Thursday, October 30, 2014

The Butterfly

It fluttered in on an unsteady path,
maybe unpredictable is a more apt
description. It looked as if it were
fighting against a mighty wind and
was being buffeted too and fro as it
went side to side and up and down.
All the while moving forward,
toward what, I had no idea.

The yellow winged butterfly finally
settled down on a patch of moisture
left on my driveway. I had sprayed
it clean earlier and it was nearly dry,
just barely moist enough to darken
the surface.

Whether boldly, or exhaustedly,
that little delicate butterfly rested
there. It rested and, I presume,
sipped moisture from the surface,
refreshing itself.

There it sat, sipping and sunning,
and quite content to be ogled so.
But, not for long, for it had places
that it needed to go. Minutes
after alighting on my driveway,
the little aeronaut was, again,
flying its zig-zaggy pattern through
the afternoon air.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Long Day

It's been a long day. It
seems like every day is
a long one now. My eyes
are tired and sore, my head
is heavy. I know that I
used to be able to stay
up all night.

Was a time that I could stay
up for days at a time. I had
stamina to spare. I'd study,
work out, drink, fight, make
love all night, and keep going
when the sun came up.

Now, once the children are
in bed and quieting down.
The dog is laying at my feet.
My head is heavy after the day.
You are here beside me on
the couch.

Grey now streaks my hair. Still,
nothing can replace the tenderness
and love that we share. The years
that you have always been there.

I love you.

The Hitchhiker

Garbage and laundry, the two never ending parts of daily life as an adult and parent. Begrudgingly, I yanked an empty bag from under the sink. 

The full bag didn't want to come out of the can. Being full, it created a seal, a poor one, but a seal nonetheless that always dragged this chore out interminably. Once the new bag was in place I could take the old one with all of the old garbage and smells out.

The four cans sat there, waiting like some large mouthed monsters waiting for their food. The cans stank from being used for so long. It's as if those monsters had never brushed their teeth.

Once back inside I felt safe from the garbage monsters and their breath. I picked up my coffee, now no longer hot, but still pleasantly warm.

As I prepared to sit down something touched the back of my head. I knew there was nobody there. My wife was in the pantry. Still, I distinctly felt something like the back of my head.

My face reflexively skewed up as I turned to look over my shoulder. There was nothing there.

I touched my head where I had been touched. There was nothing in my hair.

I looked at my hand curiously, as if the answer to this mystery was going to somehow appear in ink on my palm. Nothing was written there.

Sitting down on the couch, I tried to push the event away, as if I had imagined it. Something moved to my right. I barely caught the motion out of the corner of my eye. Cautiously, I turned my head. I found myself looking into the round alien eyes of what had, apparently, touched my head.

It's greenish brown triangular head with large round lidless eyes stared back at me. A beautiful praying mantis, a female at that, had hitched a ride on me.

She stood there, inches from my face, staring at me, waving her telltale forearms at me as if to say she would rip my head off. She was a lovely shade of brown with a thick bright green stripe down with side of her after section.

Quickly and tenderly, I put my hitchhiker back out where she probably came from. Where she belonged.

Suddenly, I realized, the drudgery of taking out the trash had been supplanted by the wonder and awe of such a lovely creature.

Friday, October 24, 2014

Fall Has Come Again

The fall has come again.
It's back with its cool air and crunchy leaves.
I like that. It always makes me smile.

Dark eyed ravens are watching.
I'm splitting and stacking wood for winter.
Memories. Of seasons that have passed.

Of when I played in leaves.
The way the leaves crunched underfoot was nice.
Happy days. Seasons and days long gone.

The games have become chores.
The games were always fun.
They still are. Now, they're
for you, my love.



(C) 2014 Marcel Trepanier

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Rivers (an observation inspired by James Schuyler's February.)


People move like water
in a river. At the rail station
crowds ebb and flow.
The tides, they come and go.

Like large rocks standing against
the relentless current are benches.
Upon which cling various wretches
like moss or algae to the rocks.

