From A to Z

Posted on by under Poetry

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Amber could keep my being from ever feeling lost

Both in heart and in mind but, my dear, at what cost?

Challenging the heavens, that which is called fortune,

Defying the wide world, not dancing to its tune,

Endlessly going forth and writing your own fate

Freeing body and soul from this low, earthly state,

Granting yourself power to achieve what you seek,

Hear carefully my friend for it comes not with ease,

It is a timeless quest born long before the Greek,

Jealousy of the gods bringing us to our knees,

Know life will tear you down, happiness has a price,

Lucky are those who have looked upon it but thrice;

Maybe you shall succeed on the first of your tries,

No one can say for sure, but maybe you shall fail,

Oh my friend keep your hope and listen to your cries

Perhaps you shall find strength where you see yourself frail,

Quivering in the cold; a lion lives inside,

Roaring deep in your heart, you do not have to hide,

Stand your ground, lift your chin, look ahead with a smile,

Though life is not all kind it is worth the effort,

Unknown and long the road, and hardest the first mile,

Veer off but keep your course and hide not in this fort

Which you have built around yourself for all these years,

X marks the spot; listen, the call to adventure!

You must answer at once, jump through the aperture,

Zero doubts in your heart, oh let go of your fears…

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A fun and short project, really pizzazz!

I like me better

Posted on by under Poetry

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What is this obsession

I feel rising afar

With some apprehension?

But unable to bar

From my head or my chest;

Too late, I am taken,

My world ever shaken,

I pray, hope for the best…

It is sweet and bitter

Full of dark and glitter,

I can feel its cold heat

Now spreading through my soul

And the unsteady beat

Of my heart no more whole…

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Black

Posted on by under Shorts

On the large white board which stood in the middle of the room were displayed all the pictures that had been taken during the preliminary phase of the investigation. Six large portraits had been printed and were aligned horizontally at the top of the board. Six faces, three men and three women, and, just under them, a seventh: the victim’s. Still below, pictures of the crime scene, dark and bloody.

The first face, on the top left corner, was one of a man on whom time had left its mark. His silver mane and impeccably well-trimmed moustache which he proudly displayed gave him an air of strength and dignity. One could also catch a glimpse of the mustard-colored collar of his jacket in the bottom of the frame.

On his right, the surly face of a woman of roughly the same age as him. She seemed to look straight at the camera, her eyes dark behind her glasses shaped in half-moons which were hanging on the very tip of her nose, nose which was as pale as the nightly orb itself.

The third portrait immediately caught the eye due to the mysterious beauty of the young woman who appeared on it. One could see the ghost of a surprisingly confident smirk on her face. Tangled in her long dark hair was a pin in the shape of a red rose.

The next two portraits were of two men.

One had glasses, the other had none. The first wore an eggplant-colored scarf , the second a dark green frock coat with a raised collar. The former seemed tall and skinny whereas the latter appeared short and sturdy. One had thick and wild light brown, almost red hair while the other had lost most of his dark hair to baldness. Everything seemed to draw them apart, one was a man of science while the other was unwaveringly religious, however, despite all this, to the eye of the careful observer, a similar glint of darkness could be seen in both their gazes.

The sixth picture was one of a woman in her fifties, white hair covered by her servant headwear. She seemed uneasy, almost scared. One could almost hear her quavering voice coming out of her mouth with great difficulty when she spoke.

A large and detailed plan of the manor where the crime had taken place was spread on the large table in front of the board and, around it, the different objects that had been taken from the scene and analyzed by the forensic department wrapped in plastic bags. There were six in all including a knife, a wrench and a gun.

The room, lit by the sick white glow of the neon lights, was empty of any life. But that would not last for much longer as, soon enough, the team of detectives would come in and begin working on this case without rest until the mystery that surrounded the death of the old Doctor was solved. It had been very explicitly clarified : finding the Doctor’s killer was of the utmost importance, it was all that mattered now.

Alea jacta est, the die had been cast…

“Now what is this exactly?”, I hear you ask. Well worry not, there is a clue in there, somewhere… ;)

L’âme haut

Posted on by under Poetry

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Parfois

Un mot vaut mille lames

Une lame mille maux;

À tous ceux-là qui clament

Bêtement, fort et haut,

Que les bâtons et pierres

Peuvent briser des os

Mais que de simples mots

N’atteignent pas les fiers,

Je reponds “Venez voir

Dans les replis cachés

De mon âme épanchée,

Où reignent la nuit noire,

Les obscures chimères

Qui dansent sur les flots,

Et espoirs éphémères

Brisés par ces grelots…”

Il est donc nécessaire

Que mon esprit, mon coeur,

Face à cette souffrance

Qu’érige ton absence,

Choisissent de concert

Silences et pudeur.

