Home » Poems » Best » Mathieu De Casanove » Best Mathieu De Casanove Poems

Best Poems Written by Mathieu De Casanove

Below are the all-time best Mathieu De Casanove poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

Chanel No5

Chanel No.5
-------------------


On the borderline of photos and time
We don't want to leave her now

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

Something in curves, a beautiful crime
She doesn't want to leave somehow

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

News-reel prints
and print-press presidents
Diamond boys
and silver screen compliments
A ten-thousand soldier stare,
and sexual laissez-faire
The every-woman's woman
of secret doors to nowhere

"What do I wear to bed? Why, Chanel No.5, of course!"

On the borderline of photos and time
She doesn't want to leave somehow

What did she wear when dead?

Why, Chanel No.5, of course...

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

Boney Bonny Dames and Old Money Games

Until I've seen, Melbourne days
	was not just emptiness in play
I know I'll see
What I didn't see,
the September soaked symphony
	of Vivaldi vines climbing,
jacaranda booms,
tremolo spilling eaves

Until you know this suburban kid's righted the wrong
I'll verse on my way, you as the bridges in my song
Making choruses of dreams that could soon belong

And urban princes and their Porsches
Lost in winters, cold in summers
They adore to ornate you, over muskwood and glassy silvers
But can they look up to the night,
And know wonder in the sight?
In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars

These hardened hands carrying letters I send
	will wear me down to some sorry end
And this I know
But I'll go knowing
the Chapel charade was the pretty noise
	of sonnets chasing sunsets,
drunk Welsh poets
tearing tails for London wisps

Until it comes, a northern boy without southerly blues
The swaying Yarrans, sparkling flutes, Victorian flues
Keeps Flinders Station stepping full of over-priced shoes

And boney bonny dames, old money games
Skirts for winters, surgeons for gains
They climb to lower you, for fifteen lights upon their names 
But can they look up to the night,
And know wonder in the sight?
In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

Tndr Is the Night

A romantic stuck in the age of the Net
Date, select, one thumbed, spider trapped
The bars are empty, a fingerless fret
The bars are empty, no notes ever tapped
Dress for the photo for the trending application
Distress for the best fit that was already seen
Knot a tie, not a tie, or win, here's hesitation -
At knowing you're losing what hasn't been
She's late, your late, trepidation comes early
Ten years was thinking just like your father
Adored them days the nights were timely
Spontaneity struck hours to tales of mischief 
No input algorithm, ne'er burdened by prior relief





Note: Elizabethan sonnet, Keats-tailed efegg

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

And Her Sugarless Tea

Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.

She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.

Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.

The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.

Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.

This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn' 
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

After This You Needn'T Regret

After this you needn't regret
Your life is bourn as your child today
Voudrais tu une cigarette?

All stakes are high upon this bet
Though grace and patience is all to pay
After this you needn't regret

In warmth and bonds may trust inset
The glow of knowing till egos play
Voudrais tu une cigarette?

Advice wears over for angst's outlet
Never rash nor heavy, never lose light in day
After this you needn't regret

In a wink and a worry in your Autumn set
A thought to the child now grown away
Voudrais tu une cigarette?

Then a day your child takes up the fret
You smile to see their berth and say:
After this you needn't regret
Voudrais tu une cigarette?

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

Sonnet X Or the Bluebird Sonnet

O why’d they misconstrue your colour against you?
When the song is swift imagination, so sweet and full
Why’d they whisper of weariness, of idiomatic blue?
When pause is ponderous play not a dark silent lull
It is the bluebird’s song that warm thoughts entice
That unexpected exuberant bout of welcomed joie de vivre
That instant intoxication of all virtue and all vice
Oft’ heard from coffee’d morn till the day’s end receive’
When beguiled by melody left to lilt through wistful air
That beacon of curiosity which so quickly is consume’
Cheery embrace – the listener enraptured is divided ne’er
Till the final bar closes only then may the day resume
Though for tunes of waking night the bluebird composes nigh
Alas, her song is for bright day not for moon’s sleepless sigh

