Cher journal
.
Aujourd’hui je t’écris depuis une lointaine
Et paisible retraite où coulent mes vieux jours,
Je regarde le ciel et admire la mer,
Non sans regret, sans peine, mais je noie mes cris
Car ci, et pour toujours, la douleur n’est soustraite
Par aucune eau amère d’un coeur artificiel,
Ceux-là, voyant ma penne, hissent en néo christ
Quelque idée abat-jour tracée de main distraite
Et donnent aux chimères allure de six ailes,
Moi, d’office conscrit – bannière puritaine -,
Ne tord et maltraite que des belles-de-jour,
Autel sacrificiel des plaisirs éphémères.
.
Petit exercice de passe-passe avec les sons.
Mare lunar
.
Just as a beach of sand is forever stranded
Or a forest of leaves are lost into the woods,
The starry skies of night shine deep into my eyes
And yet I cannot see for darkness is in me.
Just as an open wound with a scar is branded
Or a smile is happy and a tear ever sad,
Just as this perfect role becomes but a disguise
Swept by a coarse wind of restless serenity.
.
A series of relatively poetic images.
Wanted
.
You have passion? You have good verve?
You like action and excitement?
New things to leave? Need incitement?
Do you believe that you deserve
Another chance to show your worth?
Or to give meaning to your birth?
To be the lance forefront the earth?
We are gleaning talent and mirth
And we need you in our program!
The right are few, others are wrong,
We seek brilliance, we seek the strong!
We seek valiance in potential,
But no prior, nor credential.
You are on queue, a photogram.
Yes, we do hire, with your accord,
All you desire; are you on board?
.
Once again, having ‘finished’ this piece (meaning I have written all I feel I should have written/all I needed or wanted to write), I feel as if I do not completely know or understand what I wanted to achieve or where I wanted to go. I have a vague idea – a feeling, an image – of what I meant, and an interpretation but it remains partly unclear (and will probably remain so for some time). Also, it feels like it still lacks something, some sort of tenure or substance that I will have to come back and add in the future. I shall see, time shall tell.
As often, a mix of bittersweet, clear and obscure, light and uneasy feelings while reading.
Rest
.
She was sitting there, by the window,
Her face sullen, full of sorrow,
Such a young face, yet a widow,
For her, no today, no tomorrow;
Suddenly the wagons began to rumble
And as the wheels began to roll
She felt the strain, she felt the toll,
Oh if they could hear her heart crumble,
The fated train rocked on away
And she let its slow rhythm sway
Her wounded soul, lull her spirit to rest;
The sky had long cleared of the smoke
When the landscape faded and the yoke
Melted in a salted flood on the old leather vest.
.
The peace of the weary is no rest.
Two millenia and a major
.
Once upon this new year
I ask for good fortune,
If may be events could
For once dance to my tune,
Oh if my life could be
As simple as I wish,
I want not be happy
With just a flick and swish
But instead to have strength
To pursue all those goals
That remain at arm’s length
Since began my journey,
I wish to have wisdom
Enough to bend the knee
And break not all my bones
But too to still keep faith
Walking by three old crones,
I ask not a solution
But a sliver of hope,
I wish not absolution –
My sins are and will remain –
I ask but for a chance
To be a better one,
That from the shield and lance
Come silence and come peace,
Passion poetica
For life and its wonders,
Past and future splendors
And perhaps even me.
.
Happy new year 2018!
On the table
.
The candle was hot,
The presents were there,
But for all her stare
The cookies were not.
.
Every breath you take, every step you make…
She Was Ital
.
She was a magician and she was her white dove,
she was the hand of steel and she the velvet glove,
she was ammunition and she was the canon,
she was the faithful seal and she was the danaann,
she was from the deep gorge, she yearned for the high cliff,
she took upon herself to make self of her ‘if’,
she was the mighty forge, she the godly smithy,
and of her loving delph she made burning pythy,
she was of great beauty, she, beautiful greatness,
she was the proud peafowl, she was the graceful swan,
she honored her duty, she was left with her dress,
moonlighted, broken howl; together they were one.
.
Imagine a meeting that shall never happen…
Promise
.
