Tag Archives: soar vandergeid

Synthetic background

Posted on by under Poetry

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The whirlwind is not in the air nor in the tree,

The storm rages inside, none can hear the thunder

Or see the lightning bolts that deafen and blind me,

Or feel the dark coldness that lies deep down under

This raging sea of Rhye; I feel the end is nigh,

My body is drifting, my mind is on a high,

My soul is wandering in wonders of the sky,

There is nothing to try, it is time for goodbye…

So many possibles, new pathways to explore,

A hundred thousand lies and to each a deep lore,

The weather’s achanging: sun, rain, alternating,

Hellow to you dear friends, excuse me for waiting!

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L’indolent

Posted on by under Poetry

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Je suis celui qui vit sans jamais vraiment vivre

Celui qui fait la fête mais n’est jamais ivre

Celui qui voit le monde avec un cœur d’enfant

Mais un esprit d’adulte en le philosophant,

Je vis la vie et je la chante et je la danse,

Je mesure mon sort, je mesure ma chance,

S’il est bonnes ou mauvaises situations

Je vogue entre les vagues sans grand prétention,

Et parfois l’on me félicite de mon flegme

De ma vision des choses, mes mille apophtegmes,

De mon calme impérial, ma patience infinie,

Mais je ne suis qu’humain et ma science finie,

Je ne sais d’où je viens, je ne sais ou je vais,

Je ne vois que trop bien tous mes côtés mauvais,

Oui, ceux-là diront flegme ou bien calme étonnant,

Et les autres que je cache en me retenant

Or je ne mâche mot car je suis insolent,

Je dirai donc ‘flemme’, que je suis l’indolent.

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Mouais.

Amorous hapless

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Truth be told, if it must, anything that he does,

Whether smart or stupid justifies easily,

All this running around… It is simply because

He cannot stand to be away, not joyfully,

It is but poor excuse to spend some time with her,

See her smile, hear her laugh, get to know each other.

If you were then to ask him what lies in his heart

His eyes would shine and his mouth, in a smile, would part,

For him then to explain that for a single chance

To spend a day with her, talking, laughing, sharing,

Anything he would give, he would be so daring,

Anything to be close, to admire her dance.

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Anything to admire her beautiful life-dance.

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A small alternate ending, because why not?

Sort of a sequel to : Hopeless romantic

The power of silence

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Silence is not empty

It is full of itself,

As discrete as an elf

And surely as witty;

How it can help gleaning

Many a strand of calm

But also of meaning,

Feel them pulse in your palm,

The meanings and desire,

Silence tells of a world

So big and much higher

Than the one that is pearled

In a glass quite precious,

You cannot understand

Though somehow comprehend

Through something unconscious…

Don’t think, don’t fight against,

Simply feel and let go

Only then will you know

All that’s in it condensed.

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Not quite but almost.

Noir

Posted on by under Shorts

Sur le grand tableau blanc qui trônait au centre de la salle étaient épinglées toutes les photos qui avaient été recueillies au cours des premiers jours de l’enquête. Six portraits en A4 étaient alignés sous le bord supérieur. Six visages, trois hommes et trois femmes, et, juste au dessous, les photos de la victime. Encore plus bas, les photos de la scène du crime, sombre et sanglante.

Sur le premier portrait on pouvait voir le visage d’un homme sur lequel s’étaient imprimées les marques du temps passé. Sa crinière sauvage et sa moustache finement taillée, ornements argentés qu’il arborait fièrement, lui donnaient un air des plus dignes. On pouvait également apercevoir le haut du col d’un gilet couleur moutarde au bas de la photo.

À sa droite, celui d’une femme d’âge environ égal à l’air revêche. Elle fixait l’objectif d’un œil noir derrière les verres en demi-lune de lunettes perchées sur le bout de son nez, nez aussi pâle que l’astre nocturne lui même.

Le troisième portrait attirait immédiatement l’œil de part la beauté naturellement hypnotisante de la jeune femme qui y apparaissait. Sur son visage aux traits fins se dessinait le fantôme d’un sourire narquois et étonnamment confiant. Dans sa longue chevelure noir de jais on pouvait apercevoir une petite broche en forme de rose rouge.

Les deux suivants étaient des hommes.

L’un portait des lunettes, l’autre non. Le premier était vêtu d’un foulard couleur aubergine, l’autre d’une redingote vert foncé à col haut. Le premier semblait grand et mince tandis que le second plus courtaud. L’un arborait une chevelure épaisse et sauvage, presque rousse tandis que l’autre était brun, au crâne presque dégarni. Rien ne semblait rapprocher les deux hommes, l’un était homme de science, l’autre résolument d’église, et pourtant, pour l’observateur attentif, on pouvait déceler dans leur regards quelques similaires lueurs sombres.

Le sixième portrait était celui d’une femme d’une cinquantaine d’années, les cheveux coiffés d’un couvre chef blanc de domestique. Elle semblait mal à l’aise, étrangement apeurée. On pouvait presque entendre la voix chevrotante qui s’échappait péniblement de ses lèvres lorsqu’elle parlait.

Sur la grande table devant le tableau était étalé un plan détaillé du manoir où avait eu lieu le crime et, répartis autour de ce dernier dans des sacs plastiques, les différents objets qui avaient été récupérés et analysés par le département scientifique. Il y en avait six en tout, dont un couteau, une clé anglaise et un pistolet.

La salle, illuminée par la lumière blanchâtre des néons, était vide. Mais cela ne durerait pas car bientôt l’équipe d’enquêteurs entrerait et se mettrait à travailler d’arrache-pied afin de résoudre le mystère qui entourait la mort du vieux Docteur. Cela leur avait été explicité de façon on ne peut plus claire : il était primordial de retrouver le meurtrier du Docteur, c’était tout ce qui importait à présent.

Alea jacta est, les dés étaient jetés…

“Qu’est-ce ?”, vous entends-je demander. Eh bien ne paniquez pas, il y a quelques indices ici et là… ;)

Ps: C’est pas Harry Potter >.>

If only I could enhance

Posted on by under Poetry

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I revel in the silence

Reflect on my existence,

I wonder about my stance

How I should move forward hence,

Should I have taken this chance?

Or am I not for romance?

I feel like I want to dance,

Moved by a strange, weird trance

At an unearthly cadence…

I long for more than a glance

But can’t manage to advance

In this wide, unknown expanse;

Can I change my circumstance?

Make these dreams to me bechance?

How long ’til like Bagger Vance

Fades away my sufferance?

There’s not point in resistance

If you have broken my lance…

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Not really satisfied with this one, I feel it could be… enhance(d)…

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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