Art by Cyril Larvor
Sister
Okay, I whisper, baby Sister,
don’t open your eyes.
Keep dreaming,
snug the drawstrings tight.
Throats and binding,
uppers and quarters lining,
dream. This is your time.
Lights bowed to your presence,
audience aghast.
Stumble across the waxed pine.
Drift into falling, and reach.
Just don’t open your eyes;
Let it settle.
Feel the waves of clapping hands.
Dream, baby girl,
Something peaceful
like a landed pirouette
That just hasn’t hit yet—
The world can wait longer
for your innocence.
No. 4 in G Major
Well-dressed thieves about, living in the shell
Of other men’s ambition—living lies
Consumed often enough, manifest true.
For what is truth
but h[t]urt spelled in reverse?
Retreat to the place winds no longer wear;
The sun no longer requests or reputes;
Christ’s own doubting moment in the garden:
To become or surrender, or, or, or.
Chase the lunar shadows. Step ever on,
Desperate as finality makes all—
Frog march this coercion of existence
Into tomorrow, into a shedding—
Of it all. Again, and again, again.
Wander Hill
Set atop the Mount which is Plaunt,
Bed beneath the timid harmonics of newly courted Finch,
Protected by a battalion of Dragonflies humming,
Guardians maneuvering in aerial acrobatics above—
The Sun, reversing in the sky, prepares Lunar’s rise.
Here is Wander Hill; on any given night.
The Fawn has come and circled in childlike reverie—
The Mother, in stoic regard, observed—as I, them.
Here is a proxy for those who wish to disappear,
Companion’d or sole, cloistered among the Pines.
Star befallen eve, pebbles of the ocean overhead,
To burn out or fade away matters not in memory.
Heavenly streaks, the great escape, free:
Can a Butterfly rest on a waking blade of grass?
Morning’s dew beckons the dawn of another day.
For spring and summer, the bushes are abuzz
With Polynesian soldiers, black and yellow
And singular in focus. Birthing first the Poppies,
Then the Roses, pink Peonies, the Daisy’s,
Now, the brilliant Star-Gazers: Hawkweed orange.
Harvest is encroaching, foretold by the moon.
Four seasons by which we are bound round and round,
Reap what plenty has been gifted, dispatch the Doe.
Winter is coming; the Fawn has grown to wander alone;
To survive until Spring is to offer a Fawn of her own.
Set and bedded, existing as time does at once.
Witnessing all this life which must die—seeing
For the first time—A tear threatens mine eye.
How’ll we ever find our way home?
Okay Starless Night
you win.
here’s my towel.
just leave the pillow
I fall asleep to each
night;
clinging
to, in a bed
one size too large.
leave me that
at least.
she did.
you’re not worse
than her, are you?
The Marsh
Captures light, suspends it like a web
Across bare trees, ephemeral as an overdrawn
Thought—obscures reflections.
About the author:
Andrew Lafleche is an award-winning poet and author of No Diplomacy; Shameless; Ashes; A Pardonable Offence; One Hundred Little Victories; On Writing; Merica, Merica on the Wall; and After I Turn into Alcohol. His work uses a spoken style of language to blend social criticism, philosophical reflection, explicit prose, and black comedy. Lafleche is the editor of Gravitas Poetry. He was awarded an MA in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Gloucestershire in 2019.
In the artist’s words:
Cyril Larvor. My Black Bird artist name is a wink to the crow who is an animal who is often hated by his appearance as the black cat, but who is also revered by a tremendous amount of culture and seen as one of the smarter animals capable of counting and speaking. Speaking … and I have already seen it. I have always drawn, painted and photographed. I wanted to be a cartoonist in advertising or photography, but I went to study in business and computer science. For 15 years I worked in the directions of information and computer security. 3 years ago I stopped to return in my first love the art and the human. My influences are vast; I was born in the 80s in the northern suburbs of Paris where social and cultural diversity is enormous. The 80s were a huge source of artistic inspiration. In addition to contemporary art and all other movements, there was the appearance in France of graffiti, manga, hip hop, computer science and the evolution of photography and television. All this has to influence. Since my return in the art, I exhibit in the galleries. The Lavomatik, also proposes music, the book …. ART21, a gallery in Montmartre, a district which likes and others a little everywhere. My other activity is in the human and the association. I collaborate with many associations that have been used as a means of communication and income. I collaborated with associations to help orphaned children, children in difficulty, migrants and give them the means to express themselves through Mixart art. An association for the protection of the oceans Bloom. An association against skin cancer Associations against poverty and exclusion: Emmaus, restaurant of the heart… J organizes painting workshops with children or disabled people and also grafiti classes. My inspirations are unlimited, including painting or in pictures, and I like mixing the two. My philosophical tendencies are in sharing, cohesion and construction or reconstruction away from destruction. My tips are simple. Create with your heart and share your art positively. For my art, I use all media and types of paints, but I have a preference for acrylic and aerosol: street art tools, and for digital photography and desktop publishing.
To contact me, I am in the gallery Art21, otherwise by Facebook https://www.facebook.com/The-Black-Bird-BLB-465375923644961/. My project with the origamiist Manuel Belhamissi https://www.facebook.com/Origami-custom-MBLB-concept-804841046289656/ Instagram to Cyril Larvor or by mail for all personalized orders cyril.larvor@gmail.com. Long live art.
