.
'gainst my forehead
presss'd
herz
i feel her
think
hern mine
in the cheval
i see the moon'z
hern
powder'd
softly glow'n
move'n time
.
i know'z I did
spill that iz
'bout hern reflection
deep in the horse mirror
her cheval
lost in her
boudoir
i wish'd i'd
thuh witness
her tressez are truly
4inchez bellow'd
hern bum
her sheath
peach
yet
thuh nectarine
hern halo
in tact
she lifted thuh vaze
no cracks
her silhouette
pitch
even 'bout mine
see
.
I see'er gazing in thuh cheval
alone
in her boudoir
dream'n
spin'n
flash'n her tressez
in the air
grin'nin
ear tuh ear
sibilate'n
"rosez are red"
.
front the
cheval
there her frame
naked
her pink sheath
posed
from her boudoir's
gate
through it's ajar
mine stuck
eyne
admiring hern front
her back
her front
her back
her front
* 1800–10; year mirror created
Catch the sound of green petals
echo the thoughts of my mind
left with a weak feeling
while gently waving your thumb
lack of procrastination
Amadeus Theme
with its complex dynamics
The nightingale was full of happiness
in the sound of the melody wind
The azure sky glitters
got into me with their lyrics
Written: August 12, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Michael Cheval is a modern artist noted for his "Absurdist" paintings, sketches, and portraits. Cheval's art is a mystery. His artwork's title and graphics include hints of its secret significance. According to him, absurdity is the opposite of rationality. It's neither surrealist nor subliminal. His metaphorical art takes a trained eye to identify hidden allusions.
The reflection of what you see
To me, it deflects the purities that my spectral lenses catch
Matching with every insecurity of
Impurities overflowing as water through a gutter
Cluttering me from seeing my self-worth
Birthed from times of weakness down the road most of us have treaded
Yet,
a worn path others have made it down.
The thing about a mirror
Is it’s easy to break
It’s the shattered pieces we’re afraid to pick up
Those individual shards made to make up what’s left of your reflection
Your identity
The sharp fractures of what’s left from the whole cheval
Though it now reflects a peculiar perspective.
The intricate things that were once overlooked.
Crafted and handpicked by your own hands and not of that of another constructor.
Cuts and nicks
Pains and pricks will cut deep as you assemble your speculum
A Curriculum self taught to teach you your worth
Birthed from pain to be made whole.
liberté retrouvée
Perfection's Chains
Inner child
Blinks back tears through the cheval glass
At a bruised reflection staring back
Battered by the hand of perfection.
2-20-21
Taken from Woman in Chains
Contest: Liberum Divisa 4
i think of you often...
this cheval glass
titled like downcast eyes
retracts memories
of reflective past
i see you there
this tiny frame
surfeit on pain
can't see me
beyond you
gaunt on love
starved of touch
i reach for you
beyond
the shards
of shattered glass
where you fall
again in death
yet in each piece
i fall with you
a shadow
in your reflection
longing to be seen
without you
as the years
fade by
yet i only see you
in the image
behind shattered glass
seas equestrian
mare de mer with her stallion
leading charge to bear
18.04.14
Composed for Julia Ward's
Seahorses
Notes:
Cheval De Mer, horse of the sea, the literal French translation of Seahorse.
Chivalry and cavalry share the same root Medieval Latin caballarius meaning "horseman" or "knight".
The male seahorse has a brood pouch wherein he takes on the eggs from the female to fertilize and carry their offspring to term.
Long ago there lived a girl with long livid locks of sable,
Whose vivid avid amber eyes derived, it seems, from fable.
Her tiny tendons tied to nimble bones to each limber muscle enhanced,
By the hours and hours of practice made perfect with her sport of dance.
Her mother Mary had adored her, as if her bones were porcelain,
Draping her daughter and dressing her, like a postured doll for ornament.
Father Joe endured her, seldom applauded the athletic acrobats,
Of gymnastics she practiced in her bedroom within the cold attic.
One day she claimed "I'm done with mirrors, may this be the last,
Of poising pirouettes en pointe," while posed before a cheval glass.
With that she hung her tutu atop the highest shelf,
In a closet where now the ballerina has left her ego's self.
Now she dances not with poles, nor mirrors covering the wall,
But to rock and roll and hip-hop pop, while unafraid to fail or fall.
Le gommier de la Municipalité – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “Municipal Gum” by T. Wignesan
Le gommier qui se trouve sur la rue de la ville,
Le bitume autour de tes pieds,
Il vaudrait mieux que tu sois
Dans le monde des espaces fraiches entouré d’arbres feuillus
de la forêt
Et des chants des oiseaux sauvages.
Ici tu me parais
Comme ce pauvre cheval de trait-là
Castré, démoli, une chose écartée et damnée,
Harnaché et bouclé, c’est l’enfer prolongé,
Dont la tête baissée et le mien fade exprime
L’espoir à jamais perdu.
Le gommier de la ville, c’est douloureux
De t’apercevoir ainsi
Figé dans ta pelouse noircie de bitume –
O concitoyen,
Qu’est-ce qu’ils ont fait de nous?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
translation below
Tomber dans le vide
Je rêve de toi
Je rêve de toi toute la nuit
Je bois du vin
Je bois l'amour
Je suis triste dans la nuit
Je regarde dehors à la pluie
Je joue avec mon cheval-jouet
Je rêve de voyager
Je rêve de toi
Je meurs dans la nuit
Le froid, la glace
Mots inachevés
Translation
Falling into the void
I dream of you
I dream of you all the night
I drink the wine
I drink the love
I am sad in the night
I gaze outside at the rain
I play with my toy horse
I dream to travel
I dream of you
I die in the night
The cold, the ice
Words unfinished
I saw a beer tap called
Cheval Blanc
while sitting in a tavern
in Quebec City.
Cheval Blanc.
It was the most heroic,
and poetic,
and majestic,
and powerful
name I’d heard in a while.
Cheval Blanc.
I liked the marriage
of the sound
of the v and the l
and I liked the finality
of the word "Blanc."
Right at that moment,
Cheval Blanc-
White Horse-
seemed so damned regal
and perfect.
I wished I was a cheval blanc
galloping away from town,
away from the cracks of the whips,
into the sanctity of the white woods.
music's turning little dance sing the sonettos cabriole a turning stance ballerina's toe ~ tops cheval bureau a glance songs of little strophe on look the spiraling chance day dreams étoile's soul
Looking into the cedar cheval dressing mirror
the aroma of wood filling the air
Fingers running across the sleek surface of glass
wondering if other worlds exist behind the reflection
Then a funny thought drifted through my mind
as I pondered on the engraved symbols upon the frame
What if I was able to read these symbols aloud?
would I be-able to leave this world behind...
Hypnotized by the idea, I could not look away
where would I be-able to find the notes of their hearts
A smile creaked across my lips as I got an idea
putting my ears over the strange markings
Closing my eyes, my heart hungered to be-able to hear
the sounds of another dimension like a conch shell
Minutes upon minutes I remained hoping for the impossible
Until I suddenly heard the faint singing of a young woman's voice...
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