There, on the benches, sit
people like frogs on those rocks.
They croak to themselves and
to others over the rushing
of the river around them.

At the thin edge of the bench
is a gathering, milling, swirling
eddy of people that look as if
they are trapped there as
the river rushes past. They
eventually find their impetus
and onward, down river they
rush.

The mass of different heads
and hats bobbing like leaves
move with a rushing into
their doors and drains as they
head aboard their trains.



A Simple Question

"Are you happy?" 

It's a simple question. A question of observation coupled with concern. The look on her face, her brow slightly furrowed, the edges of her mouth slightly, almost imperceptibly, turned down. 

A simple question that frequently has no easy answer. That is, if you're being honest.

"Are you happy?" The question hung in her eyes as they searched mine for an answer. 

The long years, children, our own issues, and more, have taken their toll. On both of us.

Behind the grey hair, the lines born of concern, fear, and fights. Behind those knowing eyes and the painful experiences through which they'd earned their degrees of skepticism I see young love.

Young love, the kind that is sought and found in the eager, bright eyes of my young bride.

"Yes," I reply. Taking her hand and pressing my cheek into her palm, "Yes, I am happy."


Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Always Silent

In death its cold embrace remains
Dark and shadowed like an old bloodstain
The grave awaits, her to contain
Always silent. Always Silent

Figures weeping in icy rain
Weeping over their loss and pain
Flower petals are overlain
Always silent. Always silent.

Veiled in gossamer and lace
To its cold embrace
No smile, no tears on her face
Always silent. Always silent.

Forever taken from my grace
Entombed within this cold, dark place
Forever locked in death's embrace
Always silent. Always silent.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

At the Edges

Memories creep on the edges
Along the edges of my mind
In them I fear what I may find
At the edges. At the edges.

Faces peeking in from shadows
Shadows lingering from the past
Bony fingers, with icy grasp
At the edges. At the edges.

Voices howl out from the heavy mist
The mist that clings so hauntingly
Echoes with voices dauntingly
At the edges. At the edges.

Piercingly, their eyes, watching me
Watching me from sunken sockets
Peering out from long dead pockets
At the edges. At the edges. 

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Passion

Eager glances
Hungry eyes
Uncertain, doubting
Stirred emotions 
Heated bodies
Lips meet
Tongues darting
Hands exploring
Grasping
Grabbing 
Squeezing
Caressing
Mouths and tongues
Tasting
Licking 
Sucking
Flesh heats up
Desire burns
Driving actions 
Skin on skin 
Sweaty, Slippery
Bodies sliding
Gliding
Slamming 
Ramming 
Against and 
Into one another
Hearts beat faster
Breath is ragged
Hands clenching
Legs entwined
Passion blinded mind
Muscles clench
Bodies spasm
Bucking
Tensing
Exhausted collapse
Limbs tingling 
Heart racing
Loving touches
Gentle caress
Teasing touches
Tasting flesh
Reigniting fires
Enflaming desires
Fresh again
Stroking
Licking 
Kissing
Tasting each other
Tasting anew
Is making love
To you


A blitz poem
(C) Marcel Trepanier 2014

Monday, October 6, 2014

Views From My Cats


“My people call me Eli and say that I'm an orange kitty, well, I am orange bu there's no kitty about it. You see, I am a protector cat, I watch out for my people. When they go outside I have already been there to make sure they're safe.” Eli has plumped himself into the Kitty Loaf position between a blueberry bush and an old tree. The mulch that was nearly his color has dulled with exposure and his bright orange fur stands out in
stark contrast.

“Yes, I am orange, but you must remember that the brightly colored things in nature are often the deadliest.” His eyes narrow as he calmly surveys the world in front of him. Small insects hop or crawl in the grass in before him. Eli clearly feels that he is the master of his domain. “Not even the foxes get near here.” Eli glances over with strength in his eyes at the yard where, a few years ago, he had slapped a fox and sent it running.

