The robin redbreast is hardly afraid,
He is not afraid of cemeteries,
Seeing me, he lands on the grave of the Bouvier family,
Looks at me, then flies on that of Cécile Kerneis,
Since he is Breton, the bird waits for me a little,
And flies again to the tomb in black marble of a man named Brélivet,
The robin redbreast is not afraid of graves, nor of me,
All the dead are his friends, like saints,
He flies again and lands on the stone of François Le Gall,
Then happily jumps on the gray tomb of Alexis Kerbaol.
He watches me, like a small soldier with medals,
He prays religiously on the white stele of Madame Coat,
The little robin is not afraid of cemeteries, nor of me,
On the tomb of Hervé Jaouen, he finds his pride,
In the cemetery, all the dead are his friends.
NB names are from Brittany
Categories:
stele, bird, death,
Form: Free verse
Names carved on a stone
A stele made for the dead
Denoting the hunters or fighters
Chasing to kill innocent animals
Or fighting the lives of people
For dying brutal or dying cruel
I realize they are all in heaven now
Both the killed and the killers
Each of them has to do a thing
In front of the altars of equality
Whenever God feels sleepy
To quarrel with one another
A stele with their names carved
Reminding everyone to remember
This fact would've been in a head
Categories:
stele, blessing, christian, feelings, heaven,
Form: Free verse
The moon veiled in a web darkness;
bejeweled in radiance starkness,
to delve into the dark only the prince of darkness.
I was alone in the silence weaves,
while childish, I walk through dried leaves.
With every breath my chest heaves.
I tried to hurry though the abandon churchyard
cemetery on my way home. It was so hard,
it was a shortcut to get home, I uttered no word.
Decaying stone steles overgrown with soft green
moss, pushed up by tree roots, lean
like shadow soldiers clawing their way to the surface unseen.
Through the shadows, a gleaming old ivory,
shaken, tinkling, but the notes were spidery
strangled and eerie stripped of flesh and finery.
Blue lights dance above each stele, while ghosts
on the grounds in lavender reckon among their host.
Now so lowly lie, as they do not weep, but boast.
Through the open door and illuminated hall I run in;
no sound upon the wooden floor as I spin.
A grin from my mother; I am greeted by all the kin.
11/1/2021
''S'' Contest, New Poems Poetry Contest 5. scary
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Categories:
stele, allusion, child, scary,
Form: Rhyme
Everything in this world is ever on change fast;
The come and go pattern forms the present and past.
Historic sites are preserved everywhere on landscape;
And now we can climb and visit them in intact shape.
Yuliang islet is exposed because of the falling water;
Yunmeng Lake looks deep and serene at cold weather.
The stele of Yang Hu still stands upright today;
Tears roll down as I read through the stele essay.
(Tran.)
Categories:
stele, change, history,
Form: Rhyme
Part 5 -- Si Monumentum Requiris …
Some tattered banners (from the Crimean War?
so who on earth was fighting – and what for?)
That Holman Hunt thing, over on the right,
with Jesus and His lantern – “I’m the Light”:
the Whispering Gallery, up inside the dome:
the opulence: as if a bit of Rome
had landed in gray London: Nelson’s tomb,
designed for Wolsey (were they short of room,
and had to double-up?) This is a place
to marvel at the fearless use of space,
the geometric thrill of pillar, arch and vault
in endless permutations! And the salt
which gives this feast its flavor? There’s no stone
or statue, stele, thanatory throne:
Sir Christopher, with modesty and tact,
declined memorials, but was in fact
the first man to be buried in this ground.
You seek his monument? Just look around!
Categories:
stele, history, , memorial,
Form: Couplet