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Best Poems Written by A. Ormulyce

Below are the all-time best A. Ormulyce poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | A. Ormulyce Poem

Toad

"The fables always recount the same ode.
Every woman dreams of a prince charming
Who is the fruit of a kiss on a toad.
Their sudden love will never stop burning.

Who bets on such a metamorphosis?
Faith of batrachian! It's foolishness!
No pretty lady wants to put a kiss
On a petty frog to find happiness.

If she were existing; pure happenstance
Only at the right dusk, at the right dew.
Only at the right dawn, at the right dance.
Love is not for me. This is what is true."

So spoke an old toad until the last hour
Before a kiss fell, sweet like a flower.

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Tremolo

The mark of a triumphal concert printed
On a glossy long-playing record sleeve.
The concertmaster's smiling face hinted
The acclaim she was entitled to receive.

She liked her drawing with her lock of hair
Falling on the strings of her violin
Like the violinist of the disk where 
She held her instrument under her chin.

As always, her last stroke of a pen fell
With the last crackling of the old vinyl.
One day, she would be applauded as well
Louder than the winners of a final.

Her hope endured until the dazzling daydreams
Shattered into pallid scars of moonbeams.

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Horses

Horses! Poor victims of man's inhumanity.
How many had their lives destroyed without pity?
Drag carts in dark mines without seeing the daylight.
Charge in battles, inhale gases, die in a fight.

Worn out carrying plows for men who disparage.
For the travelers, pull heavy horse-drawn carriage
Under the blazing sun, the rain, or in the haze;
And for silly, heartless tourists still nowadays.

You strongly curse these exploiters, powerful nag!
I read in your dreams, thoughts, even in your fibers,
And guess how you see your heaven ideally.

In arenas, these sinister people, in rag
And despair, join circus tamers and bullfighters
Condemned to kill each other perpetually.

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Bartholdi

Why was a lion of garnet stones born?
A roar for an army and its glory?
Of new fights, the sculptor wanted to warn,
I wonder what was Bartholdi's story.

A roar for an army and its glory
Gravely heard when the last bullet was hurled.
I wonder what was Bartholdi's story,
He, who with freedom, enlightened the world.

Gravely heard when the last bullet was hurled,
The ultimate cry of a troubadour,
He who with freedom enlightened the world
And died being his utmost servitor.

The ultimate cry of a troubadour
Who steadily wanted to sing for peace
And died being his utmost servitor
Thinking of his terrific masterpiece.

Who steadily wanted to sing for peace
Always with a kind soul and a big heart.
Thinking of his terrific masterpiece,
Bartholdi had perfected his great art.

Always with a kind soul and a big heart,
Showing a way to be brave and gritty,
Bartholdi had perfected his great art,
sculpted the statue in New York City.

Showing a way to be brave and gritty,
A purpose animated, the graver
Sculpted the statue in New York City
To condemn and defy any slaver.

A purpose animated the graver.
High and proud Statue of Liberty
To condemn and defy any slaver.
They have no conscience or humanity.

The high and proud Statue of Liberty!
Rulers and  tyrants are traitors because
They have no conscience or humanity.
And their cupidity is the main cause.

Rulers and  tyrants are traitors because
Wars are, against humankind, true treason
And their cupidity is the main cause.
Only seeking peace should be the reason.

Wars are, against humankind, true treason.
Of new fights, the sculptor wanted to warn:
Only seeking peace should be the reason
Why a lion of garnet stones was born.

Details | A. Ormulyce Poem

Contrast


Gloom
melancholic, mournful
lamenting, doubting, hindering
rigidity,  shadow, serenity, rainbow
laughing, delighting, heartening
jubilant, joyful
Glee

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A House

The candle is consumed. Darkness reigns.
The heavy hailstorm hits the windows,
and the wind weeps and creaks through the shutters.
When the doors slam, 
a fugitive flash of ghost dances and vanishes
in crazy laughter.
The torn paintings on the walls bleed.
On the kitchen table, 
the knife and the cleaver glisten.
And on the front gate, a hanging panel:
for sale.

Details | A. Ormulyce Poem

The White Feather

Once upon a time, three ravens woke up
in shock with a white feather on their back.
Seeing how they were now strangely dressed up,
they wondered if it was not an attack.

The first one, too afraid of taunts and jeers,
did not go out of its nest anymore
and from starvation, it perished, with tears,
cursing its awful fate in a last roar.

The second one refused to be bizarre.
It picked up the feather out of its plumes.
It finished its life crippled with a scar,
lone, away from the crows who have no dooms.

The third bird bore its characteristic
and showed the white feather on its black spine.
It endured waves of laughter and critics.
It died honored and buried in a shrine.

A different ability is just
a difference. Not easy, it's certain.
But it should not arouse any mistrust.
Talents exist in spite of a burden.

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Poetry


Writing is magic.
The quill dances, leaps, and whirls
when the fairies sing.

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To Feel Motivated


I am not enough.
I have no time. Delightful
excuses: specters
who will wander in my tomb
and sing the songs of regrets.

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Caveat

The brook is dry. The last time it let hear
Its waterfall was seven years ago.
When young, a thin stream of water was here,
Not very big, but nowadays no flow.

Without the vestige of a construction
Of a bathing place during the war,
Difficult to make such a deduction.
Thus drought cannot be ignored anymore.

Farming does not listen to our hunger 
But the strong voices of cupidity.
Soils, wind, and temperatures no longer
Set cultures but profitability.

Not a lot of things have to be explained,
But Mother Nature will never be tamed.