The pillow queen stokes her empire
her quivering hand follows her letter
to all it may concern
cry in the dark
although she maybe strong,
made out of ploughshares
the sun still flickers
so much has gone already
and little is wept for
growing old
your strands of whitish hair
you may pray like a cygnet
but hopes are fenced
Orphaned by the distant wind
as darkness bathes the dawn
My wings have flown beyond my sight
to catch the cygnet swan
A brother to the foreign soil
lost father to the man
Hearing wisps of memories past
old promises remand
Alone upon a falling sea
in depths my heart bemoans
The water cold inside my veins
fresh images I’m shown…
To raise my spirit from its sleep
and chase the light above
The night relinquishes its grip
and frees the mourning dove
Returning messages of hope
to course before the sun
That shines upon my reclaimed self
—my flight at last begun
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)
Mom's
bosom,
milky pond,
nest, where divine
twin swans, with warm cozy wings, count twinkling
stars till cygnets return from deadly zones.
Behold, how swans
swell their wings
to warm
son.
(Syllable count: 1/2/3/4/5 – 5/4/3/2/1, howmanysyllables.com)
*A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Feb. 28, 2021)
Feb. 19, 2021
Double Tetractys 7 Poetry Contest
Contest sponsor: Eve Roper
Bashing and defacing articulate less
when we are proficient to express
As a cygnet being assailed by a heron
we remain quite emotionally barren
We leave our nest never to return to it
aghast if we didn't could might be bit
Pursuing rations in the unknown colossal
hoping to be saved by an alarmed apostle
We'll grow to be a majestic radiant pawn
charge wherein uncharted territory dawn
Astute to achieve amplitude for to appease
while bodies bend to worthy on our knees
Delighted by birds’ coloring books
Awed with stories on biblical fowls of the air…
There’s my special child, unperturbed
Eyes glued to a science book he’s trying to comprehend.
In a guessing game,
He’s asked: “What birds are these?
Identify using these clues:
Indeed faithful to mate for life;
male is called a cob,
female partner’s name is pen;
they have a baby cygnet...
As God’s creatures,
they are highly intelligent
and remember who has been kind to them.”
Suddenly... “Swans,” he shouted with glee
Midst his spastic flapping gestures.
In exhilarating triumph
we all bask in his lingering swan-chorus:
"Who made all the swans so beautiful...
God* in heaven above."
*Isaiah 43:15 I am the LORD, your Holy One, the creator..., your King.
April 17, 2019
9th place, "Suddenly Swans" Premier Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy; judged on 4/26/2019.
i am a Close relative of the goose and duck.
You’ll find me protected, respected like royalty,
halos ripple around me, Gently gliding wings outstretched in a breeze,
loyal, I mate for life - no two Necks here, just us whoopers forever,
atop feathers for a pillow our clutches nestle, Envelope, warmed by us,
whether svan or schwan, we’re pen and cob To our cygnets and swanlings.
la lumière dans tes yeux respire la beauté
so elegant the cygnet glides
a glass top glint speaking out
a call to day, here shadows lay
in the depths of a morning glow
and as rich pine treetops sway
the thrill of a nightingale shrills
beauty still rests before my eye
absorbed, my passions beat
attracted to a scent of yearn
inhaled, with her bosom held
Submersed in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks and around obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of a young cygnet
So white and so pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
Oh to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destiny
Submerged in thought, my mind flows.
I'm a majestic river
with all it's curves and bends
running over rocks 'round obstructions
gathering strength and speed.
Above I catch a glimpse of the sun
shimmering off the eye of young cygnet
so white and pure without commitment
calm, loving and carefree
looking to soak up all my nutrients.
to be young once again
with a new chance at love
no fear of what lies beneath the surface.
Making memories forgetting fantasies.
Here I sit lost in thought
about life and love
trials and pain
blessings and destinies.
I was born one day with the glistening sun.
Mom says I am her baby and I have a name;
One of twelve called Cygnet born amongst leaves,
Dad has taught me how to swim and in two days I could.
I am not much to look at right now,
But one day I will be a majestic trumpeter swan;
With white elegant plumage, powerful and graceful,
All day we drift on a slow, undisturbed wetland marsh.
