Amélie

What do I write of the effervescent Amélie Poulain?
her busy feet, twinkling eyes, pixie hair, dimpled smiles?
floral scarves, pencil skirts, clomping shoes, red berets?
romance, tossing and turning, in her dreamy head?

A waitress, during the day, at a Montmartre cafe,
good-natured do-gooder, at all unthinkable hours,
weaving wilding thoughts and imaginings
into marvellously mind bending, magical ploys…

Painting in words, stories for a blind man,
making a world traveller of a garden gnome,
skipping pebbles at St. Martin’s canal,
cracking crust of creme brûlée, with a teaspoon...

Unearthing childhood memories for old Bretodeau,
letting him find his past in a rusty little metal box;
teaching playful lessons to the bully Collignon,
rescuing amiable hireling, green vendor, Lucien…

Eating ripe strawberries, wearing cherry-earrings,
mending Madeleine’s frail, broken heartstrings;
watching the city unfurling softly, at dawn
while impersonating Zorro, the vigilante…

Photographing cloud bears in cobalt blue skies,
forging letters, plotting delicious stratagems,
bringing together a pair of grumpy lovers,
befriending the man of glass, Dufayel…

Amidst such frolicking, rip-roaring escapades,
she plays cute, cat-and-mouse games
in kaleidoscopic, picturesque Parisian realms,
with her handsome, elusive paramour…

But, the sweetest part is the end
where Amélie says- carpe diem,
throws loneliness into the air,
her arms around Nino Quincampoix…

Our heroine finding her charming prince,
kissing all her foibles and quirks,
realising that she can take a few knocks,
and, create a fabulous fairy tale for herself…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

Somewhere in Transylvania

The villagers gathered around the unmarked grave
with their iron pitchforks, silver crosses, wooden stakes,
gesticulating madly with arms, their voices raised,
prepared to decapitate the wretched ‘strigoi’
reduce it to a burning pile of ashes…

I stood in the shadows, looking with faraway eyes,
as the unruly mob dug up the bloated corpse,
poking and pricking with obsolete weapons,
lighting a fire with sycamore, oak, and thorn,
euphoric at the beast’s complete, crushing end...

Behind the moss-covered tomb, I crouched
beneath the darkness of the black moon night,
I laughed soundlessly at the useless inferno,
the men dancing their featherbrained dance,
before wrapping myself in a cloud of dissipating mist...

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

To Durstan, Love Anne

I stare at the moon-kissed, sunset sun,
the departing pinks and reds of the sky,
waiting for you to shed your feathers
don your human-skin, as the spell shatters…

You come to me on wintry nights
and I gaze at your gaunt, hawklike face,
the way your tawny, untamed tresses fall
o’er shoulders that become wings at sunrise…

I see the biting hunger, the blazing want,
the intensity of the peregrine-man;
I see how your eyes darkly peer at me,
like glinting moonstones, bright and hard..

Questioning glances smoulder between us,
bittersweet cravings gnawing our bones
I hold close your long-fingered hands,
but discover only dagger-claws at sun-dawn…

What ensorcels you, my solitary bird man?
what makes you wander with the clouds?
what makes you soar high, also swoop so low?
what makes you remember your human, aeonian vows?

(I pen words, I cannot chant…
                          ….for my lover sky-bound…)

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

Call in the Night

They say you can hear her call
on cold, lonely nights
when you are lost in sleep
dreaming of faraway love

her voice is smoky mulberry silk
fluid like cinnamon honey
and when she laughs
it haunts like a siren song

eyes closed, you discover a face
a beauty unsurpassed
gleaming under a moonless sky
goddess of gloaming and dusk

still as deep water
turbulent as ocean in a storm
seated on a rock by the lake
veiled Asteria, fallen star

her hair is black night
cascading shadows
cognac red eyes
waiting in the distant shade

she calls your name three times
sharp, heart-piercing laments
you cannot truly disentangle
from the grasp of this infernal wail

they christen her witch, banshee, La Llorona
snow-woman, night-spirit, demoness
dark seductress, Nyx, shapeshifting Aleya,
white lady, she-faery, the unnamed

beautiful as the mountain laurel
lethal as lantana in the wilderness
her tongue is a deadly elixir
love is bittersweet nightshade

they say you step into a watery grave
when you answer her treacherous command
they say you’re never found alive again
when you court her ancient, stygian call…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

