On the first day of December


On the first day of December

I try to remember

The warmth of the ember

Fleeing from my members…


Ain’t nobody got time for this…!


Dawn tracks


This train dashes into the night

Below a sky of stars and moon,

Spouting warm, puffy clouds

Into the cold air of the mountains –

Of thoughts and hopes and dreams;

The tracks lead on and on

Ever far away, always somewhere new,

It chugs down the river of steel

And yet all is silent :

Not even the engine comes to break the peace,

Sometimes when a tunnel

Chokes all the world away

The travel becomes bleak

And the traveler dark,

But always, somehow, he finds ways to express

And orient eve towards morn

Until the sun rises and boredom fades in hues

Of pale opal and their vast palette of hope;

If you are patiently curious

Do go ask the old conductor,

He has a thousand and one stories to share.


I will die


Oh I feel I will die sometime this afternoon,

I know I shall be dead by the end of the year;

But it does not matter

I do not really care

For I shall live again

In each and every tear

Of all those whom I dear

To deride or flatter,

For you I leave this stare :

A final awkward stain;

Under the starless sky of the midday moon

And surely in a way that most would find queer.


Why? But why not?

Matin matin


Ce matin, un lapin a tué un chasseur.

Le matin, le latin perd son professeur.

Le patin à la main, virevolte le danseur.

La satin est si fin et plein de douceur.

Du fade thym, pour la faim, est un peu farceur…

Vil faquin, qui te tint pour amant de ma soeur !

Qu’est hautain le marin qui vogue à toute heure.

De l’étain ne s’éteint même quand vient l’heure.

Et la main dans la main, nous marchons en choeur.

Sois serein, cet essaim ne veut ton malheur.


Petite expérience sans prétention pendant un atelier d’écriture.

Belle eve


This eve I have had a revelation of sorts

Amidst the nightly melancholia,

The longing for what I cannot have

And the reminiscence of what I did,

No one, surely, shall ever ask

But if one ever was to

Then I perhaps I would word my thought so:

My poems are akin to a perfume,

They feel just as the flowing wind

As brittle as thin ice on a leaf

And as rare as a blood rose

Blossoming aeons away on an asteroid,

As a frog in the foulest of streets

I hope from one to the other,

Trying to catch them before sleep

Trying to make them into eternal gems,

To stare again once I have awoken,

To touch again when day had risen

Or to keep warm in one of those nights

Where darkness drops a veil too thick…

I grab ever tentatively

Although never catch,

Never will I truly succeed,

I can watch all I want,

I can listen until all sounds fade,

I can copy, I can redo,

I can repeat, I can remake,

Never will it be the same.

And yet I try,

And yet I emulate,

Over and over and over and over again,

A madman in a sea of fire

Trying to swim to the shore

But sinking to the depth of this mischievous ocean,

Drifting to the furthest reaches of a wounded mind…

And yet I try,

And yet I hope,

Soon night will take me and it will be over,

Soon night will bathe me in its motherly cover.

I am as I hope, yet I expect to be elsewhere

Elsewho, elsewhen and perhaps even elsewhy…


Hope but do not expect,

Wish but do not wait,

For all is but subject

To its own hand of fate.

Black and white


Black and white,

White and black,

Never fail for what you lack,

White and black,

Black and white,

Keep you in your line of sight,

Day and night,

Night and day,

Stay your course and come what may,

Night and day,

Day and night,

No great ever comes from quite.


Red and blue, blue and red,

what must die will soon be dead

Blue and red, red and blue,

and I shall leave no more clue.

Un fil sans conducteur


J’aime cette fille

Qui ne tient qu’à un fil

Je peux voir ses failles

Ces trombes, ces rafales

Soufflant en sa gorge

Comme le blé à l’orgue

Le faux et le vrai

Se séparent et se quittent

Et si je l’offrais

Le livre des choses dites

Pourrais-je y lire alors

A voix haute bohèmes

Et autres verts décrits

(Car ta strophe me plait) ?

M’y plonger âme et corps

Sans fuir ni pâlir ?

Que veut qui tantôt aime

La douleur s’écrie

Et en totem érige

De beaux “qu’aux”, de laids

Si la main vient salir

L’oeil, lui, encourage.


Je pirouette avec les mots pour la figure plus que pour le style.

Stay awake


Stay awake,

Take a breath,

Keep moving,

Step by step,

If you stop then all is lost,

Or if you stare at the cost

Then forget whatfor you wish

And watch precious dreams vanish,

If you just wait for the day

That success shall come to you

Then do be ready to pay

For all what you did too few,

Let your heart

Rest a while,

Close your eyes,

Sleep tonight,

What you may not do today

You can achieve tomorrow,

If you seem to lose your way

Look afar for the lighthouse

And remember: the sorrow

Stops not even the small mouse,

Wait for light

And sunrise,

Fake a smile,

Play your part,

But follow words of the wise :

Do as if until you can,

And before long the disguise

Will have yielded to the man,

Do it well enough for some

If in doubt or simply lost,

The next step shall always come

And the cold heart will defrost,

In evening

As in morn

You are you,

You are strong.


Hmmm, somehow it will, have faith in your trust.

Cheesy but eh…



Pourquoi sors-je la nuit, au froid et à la lune,

Dans le vent muet du nord, et sous ses mains mouillées?

Il est vrai, je la fuis, tout droit jusqu’à la dune,

Mais ai-je peur du noir ou bien d’être fouillé?

Quand, dehors, la tempête bat son plein et éclate,

Moi, logeant en ces lieux, assis au coin du feu,

J’admire et je tapote sur cette vitre plate

Car j’aimerais bien mieux jouer à ce petit jeu

Que l’on appelle amour. Pourtant je reste coi.

Quoi donc? demandez-vous. Couare, réponds-je.

Car dès lors qu’alors dort l’or du fou qui adore,

C’est avec fort humour, au contraire d’humeur,

Que les perles d’aqua tiquent au rythme toque,

Et tac! je me défais et comble les fissures;

J’aime battre les flots mais le rivage est sûr.


Tout est parti de la citation suivante : “Le rivage est sûr, mais j’aime me battre contre les flots.”