Tout s’avance et tourne et danse,
Tout s’élance et se balance
En cadence, une vraie errance,
Pas de chance, on recommence.
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Category Archives: Poetry
A nonsensical strawberry-flavoured note
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Three from two make eight or five,
Big or small it always lifts,
In life or in death, only for the hive.
Blue and red overshadow the deep purple sea,
Running along or flying far, far away,
Never keeps calm or harm out of way.
*
Everything’s in the title. Yup.
This is the way the world ends.
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Sprinkled sand precedes the veil,
Night falling upon the world,
Rekindled hands recedes the hail,
Light is shining on me, pearled.
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Fro and nevermore
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Let the roses grow and be,
Oh let those who come to me
Bear witness of thy greatness,
Revel in eternal bliss.
Can’t they feel this bright warm light,
Feel its caress on their skin?
Can’t they for once act akin?
And stop those perpetual fights?
Nowadays and evermore
On our land and on our shore
They come, they go, they follow,
They live, they die, but don’t grow.
Nature is like a temple,
Full of sounds and sights to see,
Floating smells and tastes aussi
That men hack, burn and trample.
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Confident
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Whether you try,
Whether you cry,
Whether you’re shy,
Whether you lie,
You.
You should be confident.
There is no boundary
That you can never cross.
And always those frontiers
Can at one point be bent.
The world’s not binary,
Know you are your own boss,
The path will become clear.
You.
Do not stand by,
Don’t just comply,
Get up, retry,
Fly to the sky!
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No title
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Are you whom I am looking for? The one ?
Oh tell me, however can I be sure?
I cannot wait until this love is gone
To finally find out if it is pure…
In the end, is that what I truly sought?
Whatever I did, whatever I thought,
Could it, no matter what, ever be fought ?
Because, my dear, you don’t taste like you should,
‘Cause you don’t fit in my arms like she would,
I love you –swear I do!– but are you good?
I cannot wait until this love is dawned
To finally find us this needed cure.
Am I the one with whom you want to bond?
Do tell me, however can you be sure?
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Who?
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Who, for a moment, sat and thought to be poet?
Who really looked at that which they truly covet?
Who voiced, just once, out loud: ‘I want to tell stories
So beautifully made they brush away worries
Of readers crestfallen and reignite their flame’?
Who actually said it and acted on their claim?
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Tiger, tiger, burning bright.
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There you are my tiger,
Burning oh! so bright,
Deep into the night
In an eye not stranger.
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Here’s to…
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To the crazy ones
This is an homage,
For all great findings
They have granted us.
Bygones be bygones,
Let’s enter this age
For there is nothing
That can stop progress.
To those geniuses
Those who were outcast,
Who fought the uses
And stood atop the mast.
To the crazy ones,
Those we can’t forget,
Those who change the world,
Here’s to all of you.
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Huh. A poem without rhymes, imagine that…
Can you guess what has inspired meto write this? #LittleRiddle
Hiboux Blanc
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Depuis que je suis né du ventre de ma mère,
Jamais je n’ai pu faire ou vouloir autrement
Que de suivre les pas de mon illustre frère,
Sans même protester, toujours docilement.
Pourtant je ne rêve que d’avoir une marge,
D’avoir à ce crayon l’équivalente gomme,
De ne pas devenir de l’arbre simple pomme,
De ne plus être enfant prisonnier de ses langes.
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Tales of Ore 