Mom and Dad showed me how to submerge.
I love to eat underwater plants and small fish;
Life so far has been peaceful but one day I will fly.
I weep when I think of leaving my beloved swan family;
Silently we float along in harmony and love,
But I am just a little baby dreaming in the nest;
Just a baby who loves his truly beautiful Mom and Dad.
Oh, and I love my siblings too and the other drifting swans.
_______________________
May 9, 2015
Poetry/Personification/I am a Swan
Copyright Protected, ID 05-671-642-09
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Swan meaning - true beauty, power of self, love, grace
Written for the Standard contest, Picture Yourself a Bird,
sponsor, Andrea Dietrich, Judged 2015
Fifth Place
The wind moves
It moves in many ways
How it moves
Like exotic scents of purple lavender
wafting 'neath a harvest sun
and the rise of sour yeast
inside a fresh baked currant bun
It moves like a vernal tea-rose
pollinated by wild bees
in forging threesome
or wood-trush wings
rustled through leaves
in a symphonic rainfall season
It moves like the early breath
of a newly hatched cygnet
It moves mysteriously
like a spinning moon
orbiting my little world
Like descending mist
veiling pearled dawn's birth
The wind moves
It moves in many ways
Like a half -bare shoulder
slipping through your embrace
Like starlit kisses
upon the melanchonic lines of your face
The wind moves
The wind moves in many ways
How it moves
Just like us
Just like me
Just like you
1
Bravo for their workless piece,
Men with fastened coats can burnish
Poets of the early earth;
whisper lyrics on their breath,
And the child that has had no birth,
smells odour from his working nose
2
Roam the worlds; the worlds of my mind,
On earth's cold ground, I am as blind as he,
The birds sang songs when children were children,
Four candid souls,
for a candid solution
The boundaries of a single circle;
life or death
stings its mark upon her breast
3
Life has evaded; and I'm alone like the other,
But not like a tree; I have no wish to wish upon death
Though it will surely come;
The birds will fly when dark clouds fall,
And to heaven they shall take me,
Overlapping, like the berries on a branch,
The cygnet floats, like big black boats
And men with fastened coats,
Whose poems should they keep away?
Poems for the poor - behind many in the lunch line.
I am blue,
So very blue.
Maybe, I am literally blue,
Like that unhappy little Smurf.
I want to have some real friends.
He is red,
So very red.
Maybe, he is literally red,
Like that anger-reddened dragon.
He needs to learn to listen a bit.
She is white,
So very white.
Maybe, she is literally white,
Like that poor frightened cygnet.
She needs to learn to talk a bit.
Hold on a minute, we can all become best friends!
We could definitely bring our grudges to their ends.
My blueness blends well with your redness, mister.
My blueness blends well with your whiteness, miss.
We would become colorful like them rainbows later!
We could help each other and then all be in a bliss!
Our souls have different colors for each individual,
We must learn to appreciate them; it's always vital.
1.
My grapefruit tanned
toothpicks
bow above
the five-day flattened
spot
in an olive shag carpet
tracing grandpa Leo's
blueprint,
with one encapsulated
toe –
this is the femur, this is
the head,
this is the fist, the ring
finger, the soul.
I search for any blunt
white quivering slivers
of Caroline's purported
fly fetuses.
2.
Huddling behind the
corpse
of an old hospital bed,
a framed photo
smoke browned and
wearing my toddler face,
watches
his children choke
hushed, broken
sentences
this will be yours, my
plate, separate the
holiday china…
an enigmatic language
that hovers in
smoke stretched rings
to wilt
upon the hallway
bulb.
3.
I am left
the ceramic cygnet,
and an ivory carved
dromedary.
These artifacts
plucked
from his porcelain
menagerie
that I decipher
through dust fingerprints
for
one small inheritance of
a memory.
4.
Tomorrow,
Aunt Rose
puts price
to his bibelots,
the olive shag carpet,
even cousin Amy's
plastic horse,
who was accidentally
left to pasture on an
afghan.
A silver plated glass cage
image of her past,
she says she will whittle
all of him,
from the
wooden
house
bones.