.
Would I rather remorse
Under this enemy?
Or strive to change the course
And live honorably?
Truly you must be blind
Or out of your damn mind
To see a spec of hope
In this overused trope!
I have already lost
All that really mattered…
And to what end, this cost?
To see myself shattered?
So no thank you I say,
I have nothing to do
With this war or with you,
Let me be on my way.
.
.
When you are all alone
In the blackness of space
No one can hear you scream,
No one can hear you pace.
*
Trust there is still hope,
This is the right course,
Walking a tightrope
Atop your remorse.
*
A world of blue,
A world of grey,
What can I do?
What can I say?
*
I love her,
But does she
Even know
About me?
*
Hello!
Are we
Aglow
With glee?
*
Deep
Sleep,
I
Die.
.
Don’t ask, I don’t know either.
Aujourd’hui c’est jour de marché. Je le sais et je compte bien en profiter. L’odeur du basilic sur un étal rectangulaire, les haricots verts tout frais et un cageot de pommes de terre rempli à ras bord ! Tout cela me donne déjà envie, j’en ai l’eau à la bouche. Toutes ces couleurs et ces odeurs alléchantes…
Rouge des poivrons, violine des aubergines, jaune des citrons. Les senteurs sucrées des fraises et les arômes du persil se mêlent à l’odeur boisée des noisettes. Quelle tentation ! Difficile de résister…
Une pile de pommes attend la main qui saisit, la bouche qui croque. Si seulement ce pouvait être la mienne… Quel bonheur en perspective !
Un homme en blouse verte apparaît au dessus de toute cette marmaille de piments survoltés, de menthe sauvage, de dignes asperges, d’opulentes pastèques.
Je virevolte parmi les allées, passant d’étal en étal, impatient de tout goûter. Pourvu qu’il en reste…
“Il est beau, il est bon, il est pas cher mon melon !”
Oh comme je le sais. Je les observe depuis un moment, résistant avec difficulté à leur appel.
“Les beaux melons, les bons melons de Cavaillon; achetez mes bons melons !”
Un peu de patience, la voie sera bientôt libre et alors, droit au bec le melon !
La gouaille de la voix se mêle au brouhaha ambiant, aux cris des commerçants, au rires des passants et s’envole loin des courgettes zébrées et des rustiques poireaux, au dessus, loin au dessus… jusqu’à moi…
.
If one should find themselves lost in unending doubt,
Devoid of ideas or lacking inspiration
Nothing helps like a good intellectual bout
With strange new concepts to find roots of creation.
Each of us has a heart that we must cultivate
Whether ’tis with learning or loving or with art
One must keep their passion as fire, not dead wait
For once it is too late who can vow to restart?
As the old adage states: Rome was not built in days,
Each step taken forward no matter on which path
Is equally vital for there are many ways
And all shall reach their goal were you to do the math.
Your spirit is the map, your heart is the compass,
The choice rests in your hands, the world is you canvas;
Be you with the many or be you with the few,
Trust your ability, find what a-muses you!
.
I’m using a musing amusing muse.
.
Protect me little knight,
Swear your soul to service.
Oh do not be nervous
And let away your fright.
*
He cannot be a shield
Nor can he be a sword,
No matter what the word
Weakness shall make him yield.
*
I swear upon my life
My honor and my heart
That no conflict, no strife,
Shall ever make us part.
*
He may not be as strong
As the guardians require
But let him be her squire;
Courage is never wrong.
*
Once upon a time ere
There was a princess bride
Who war knew how to fare
Better than a man’s pride.
.
.
I am a romantic to the core
For I love the secrets of life’s lore,
The ones you look for, the ones you seek,
The ones that to your heart deeply speak.
What makes a great secret you might ask?
In my knowledge I shall no more bask:
A great secret is made not by light
But by the shadow behind it cast,
Its existence majestic as night
So long as impregnable walls last.
You may listen well but never hear,
You may look carefully, there and here,
Though with your soul or hands never touch
Only ever surmise such and such
For once discovered, secret no more,
And great legend quickly comes to bore…
Oh how I relish the sweet, sweet taste
The feral need, the urge to give chase
To these well-guarded and ever chaste
But deepest dark thoughts fallen from grace!
The blood boiling, running in my veins,
The ragged breath, the drums in my head,
Excitement as approaches my dread,
Harlequin smile; I rattle their brains.
.
.
When steel and flesh cruelly met
Then echoed off a single cry,
And, from this live tragedy’s set,
Unseen from all, hidden in light,
Flew off a silver butterfly
Into the blue sky taking flight.
Symbol of love, symbol of hope,
What means this mysterious trope?
A single last word of farewell
From a lone heart to another,
Born from the most powerful spell
Second only to a mother.
.
.
No poem comes tonight
I feel not inspired
For I am far too tired,
But tomorrow I might
Create a masterpiece,
Once fatigue will have gone
And my mind be at peace
Reborn a bright new dawn.
Allow me to atone
However for my crimes
In somewhat playful tone
With a few simple rimes…
.
.
Take it all away:
My pain and my joy,
Take my love, my hate,
And all I would say;
I am yours to toy,
You decide my fate.
Rip my heart out clean,
Devour my lost soul
And make me anew.
Of what I have been
Remains but a hole;
My loved ones: Adieu.
.
.
Never in my life had I felt thorns or poison
Of the simplest of these, but most hurtful, treasons,
Always had I dreamed that it would come to reason
And that it would fade with the passing of seasons
But my hopes were in vain, such conflict never ends
And sooner or later it is passion that bends.
Her skin that of honey and her eyes dark chocolate
Her sweet taste always rolled on my loving palate.
In these islands of ours none knew the hidden truth
For in strife or in war, as in life or in lore,
We were enemies bound, recipient of no ruth,
For afterlife we swore : man and wife to the core.
Such a beautiful story this tale could have been
But Fate in all grandeur keeps her old mocking grin,
We have breathed the same air, sailed the same blue waters,
Seen the beauties of life and… said all that matters?
Salt and water, now seeping into my wounds, burn,
As I slowly sink into the ever dark deeps,
High over me I can hear the canons still churn
And all around me this familiar ocean weeps…
.
Tales of Ore 