In a room


In a room covered in dust

Where evening’s light shines its warmth,

As in a heart covered in rust

That fears tears and their cold harmth,

Sits a family of old friends

– Remnants of a past era -,

Each of them portrait of bold trends

From lonely Azrael to ambitious Mira,

In a corner of the wooden chest

The cheap yet colorful drum lies silent

And atop the highest shelf sits a nest

Full of birds of passion, lovingly violent,

It once felt as though they observed

Their eyes judging and intentions devious,

But now he knows they are forever preserved

And shall not make him again Prometheus,

His life reads in the hundred books

To which he now rarely looks,

His hopes hidden away

In his peculiar moods and their secret sway,

Behind a false piano, opposite to the flowery drawing

Behind a thin and yet unmoving threefold door

The dreams of this child, the children of his dreams, have long been thawing

And if all is well they will thaw evermore;

The trophies, the medals, the cups and dozen charms

Are scattered in the wind of stillness that echoes,

He stands there, remembering the hundred thousand harms,

The secret of his thoughts is that only he knows.


“There is a house in my street, there is a room in my house…”



Inside a cold, frightening room

In the deeps of an old castle

This body lies on a table,

Having surrendered to its doom;

Above, in the wuthering heights

Where phantasms and howling ghosts,

Ghouls and phantoms in wretched hosts,

Dance this night to a hundred frights,

Storm and thunder befog the air

As maddened laughter fills the lair,

In days of yore rain kept apart

The loving mind and his workshop,

Soon now the steps will near and stop

And folly will kickstart my heart.


A poem based on the prompt “Kickstart my heart“.



Beware the silent calmness of the sand

Over the dead sea loom fire and ice

Under the myriad of gems slithers life

That which the eye cannot see is nowhere

Immaculate yet perverse west winds blow

Quoth the stars to the lost traveller

Undo what has been done free this lost heart

End suffering to embrace the renew


The prompt was “boutique”. Totally random. This is what I came up with. My mind works in strange ways sometimes.

The Classical Age


In a maze of twist and turn

Echo the cries of a beast;

Although a human heart beats,

In these dull, wicked eyes burn


The flames consuming its wings,

Blood thread trails limply behind

Swaying to the sirens’ songs,

Waiting on a virgin mind


To wish away all the wrongs,

But the labyrinth’s wall

Is strong and cold, dark and tall,


‘Tis made of a thousand strings

Played by the gods at a cost:

An eternal tempest-tossed.


Il y a d’une ode ici.

Rabbit in a Snowstorm


I sit there and wait to be inspired,

Reflecting on things I once aspired

To, things of my childhood, of years past,

And of things yet to come, at long last.

Upon the walls of white of my cell

I see great sceneries and portraits,

Fevered visions of those I shall fell

And secret glimpses to my dark traits.

I can feel her there, right by my side,

The spicy perfume floats in the room,

I can feel her stare over me loom

Recalling the time when I last cried;

Knowing not why now I remember,

I let this whirlwind fan my ember.


He dares the evil deeds.



















A strange concept of a poem made of single word verses that are given meaning by simple punctuation.

Also: 1000th post \o/

When the air is cold


When the air is cold

And my hands are pale

I can see my scars,

Memories of small battles

Fought and won over the years,

In the end they disappear

When the sun warms my skin

But I know they are still there

And for as long as I keep

This souvenir of flesh and bone

I feel I can never truly fail;

The road is bumpy and slippery,

Sometimes I even lose sight of the trail,

But the river is never far

And I thirst for running water.


Nothing to add this time, it’s all there.

Quand je serai un enfant


Quand je serai un enfant

Je te dédierai maman

Une chanson toute entière,

Un’ chanson dont tu s’ras fière !

Y’aura des parol’s tout plein

Avec de belles images,

Des histoir’s de chevaliers,

Des princesses dans des cages,

Et des dragons à tuer !

