WAR MUSKET GRASS Bay of Fundy/Herbes, simulacres de mousquets (Baie de Fundy) by Donna Allard

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WAR MUSKET GRASS Bay of Fundy

I see no soldier’s uniform as I walk along these shores

but fresh blood cliffs, musket grass,

and a labyrinth of our relics,

the unfolding of this puzzle to figure out a broader picture,

as rose clashed with la fleur de lys…

like an arcanum shared by a friend

who said to follow water trails

like a pirate in search of a chest, as magnet speaks closer to sand …

He said many have found treasures under the sheet of their own graves.

Yet I favour its peaceful clay to dyed denim & origin,

as I connect with those who fell for their flower & sleep inside

this bay of mud.

Today, hooves flit in Fundy sun,

safe & watchful over my eyes,

and I wonder if that story was ever passed to their offspring,

since man conquers on a saddle.

Come walk with me, sense a presence, their memory

dancing with tides, like a final oratory

along red cliffs & grassy shores.

Let me retreat from time & fog, as I fear ghosts & bellwalkers,

they swear the land still smells of powder.


Herbes, simulacres de mousquets (Baie de Fundy)

Aucun uniforme en vue le long de ce rivage,

le regard se contente de falaises couleur sang, d’herbes,

simulacres de mousquets,

d’un labyrinthe de reliques ;

la floraison de cette énigme pour mieux se figurer l’image,

au moment où la rose écorcha la fleur de lys…

comme un arcane soufflé par les lèvres amicales

qui nous invite à suivre les traces de la mer,

tel un pirate à la recherche d’un coffre, tant bien l’aimant

se réveille dans le sable…

Que de trésors à débusquer sous les draps scintillants

du cimetière marin lance-t-il à tout vent.

Mais je favorise l’argile teinter de paix le jean et l’origine,

comme j’amarre mon âme à celle de ceux tombés pour une fleur,

enracinés depuis dans cette baie de boue.

 

Aujourd’hui les sabots batifolent sous le soleil de Fundy,

hors de danger & bienveillants ;

je me demande si leurs aïeuls leur ont raconté cette histoire,

tant l’homme s’accapare le monde monté sur une selle.

Viens te promener avec moi, sens cette présence,

leur mémoire danser parmi les vagues, ce requiem d’éloquence

le long des falaises vermeilles & bord de mer fardé de vert.

Laisse moi me retirer de la brume & du temps,

tant je redoute fantômes & présages ;

tous jurent que ce bout de nouveau

mon desent encore a poudre.

 

 


Donna Allard is a member of the League of Poets Canada & an International Beat Poet Laureate, Canada 2019-2020

Ms Allard resides in a 1909 farmstead down a long dirt road in Aldouane NB. She has spent her life seeking, observing nature, people, universal energy & it’s silence. Donna also loves to photograph nature in its most intimate raw beauty. Her experiences lead her to the shortest light – poetry. Donna is the author of 10 books of poetry. She is also known as ‘Acadianrose’.

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