Mâlain Diaries 23 - Agape Grounded

Mâlain Diaries 23 - Agape Grounded

Roman foundations here

out last

drought and fire, seigneurs,

mairies, witches drown under

this priest; praised

under another.

Still under,

their smooth white steps

carry children playing,

potted geraniums or

women in red stilettos.

Expertly unchanged

for 3,000 years.

For three mille grazie,

I long for love so unreserved

that its road never sinks

but steadily rises its solid

hands up to meet me.

Hands that may hold me

steady; make me feel secure.

Keep me on course.

Mâlain Diaries 22 - Teenagers

Mâlain Diaries 22 - Teenagers

Oh my god. I cannot believe you

will just go up to a

random stranger and ask

that question.

I will stay over here; pretend

to tie my shoe or

read  signs on the lamp

Post me

when it’s all over.

Oh my god. I cannot believe you

are going to just go find out

those directions from some

alien.

I will duck around this

doorway, pretend to be

with someone else;

independent of your

duster ways.

I contain DNA survivor instinct

buried deep within.

Know I need to segregate

from you before the dominate

crowd attacks.

I need you;

I must be me.

Sooo, what’d she say?

Mâlain Diaries 21 - Saint André des Arts

Mâlain Diaries 21 - Saint André des Arts

Elder wooden beams still

house these rooms.

New plaster

filling space by

white modern walls,

and bright contemporary l.e.d.’s

 - curios.

Ancestral rock eyes push through  ever-

multiplying empty pallids of rooms.

‘We were here first,’ they whisper.

Newcomers don’t listen.

They take

over. Strip the sacred archs and

irregular curves drawn by original

peoples.  Drill in

cut them back, space by

space. Encroach  with

strict, sterile lines;

90° white corners.

No variation

Except.

Wires and electricity

that buzz and lights

disturbing the long-

forgotten sleep extinguishing

night from day.  They change

the natural elements of old.

‘Erase recollection,’ they cry.

Mâlain Diaries 20 - The Train

Mâlain Diaries 20 - The Train

I took a train by and by.

Sometimes the train was a slow

one, stopping, waiting

at every small village and corner

along my way.

Sometimes a TGV, speeding through

places,

parts that

  a second look,

may have had ma clé,

now gone.

A whist;

of me.

Sometimes my greatest desire was for the

train to speed. Up. Through those icky bits as-fast-as-pulling-a-bandaid.

Those days the engine broke. There was a strike. Or a suicide

on the track. I sustained.

Sometimes I wanted the train to slow, allow me time

to stop and savour petit mauve lilacs I saw in a field;

the dark eyes of a man who seemed

my mate; or a

conversation I yearned to relish, recall.

Those days the train was always ahead of

Schedule, moving so swiftly what I

sought, lost.

Now my last train. The Journey’s End I

jumped to get, a misstep.

The Express I chose, regret,

buy and bye.

Mâlain Diaries 19 - Pain de Bourgogne

Mâlain Diaries 19 - Pain de Bourgogne

Made for the hard dry ground

of the country. Big and Brown

Heavy solid Bludgers Built of

Bulky Black crusty seed. This?

No wispy erratic powderpuff

of Paris. But a Bifstek you can

saw through or stop transport

trucks with. The Bourguignon

of Bulky, determined Breads.