”
~Nicholas Evans

For my daughter Jacqueline (1974-1976)

And the rain fell

And the rain fell

Scattering precious droplets

That would cling

To your long dark lashes

And your down-like curls

The laughter in your eyes

So evident in your outburst

As you thrust back your wee head

Straining to catch each particle of moisture

Within your grasp

And the rain fell

*

And I marveled in your delight

Each time as if it were the first

The magic ignited

In your ebony-brown eyes

As you tried with clenched fists

To capture the minute drops

As if to possess them – forever

And the rain fell

*

We come to realize

That each of us

Like those drops of rain

Must abandon the boundaries of earth

To embark on the uncharted journey

Seizing memories as our companion

And the rain fell

*

It soaked my clothes

It dampened the virgin wood that encased you

And my body trembled

As the deep pain clawed at my heart

The freshly upturned soil

That waited to embrace you

And the rain fell

*

The skies above seemed to match my tears

Falling softly

The icy wind

Seemed to mock the last kiss

We shared

The frigid wax of your lips

The eyes that no longer met mine

My arms long to caress you one more time

…And the rain fell

Bisous,

Léa

Memoir

“Love is forever, lust is for the moment…got a moment?” – Michael Gorman

“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful…” – Mae West

Memoir

You shall be

My pillow book

My brush

Will record

Each story

We create

Slowly

I master

Every pore

Your flesh

Will sing

With the

Tears, lust

And laughter

Shared

Exclamation points,

Ellipsis

I shall

Punctuate you

With care

Overlooking

Naught

Each mark

I leave

Every stroke

I make

Indelible

Bisous,

Léa

Hands Of Time

“Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, but spare the right – it holds my golden time!”  – Oliver Wendell Holmes

“The whole life of man is but a point of time; let us enjoy it.”
– Plutarch (46 AD – 120 AD)

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.”
– Audrey Hepburn

Hands of time

Tick, tick, tick

The hands on the clock

Hands swift

Hands almost still

Fleeting moments of childhood

Chubby dirt encrusted hands

Grasping the giant monarch butterfly

Perched regally on golden buttercup

“Pretty mommy!”

My eyes rush to freckles

Smudged with earth

“Yes, very pretty!”

*

Glistening sunlight laced

Through copper curls

Tumbling down emerald slopes

Tumbling

Tumbling

Rolling from side to side

Giggling

Time belongs to you my child

*

Hands move briskly

Time goes so fast

Larger hands

So sure is his grip

On the shiny red two-wheeler

Copper curls flying in the wind

“Watch me mommy!

See me go!”

“Yes I see”

My heart quickens

As I watch you ride away

*

The hands move

With increasing speed

Strong sure hands

Now larger than my own

One encircling my waist

One upturned – palm outstretched

“Car keys mom, got a date”

The copper darkened, slicked back

And in style

As you rush out the door

I turn to the clock

Anticipating your return

The hands move so slowly

*

Faster, faster

Those hands on the wall

Your hands firm, steady

Entwined with fairer ones

Her blonde head rests

On your shoulder

Mixing with copper waves

“Mom, we’re in love!”

Orange blossoms fill the air

As early June sun

Trickles through stained glass

Your faces beaming

For a brief moment

The hands stand still

*

Hands move with unrelenting swiftness

Mature gentle hands

One caressing scarlet down

The other held captive

By a tiny fist

“Mom, isn’t she beautiful,

She has your smile!”

Choking back tears of joy

I nod in affirmation

Admiration for unjaded

Eager hands

*

Hands move with increasing uncertainty

Its message

I bequeath

Vigilant hands

Your hands – supporting my hands

Frail

Withered

Still

*

Bisous,

Léa