Quand je serai un gamin

Je te donnerai ma main

Et on ira s’ballader

Le longs des vers et des rimes,

Je te f’rais escalader

Les monts et leurs plus haut’s cîmes,

Au rythme de longues strophes,

Au fil dodécasyllabes

De vain pieds en apostrophes,

Tu verras, cet astrolabe

Je l’ai construit de mes mots

Au long des années passant

A forc’ de lir’ Maupassant,

N’as-tu pas eu le mémo ?

Je suis dev’nu z’un poète !

Quand je serai un bambin

Et qu’tu me donn’ras un bain

Je te soufflerai les bulles

Que j’ai soufflé jusqu’alors,

T’as compris ? Parc’que je bulle,

Mêm’ pas en Technicolor

Just’ en noir et blanc passé

Parc’que j’aime pas travailler –

Oh ! Je préfère révailler –

Mais qu’j’ai peur de me casser.

Quand je s’rai à nouveau mioche

Je te dédierai chèr’ mère,

Par ma pelle et par ma pioche,

Un cadeau goût doux-amer

Qu’j’aurai cuisiné moi-même

Dans un plat tout préparé,

Et tu diras que tu aimes

Mais faudra pas comparer

Parc’que moi, mon truc, maman,

C’est l’émo et c’est l’émoi,

C’est les mois et c’est les maux,

Je ne suis que l’humble amant

De mon âme et de mon cœur,

Mon esprit est vagabond

Et moi j’suis un bon gars, va !

Mais je suis pas bon à rien,

Ni non plus mauvais en tout,

Je sais juste faire des rimes

Pour le ‘kick’ et pour la frime,

Ouais, parc’qu’aussi j’parle anglais

Et mêm’ si j’suis un peu laid

J’ai un sourire qui s’partage

Sauf qu’il s’effrite avec l’âge;

Alors, maman, quand j’srai p’tit

J’te jur’ je f’rai un effort,

Je s’rai p’tet ni grand ni fort

Mais j’aurai de l’appétit !

Je mang’rai tes bons p’tits plats

Et je s’rai plus souvent là,

Je f’rai parfois la vaisselle

Et j’me lav’rai les aisselles,

Mais surtout ma p’tite maman

Je t’écrirai un’ chanson

Avec plein d’parol’s et d’lignes

Et d’images, de métaphores…

J’dessinerai le firmament

Sur une feuille Canson

Et tu t’tiendras belle et digne

Et brillant tell’ment si fort !

Alors maman laiss’ moi faire,

J’ai p’tet’ pas d’destination

Mais ça j’en fais mon affaire

A grands coups d’obstination,

J’finirai par y’arriver !

Alors garde les yeux rivés

Et les oreill’s grand’ ouvertes,

Tout le mond’ sonn’ra l’alarme,

Tout’s tes copin’s seront vertes

Et toi tu vers’ras une larme

Et j’te jur’ tu seras fière !

Et j’te jur’ tu seras fière…


Inspiré je ne sais trop pourquoi par l’écoute de “Étudiant, poil aux dents !” de Renaud.

Je dédie ce poème à ma maman.

Dancing in the rain


I’m dancing in the rain,

Dancing away my pain,

Let water wash away

All the strain from the day,

I’m dancing in the rain,

Hope to erase the stain

Of tears upon my cheek

Waiting to make me weak,

I’m dancing in the rain

But I’m dancing in vain,

I can hear the thunder

Dragging me down under,

I’m dancing in the rain,

Dancing ’round once again,

Into a puddle – splashing,

Into a cuddle – thrashing,

I’m dancing in the rain,

Dancing just to remain,

I’m dancing in the reign

Of voices in my brain,

Been dancing in the rain

All my life, in the rain,

Dancing away the pain,

Dancing to remain sane.


Not entirely sure if I’m satisfied with this one, it still feels a little bit rough. Perhaps that’s part of its charm though…