The Painted Sanctuary

I’m hiding in a Russian children’s tale,
where sky is ink and trees are painted;
I’m finding thatched houses made of chocolate,
doors adorned with purples and pinks,
meadows invaded by dancing flowers,
windows that greet with golden lanterns…

I’m enclosed in this vibrant, fairy realm,
where the magic witch is a friendly, black cat,
spooky pumpkins grin, broad and wide;
where the only worry is how to rhyme;
how to match steps with dragonflies,
play hide-n-seek with stars at night…

I’m eluding red maelstroms and gory worlds,
where faces are buried beneath fallen walls,
pictures of smiling eyes are all that’s left,
in houses that ghosts have abandoned,
I’m embracing the land of firebirds and falcons,
where Helen and Ivan realise their happily forevers…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved. (Painting by Linnea Tobias)

Opulence

Decadent dream
of a baroque artist
sapphire-encrusted velvet gown
black pearls gleaming
across ripe bodice
toes curling into the Persian carpet
fingers caressing ruby roses
dark hedonistic eyes, carnal lips…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

La Dame de Fer

the Parisienne
arresting my gaze
with her metal shine
wrought iron contours
braided by a poet’s hand
a dancer poised
in the cerulean sky
a violin suspended
against the city lights

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

Werewolf

The moon is an assault on my overworked senses
bringing vast tides of cravings devastating
swirling tsunamis of sharp, stinging smells
mighty cataclysms of scarlet wishes

thrashing my blood like furious ocean waves
flowing like mercury in my looping veins
cracking the bones, stretching the skin
reshaping my muscles, sinews, ligaments

no longer can I command my dark desperation
my body is drawn helplessly to gore and flesh
the moon assaults my overtaxed mind
as I crouch and howl like a beast…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

Beauty & the Beast

On a night of the hunter’s moon,
in the castle of the black Beast,
I treaded across the byzantine yard,
replete with altering shadows,
to reach the deserted dance floor,
aglow with candle light chandeliers…

There he waited like a monk,
cloistered within solitary walls,
under the cloak of minatory silence,
but, I had seen the winter red roses,
the smeraldo blooming in the garden
and I stopped trembling inside…

I stroked his grotesque, minotaur face,
the powerful, hirsute shoulders,
the sinewy muscles of his chiselled thighs,
while his claws traced invisible lines
across the expanse of my supple skin,
glistening pale in the light of the moon;
stripped of modesty or qualms, naked before him…

Blistering kisses rained down on my collarbones,
drawing blood from my neck, tongue, willing lips,
iron fingers remoulded the bare contours
of my pliable, porcelain-glazed body,
his hot, musk breath mixed with my scent
his unrelenting hardness with my liquid heat…

Held enthralled in his strong arms,
by the changing colours of his occult eyes,
earthy browns amidst the demon reds,
by the thawing ice, a softening gleam,
and under the mask of his beastly shell,
I saw Azor, bull, man, lover, bright prince…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.

The Elven Princess

Ah, I see the lovely girl
with soft, elven features
the silver hair of a Daenerys
jewel-daughter of a Míriel

out of a book of fairytales
or sculpted in words by Tolkien
open face, all-embracing gaze
eyes like clouds on a rainy day

on the cusp of womanhood
a blossoming mountain flower
pretty as Himalayan blue poppy
lissome as a graceful gazelle

she is a pristine, white canvas
for a master craftsman
to splash aesthetic colours
to paint beautiful images

the world extends before her
awaiting her young, undaunted steps
for her to explore and wander
carve a charmed niche for herself

may she cruise the uncharted seas
discover obscure new realms
defeat monsters and chimeras
ride green-eyed, fire-breathing dragons

may she grow tall and elegant
create finely-wrought tapestries
sing and dance with troubadours
fall in love with warriors and poets…

Copyright © 2023 Violet Dolui. All Rights Reserved.