“Fiercely colored and fearsome in nat… ooooh! A leaf spinning!” In the blink of an eye, Eli is up and has pounced on the errant leaf. He is busy rolling over and over, locked in mortal battle with the crunchy oak leaf.

So enthralled with it is he that he misses the fact that he is being stalked. “Oh, Elijah, I am going to get you now.” The sly greenish yellow eyes of Spots, the girl and the youngest in the pride, are closely watching as Eli rolls and spins. Spots has never been that good at stalking, but the noises that her target is making hide the little crunches under her feet.

Spots, a gray tabby, flattens herself out as best she can, her tail twitches almost on its own accord. She creeps in closer underneath the broad leafed plants along the side of the house. She blended in nicely with the mulch and the shadows. “Oh, yes! I have you now, Eli!” She said in the faintest of whispers. Her chin was nearly on the ground, her back feet started to paddle against the soft turf, tension held every muscle taught. The distance was two, maybe three bounds and she would have him tackled.

Eli rolled onto his back clutching the leaf gently in his teeth, holding the edges with sharp claws as his hind feet shredded the tail edge of the leaf. “Ah! You fiendish leaf, I have you now! Ha! HA!” He growled at the helpless piece of foliage. He sank his long teeth through the fragile membrane and closed his eyes imagining his prey now gushing blood.

Spots sprang from under the vegetation where she hid. One bounce, two bounces, and … hearing something odd, Eli released the leaf and spun as quickly as he could onto his feet! The extra flab he carried under his tummy threatened to keep him rolling. A shadow in front of him had suddenly exploded in teeth and claws and flashing yellow eyes!

“Grraahahhghghgh!” Spots snarled as she impacted the much larger cat. Her momentum and his still trying to recover from the extra belly flab knocked him off of his feet.

Skill and years of experience took over, Eli spun in spite of the claws now sunk into his fur. He twisted his feet into position to kick against the soft belly of his attacker. The roll continued.

Spots dropped her body down onto Eli to thwart his kicking feet just in time. She then pressed her long fangs against Eli's throat making Eli screech in shock.

In a blink the two rolled in separate directions. They landed on their feet. Eli's eyes flashed in surprise and playfulness. “Ah haa! Spots! You may have gotten the drop on me this time, but you can't keep up!” With that he turned and darted off.

Spots grinned wickedly, laughed, and then chased after Eli.

Florettes

A Florette is a two line poem with an end rhyme and an internal rhyme. Each poem is line is six syllables. Here is a selection of my own addition to this style of poetry.

Thunder in the distance
Crumbling all resistance

Shoulders cold and sagging
Weapons and hearts dragging

Subterfuge and guile
Stabbing with a smile

Stalking me while walking
Threatens without talking


(C) Marc Trepanier 2014

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Hunter, a 100 word story

The panther was placed in such a way that it still looked as if it would pounce.

Frank was captivated by the large cat. The eyes stared back as he looked into them.

Light in the room played on its fur. He could see the well defined muscles tightly wound ready to spring, it's lips curled back, and head lowered, preparing to leap. Fangs glistened.

“He's long dead.” Deadre's voice as well as her touch startled Frank. Her grip was light on his arm, but powerful as if about to spring. She smiled a wicked grin with glistening teeth. 


Midnight Flight





Night and shadows hide my hurried flight
Skies turn dark and deadly before your eyes
Frightening blades flash with speed of lightening
Sinew and muscle sliced deep within you

Screaming through the night haunting your dreaming
Rancor had long given way to anger
Calling for action and your line falling
Ravens come calling in tones so graven

Light and life are draining now from your sight
Eyes now cold that once were bold, cold as ice
Fighting against the new day's fresh lighting
Golden rays alight what death's beholden

Your ruling line now puddled upon the floor
Taken deftly your line now forsaken
Red stains spread about the freshly dead
Screams at finding dead abed in their dreams

Fast, wings flutter this flight will soon be past
Harken lest your eyes be next to darken