In about three week’s time,
Not long after the year
Once more be gone anew,
I shall release the fear
Without figure or rhyme –
Though without losing mine –
And untangle the vine
And its twisting sinew
To attempt to express
What I have left to guess,
I will attempt the leap,
Surrender faith to jump,
To keep face don’t undo,
For I can no more keep
This growing painful lump
That time and space plunder;
To hell with sage senses!
Be it my Waterloo,
Mine the consequences
Were I broke asunder…
.
Do or do not, there is no try.
GG
He almost came to regret his decision as light flooded the dim corridor. Air rushed to his face, drowning the deafening cheers of the crowd on the other side. He could hear them since he had left his cell, the hundreds of thousands of feet that made the whole main arena shake, the muffled cries that demanded more, and the screeches of the horns that announced the end of yet another match. Blood rarely flowed in the arenas and when it did, it didn’t stain the ground for long. No, usually the only blood was the one boiling in the veins of the participants and in those of the spectators, or the blood thumping in his ears when he was in the center of it all. Perhaps tonight would be a bit of both…
It felt as if the world started to move again after stopping completely for a moment. His heart was pounding and he forced a smile on his pale face as he stepped into the outer rim of the arena. He had to look, if not for himself or for his audience, for Io. He couldn’t let the young Ehnar worry for him, plus Alexis would beat him to death if she knew what he was about to do and how he felt anything but confident about it… He knew he could do it, somehow. Probably. He had to do it so feeling indecisive about it changed nothing, he was backed into a corner, something he had gloriously achieved himself, and he had no option but to fight his way out.
The spotlights were on him and the three other gladiators that had been chosen that night. Well, “chosen” was perhaps a stretch. True the one in the green corner had been picked almost randomly to fill the slot, but he and Jams had instigated this whole thing, and Kietro had been more than eager to try anything to squeeze herself in-between them. Why she did that, he never knew, but it seemed she had either a grudge against Kietro or a weird fetish for getting into situations that could lead up to violent altercations. Altercations she could then be a part of, sometimes not even to win or beat other people up, but simply for the “thrill of it”.
He looked around and saluted the audience and the casters twice, doing his best to smile as confidently as he could until the moment he would be able to put on his mask. The smiles and the waves were for the audience and the favor points he could get, the mask was for the sponsors, to give a more mysterious image and aura to his gladiator persona. Everyone knew his face but it wasn’t to hide his identity, it was to hide his weaknesses during the bouts and to give himself courage by making himself believe he was becoming someone else, a better, stronger, version of himself. And even if it was only psychologically, and partially, true, it felt right. Finally the first bell rang and he put on the wooden artefact that would hide his features.
It felt as if he was underwater again: everything felt distant and cold, but his heartbeat seemed to calm down instantly. He closed his eyes and focused his mind, which was becoming clear again, on himself and the reasons that has pushed him to do this. Io, he was here to avenge. Or at least, if not to restore their honor, to show that there was still hope. Kietro, he had to defeat. If he could beat him this round it would be perfect but beating him was the top priority. He had to show him what he was capable of and what he, as a more veteran of the league than him, could not. Alexis, he was simply here to prove wrong, to piss her off, like always. And Nerio, he didn’t really know. To show him that he had grown, perhaps?
He had grown. That was obvious, mostly in physique, but also in mentality. He knew he had been too proud, and wrong. But he had learned from this. He hadn’t finished learning, of course. He would never finish learning, as Nerio often liked to remind him, be he dared to believe he had learned enough to call his own bluff tonight. At least, if not for him, for them. Io deserved to know they weren’t alone… The second bell rung and his whole body tensed up. he would have to be ready for the third one, a single misstep as it began and he might be done for. The column, the path, the house. The column, the path, the house. He reviewed his battle plan in his head. Everything would work, it had to. And if it didn’t… well he would make it. Or the arena be damned, he would never utter a single stupidity like this ever again! The third bell rang, his legs felt heavy but as he jumped, he caught the fleeting look of surprise on Kietro’s face. Maybe, just maybe.
A sort of short summary of the opening scene, or prologue, from a story I have had in mind for quite some time now. Perhaps this will motivate me to try to explore it in more detail… Maybe, just maybe.
Tales of Ore 