Author Archives: Swor

Masquarade

Posted on by under Poetry

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Like a fateful cry in the unending night

Like tears upon smiling cheeks

Like hair of sand into the wind

Like the sweet smell of syrup first thing in the morning

Like loneliness in the silence of the world

Or the chatter of the heart among the tombs,

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Like a strong word thrown against coarse stone

Like the running turtle and the walking hare

Like nothing ever before yet something ever since

Like a two faced mirror with no eyes

Like a bad metaphore or an ugly allegory

And the right to be the first to finish last,

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Like finding something that was thought lost for so long

Like the second taste of it after the craving

Like “I mean, like like, not like like”

Like an angel wing sunk deep under the sea

Like those times one runs to them for comfort

But with the knowledge that everything ends,

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Like Peace and War but teenage siblings

Like two plus two will always equal four

Like there is more to music than can be heard

Like a familiar presence in the empty spaces

Like what should be said and what shouldn’t

Yeah, like I even know what I’m talking about…

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Like this or like that, but never quite like then.

An elf on the shelf is thinking to himself

Posted on by under Poetry

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One book, two books,

are standing on the shelf.

Three books, four books,

he’s thinking to himself.

Five books, six books,

all written in small text.

Seven, eight books,

what book shall he read next?

What about number nine?

What about number ten?

What beautiful story

should thou be making thine?

What about the captain

and the road to glory?

Or what about the boy

that flew down from the stars?

What of the old princess

and her lost golden toy?

Or the witch without scars

whose name you’d never guess?

So many lovely tales

to wrap around thy head,

so many small details

deserving to be said;

he knew it all so well

yet but as the sun set

he muttered to himself:

“It is not good to dwell

on what’s already set”,

and lightened the old shelf.

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You’ve heard of elf on the shelf,

now prepare for twelve m in the poem.

Gliphane

Posted on by under Poetry

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Des monts et des vaux attendent à mes pieds

Que l’immonde de mes mots se pare ou soit purgé,

Mais que voit l’oeil qui regarde depuis le trône ?

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Nulle réponse n’est vaine mais aucune ne me sied

Car alors que le monde répond à son démiurge,

Il rit et ne regarde même pas l’aumône.

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Echoué sur le parvis d’une église dorée,

Profane que je suis j’observe sans faire un bruit,

Puis-je entrer ou ne dois-je appeler?

On ne saurait déranger l’entité qui y vit.

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Que faire alors de ces flammes qui persistent à brûler

De leurs pâles reflets dans les bassins d’eau-de-vie ?

C’est dans cette étrange forêt dont s’efface l’orée

Que repose le scient, la tête sous le fruit.

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13/8/12

Essay

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I believe nothing is more complex than the simplicity of life:

What reason is there to our steps other than one without?

What purpose has our soul in the burning of our beings

Other than shining out a beacon to all those lost

And to refuse to be found if not to be given a name?

When the prickles of this icy wind roll through our veins

And crystalise the roaring flame of what it means to be of breath,

Has come the time to understand the source of what may be to feel

Or has it taken to the sky once more, yet to become but desire?

In a slow walk along the beach whereupon the ocean leaves for good

Only the words remain of it, ashes of a fire gone cold

Blown from the hearth of dreams into the bleak beating of the heart;

What shall remain after I sleep? And shall I step without a skip

Through the threshold of floating wood into the hall of many songs?

Once awoken there is not time and yet the stars are eternal,

Such is life before it drifts into the cold wind of morning…

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If I am found then am I lost?

 

Ma vie

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Ma vie est un joli poème et je ne peux l’apprécier

Car je ne suis que le même et nous sommes liés,

“Mais…” me dit la dame Chance au sourire émacié

Sous le bel air dansant des feuilles peu pliées.

Et si à défaut d’en être l’écrivain

Je serais bien lecteur de ce morceau batard,

Voyez tous mes sursauts et mes cris vains;

Me voilà défecteur car je le lis trop tard.

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D’opale, reflet amer.

Blish

Posted on by under Poetry

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Un ange de papier, de musique et de nuit,

Aux ailes d’argent recouvertes de suie

Ne peut voler bien longtemps

Car la rouille du monde le rattrape à grand pas;

Il a beau chanter et se jouer de l’onde

Mais le sel toujours finit par piquer les yeux

Et ramener à la mer les secrets qu’elle contient.

Saoûle et terne, elle regarde; et si eux

Ne peuvent réparer le monde

Des orgues oeilleux à qui il appartient,

C’est au céleste enfant d’entamer le repas

Et de briser le pain de l’Homme nilpotent.

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Voguer entre deux eaux cause débat.

Dos au miroir

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Dos au miroir, je ne vois mon visage.

Que sais-je de ses formes

De ses recoins, ses replis,

A présent que les années

Ont lissé mon portrait ?

Face au mirage, vois-je que ne veut croire ?

Il est temps que je dorme

Car avec soin le temps délie

Et ce qu’il avait condamné

Se dessine trait par trait.

Est-ce à mes yeux destiné ce reflet?

Ou est-ce destinée reflet de mes aïeux?

Ne sachant quel chemin

Emprunter pour survivre

Le gardien se défile,

Il remet à demain,

Se résignant à suivre

L’avenir qui s’effile

Par l’interstice étroit d’une haute tour d’argent

Qui ci se fait l’agent du vieil oeil maladroit.

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De cette âme un peu perdue

Le miroir se fait la plaie

Que le long temps a mordu

Car y lisse le reflet.

Once more

Posted on by under Poetry

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“Once more into the fray”;

To stand, to lie, or fall, in the hope of a breath

Diluted in a world roaring about with death,

Towards morn we must hast, we ride until we ride

And welcome the morrow with a sunshine or hide,

Tis battle, tis our lives, a mantle of gory

Born by timid shoulders on this day of glory,

One more ultimate stand to the face of dear life

Although such seems unfair from husband to his wife,

This sword casts a shadow eclipsed by ages past

And this man a widow opened wide at long last.

Once more unto the breach – Up to this god we pray

Be it by hailfire or halo – May he sharpen our knives

And let our courage reach – Lead the weak hearts astray

And turn this ground hallow – Upon which red lips thrive…

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May this cycle make you in anyway richer

And forget not to toss a coin to your witcher.

An apple from a tree

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An apple from a tree

May fall upon count three

On some ground forgotten

Waiting time to rotten,

A star in the high sky

As hard as it may try

May never leave the night

Despite good heart and might,

A fish in the ocean

Has vaguely the notion

Of a world of ether

That is a no breather,

Yet just as is for I

No matter why or why

There is no peace in green

That is of sleeker sheen,

For patience is value

And value is great wealth,

And great wealth leads to time

And in time comes transience.

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Seuss-thayer.

Paper plane

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A paper plane resting on a high shelf

Longs for nothing else but to fly,

To feel the wind under its wings

And let the sun light the path to follow.

It knows it must avoid the rain

And that it may not reach the moon,

It has long studied the famed story

Of Daedalus the old and Icarus the bold,

Ready to never make the same mistake.

Soon, with a gentle hand to give a lift,

With a gentle mouth to blow away the dust

It may dive in the sky, who knows?

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Incomplete and flawed, yet whole.