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

The Little Portuguese Princess

A Portuguese princess there on the stairs
Knee high and smiling of wish filled cares
A grin of a sprite and a handful of pickings
A thought to feelings and a feel to thinkings
Till pointed announcement, "For you and for you."
A secret left caught in her spirited dart to
Another pressing matter of love and games
A month passed and pity's provocation aims
To knocking on my girl's hollow door
Sounding a nothing echo for the evermore
Wistful angel synced to clocks not mine 
So disadvantageous did thine flowers consign
Why not to honouring when I had a lover
Who did not gloat to beauty put asunder
By modern wants and riverless walks
and treeless skies and dreamless talks
Give me back your moment of bestowing
That glinted charm that beckons love's sowing
With a woman I needed and wish as you
To see lover's love letting blue be blue
And fire warmth and winters just waitings
Till red ribbons make kites tailings
Under summer suns, above greenery breathing
Come back again to the stairs and stepping
up to shake my shirt and turn my head
With a handful of love and repeat what you said
"For you and for you" and spirit into my memory
as the omen that begun and beget a true love's story

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

Bubble-Pop Talk

Her ears below the water, smiling eyes above on me
A shiver on my shoulders, wet fringe to prison sight
I speak bubble-pop talk into the river and she laughs
"That's gross! Say something nice you egotistical idiot!"
A shiver on my shoulders, wet fringe to prison sight
My mouth below the water, my eyes above on her
"That's gross… Say something nice you egotistical idiot…"
"Repeat after me: I love you because I got you wet."
My mouth below the water, my eyes above on her
I speak bubble-pop talk into the river and she laughs
"Repeat after me: I love YOU - because I got YOU wet."
Her ears below the water, smiling eyes above on me

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

A Flower Through the Snow

A Flower Through the Snow (or The Traveler)

--

Why is it always the merriment that’s rattling at the door,
In the middle of the day that keeps the night at war?
If only you could open up and let this traveller in,
There could be a-something done about hushing up this din.
There’s a bottle sure, an open sore, the salt of seven seas,
White lines lay upon on the shore from brow creasing pleas.

Well first it’s a little, little sorry then it’s just little more,
‘Til the book finds a new page - now who’s this written for?
Why’d you bury the bones and start thinking they were treasure,
And dig ‘em back up and find the horror not the pleasure.
Is it startled reassurance that the truth ain’t in the flesh?
Well it ain’t in the bones too if there’s no cartilage to mesh.

Now all the chorus girls know a thing or two about this
That night weary wanders see only blue for bliss
As they’re walking through the day putting night sighs to test
Shaking stuck fallen leaves from shady places where you rest
Shut your eyes, go to sleep, though there are a thousand things
To do before tomorrow when winter’s cold voice sings

Can you let this traveller in while there’s still flame in the fire?
Ask to hear his story but if you know it he won’t tell yer
Wait there warm, sit there childish, wait until the new spring.
If he’s asks you the way or to see just say it’s something
In your smile, so stick around it may show, might grow
Like a song in the belly, like a flower through the snow.

Details | Mathieu De Casanove Poem

A Petty Imitation

Where there is a petty imitation
There'll be pests, posters of sensation
Grouping of hesitations
Complaints to order, servings of hallucinations
There'll be soap-box amatory slander
About walking coat-hangers slender
It ain't working girl, it's a waling green guile
By his friend in business uptown a mile
By his wife who paints her mirror image
Shades against her daughter's non-marriage
Her tea drained in company of photo albums
Of good old days of bottomless bums
And motherly mums and wives' tales true
But the fashionable unreasonable is turning blue
All the codified glory of yesterday's innocent shame
Now he's not got a gamut of trust in a game
He calls out to his dog, his faith, his fellow
"Round up the gambits and youths in yellow,
'cause I can't move from my comfortable stump."
But his companion is old, stands to wearily slump
Back to the ground to emphasize to his master
That's four legs or two there'll be no muster
Just a dusty breeze of his wooden-coat happening
As diamonds were coal, the rough is hardening
Like a baby can't talk, but it knows what it wants
No you can't understand it, you guess as it taunts
Your patience and moral, your air of knowledge
That you've blown so big you need no tutelage
So you sit and you moan, you grumble and point
You don't dance no more as it'll gnaw each joint
Like you grind your teeth as the heartily speak
As the laughing weak working each day of the week
It's hard but they know it won't last forever
'cause cursing your bread will put you in the gutter
Now that's something you could never understand
Just as your father's father both bit and fed the hand
Now you sit pious in a dynasty out of your control
You had to spread it thin to bank each and every toll
So rest you ill and tainted soul, the blind see more
The deaf hear more, as the mute speak ancient lore
Rewritten as it were to be - a changing people's democracy
An evolution from your pollution and non-decency
A smile for a smile not an eye for an eye
And you'll cry and you'll cry when death strolls in to buy
Your soul at less then half you thought it worth
And bury you down inside the cold, cold earth.