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Introduction

Posted on by under Poetry

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I once had a good friend

Who one day went away

Into the dark of night

As dawn was approaching,

I know not what became

Of him after that day

But sometimes I listen

In the wind, on the sea,

To the murmurs of birds,

To the whispers of fish,

For what?, I cannot say,

I listen nonetheless

For something ages past,

For something that will last

But always it falls back

Down after rising up,

The red leaf floats onwards

On invisible streams

Of glory and passion

To the ends of the world

And even though I know

I can never follow

The light in my heart burns

As my lonely soul yearns,

Sometimes comes a young bird

Whose song I recognize

And I smile for a time

Feeling luck in my veins

And I let myself bask

In such warm and sweet dreams

However in the end

I know this for a fact

The bird will fly away

And all will be quiet

Under the setting sun,

And I feel not content

Rather enthusiastic

As if as Hercules

I could now tame the world,

Oh more than that ! As if

I could go row my boat

Along the clear river

For years and years and years

Until the wise stars rust

’til diamond turns into dust

Until your presence fades

Until not time remains

I move without moving,

I fly without flying,

Until I reach myself

In this quiet garden

Until, with slow steps, it

Starts all over again.

I once had a good friend

Who one day went his way

Into the dark of night

As dawn was approaching.

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A poem without rhymes, is this real life? ._.

À Saavakineh

Posted on by under Poetry

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Oh si tu savais mon frère

Tout le mal que ça me fait,

Oui si tu savais mon frère

Tout le banal que je sais,

Oh, si tu savais défaire

Ce noeud qui grandit en moi,

Mais il n’est pas fait de fer

Ce nouveau cheval de Troie,

Et si tu les voyais faire

Ces mains qui brisent ma foi

Non, tu ne pourrais te taire

Et laisser devenir roi

Le chagrin usant mes chaires,

Désespoir, mon noir émoi;

Mon âme dans les éthers,

Ma peau aux vives moirures,

Vois la fable délétère

Se parrant de cent dorures.

Oh si tu savais mon frère,

Si tu pouvais tout apprendre,

Oui si tu savais mon frère

Pourrais-tu donc me comprendre ?

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Oui.

Comme une bamba triste

Posted on by under Poetry

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Un peu comme une bamba triste

Ou un puzzle à mille pièces

Dont il manquerait la dernière,

Comme au milieu de foules en liesse

Mais isolés d’une manière,

Ou juste après l’ultime piste

De votre disque préféré,

Un peu comme tombe la nuit

Ou se lève l’astre qui luit

Car pour les esprits éthérés

Souvent pleins de mélancolie

Il n’y a pas d’échappatoire

A cette mère évocatoire

De tous nos rêves et nos folies,

Un peu comme le doux amère

Sourire de l’homme damné

Qui, lorsqu’il se sait condamné,

Se rêve encor libre comme l’air,

Un peu comme cette chanson

Sous ses airs de lente balade

Vient adoucir chez le garçon

Les sombres maux d’un coeur malade,

Comme une douce comédie

Dont la grande harmonie tragique

N’est belle qu’au yeux du public

Qui voit de loin le coeur maudit,

Comme, enfin, cette vieille reine

Qu’est la Vie parmis les mortels,

Elle, de la Mort, soeur jumelle,

Celle qui cause tant de peines,

Comme un regret qui prend au tripes

Et qui fait de nous ses pantins

Lorsqu’à nos rêves enfantins

On repense encor, on s’agrippe…

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A clear stream of water runs

Posted on by under Poetry

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A stream of water runs among

The jagged stones of the mountain

Clear and cold as the first white snow

Down to the valley of roses

And if you were to run along

Towards this eternal fountain,

Perhaps bask in its soft, fresh flow,

Feel the power it imposes,

Then, whether you be young or old,

And whether you be friend or foe,

Where are welcome those who dare climb,

In this heaven under the clouds,

Feel an invisible hand mold

With a finger steady and slow

The ifs into your space and time

And lift the heavy, opaque shrouds…

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This is yesterday’s poem which I did not have the time/energy/opportunity to post earlier, so, here it is. Enjoy!

O 3

Posted on by under Poetry

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You are strange

You are foreign

Out of range

Out of my reign

I admire

You from afar

I desire

That which you are

This sweet fire

May indeed char

On the pyre

Under the star

My lone soul

My open heart

Of a fool

I play the part

But is he

Not in this life

Incompris

Far from all strife

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Et si le temps tourne à l’orage

Posted on by under Poetry

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Elle est ici même quand elle n’est pas là,

Dans mon coeur à défaut de mes bras,

Et si le temps tourne à l’orage,

Si tout cela n’est qu’un mirage,

Je n’en ai cure, oui je m’en fous !

J’aurai beau être traité de fou,

Elle est si pure et je veux être à ses côtés,

Que ce soit un merveilleux rêve

Ou bien dans la dure réalité.

Je ne désire pas de trêve

J’ai suffisamment perdu, assez donné,

Laissez-moi mélancolique

Me replonger dans ces sentiments

Pour mille et une années.

Je ne suis peut-être qu’un alcolique,

Qu’un pauvre fou, un dément,

Mais je ne veux rendre au cosmos

La graine qu’il a semé en mon coeur,

Et si je dois être le colosse

Aux pieds d’argiles, pas de rancoeur…

J’aurai vécu cette douce tempête

Et ton souvenir, même au fil des siècles

Tournera en mon coeur, en un joyeux cercle,

Et me restera toujours ainsi en tête.

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Libéré, délivré des contraintes, l’anarchie est le prix de ma liberté !

Ouais, un poème plutôt libre pour le coup.

Moi je me suis bien amusé, à vous de juger…