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The saddest sound in the world
Is both one you shall never hear in a million years,
And one you shall,
Every second of every day of your life…
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Tag Archives: vandergeid
On the first day of December
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On the first day of December
I try to remember
The warmth of the ember
Fleeing from my members…
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Ain’t nobody got time for this…!
Dawn tracks
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This train dashes into the night
Below a sky of stars and moon,
Spouting warm, puffy clouds
Into the cold air of the mountains –
Of thoughts and hopes and dreams;
The tracks lead on and on
Ever far away, always somewhere new,
It chugs down the river of steel
And yet all is silent :
Not even the engine comes to break the peace,
Sometimes when a tunnel
Chokes all the world away
The travel becomes bleak
And the traveler dark,
But always, somehow, he finds ways to express
And orient eve towards morn
Until the sun rises and boredom fades in hues
Of pale opal and their vast palette of hope;
If you are patiently curious
Do go ask the old conductor,
He has a thousand and one stories to share.
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I will die
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Oh I feel I will die sometime this afternoon,
I know I shall be dead by the end of the year;
But it does not matter
I do not really care
For I shall live again
In each and every tear
Of all those whom I dear
To deride or flatter,
For you I leave this stare :
A final awkward stain;
Under the starless sky of the midday moon
And surely in a way that most would find queer.
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Why? But why not?
Matin matin
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Ce matin, un lapin a tué un chasseur.
Le matin, le latin perd son professeur.
Le patin à la main, virevolte le danseur.
La satin est si fin et plein de douceur.
Du fade thym, pour la faim, est un peu farceur…
Vil faquin, qui te tint pour amant de ma soeur !
Qu’est hautain le marin qui vogue à toute heure.
De l’étain ne s’éteint même quand vient l’heure.
Et la main dans la main, nous marchons en choeur.
Sois serein, cet essaim ne veut ton malheur.
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Petite expérience sans prétention pendant un atelier d’écriture.
Belle eve
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This eve I have had a revelation of sorts
Amidst the nightly melancholia,
The longing for what I cannot have
And the reminiscence of what I did,
No one, surely, shall ever ask
But if one ever was to
Then I perhaps I would word my thought so:
My poems are akin to a perfume,
They feel just as the flowing wind
As brittle as thin ice on a leaf
And as rare as a blood rose
Blossoming aeons away on an asteroid,
As a frog in the foulest of streets
I hope from one to the other,
Trying to catch them before sleep
Trying to make them into eternal gems,
To stare again once I have awoken,
To touch again when day had risen
Or to keep warm in one of those nights
Where darkness drops a veil too thick…
I grab ever tentatively
Although never catch,
Never will I truly succeed,
I can watch all I want,
I can listen until all sounds fade,
I can copy, I can redo,
I can repeat, I can remake,
Never will it be the same.
And yet I try,
And yet I emulate,
Over and over and over and over again,
A madman in a sea of fire
Trying to swim to the shore
But sinking to the depth of this mischievous ocean,
Drifting to the furthest reaches of a wounded mind…
And yet I try,
And yet I hope,
Soon night will take me and it will be over,
Soon night will bathe me in its motherly cover.
I am as I hope, yet I expect to be elsewhere
Elsewho, elsewhen and perhaps even elsewhy…
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Hope but do not expect,
Wish but do not wait,
For all is but subject
To its own hand of fate.
Maël
M, A, E-tréma, L. Quatre sons qui, croyez-le ou non, semblent me définir sympathiquement bien ces derniers temps.
M
J’aime beaucoup de choses, souvent. J’aime plus que je n’aime point; non par boniment mais par sincérité je peux dire que j’aime facilement, et que l’inverse ne me vient aussi naturellement.
A
Ou plutôt “AH !”, cette expression de surprise me caractérise. J’aime à l’utiliser, que ce soit nécessaire ou non, elle me parle, me plait, et m’amuse beaucoup.
E
Marque de l’hésitation, de la réflexion, du doute. Tout ce qui me semble m’accaparer beaucoup trop au lieu d’actes et de paroles.
Tréma.
Pour intensifier le E, le mettant en exergue, n’est là que pour perturber, embêter, signe du petit gamin farceur et jovial que j’aime à être.
L
Celle-là je la garde pour moi, cette lettre qui m’occupe et me taraude, qui m’inspire et me fascine. Serait-elle à moi que je ne la posséderais pas.
L s’amplifie du M, du A et du E-tréma autant qu’elle les amplifie.
Black and white
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Black and white,
White and black,
Never fail for what you lack,
White and black,
Black and white,
Keep you in your line of sight,
Day and night,
Night and day,
Stay your course and come what may,
Night and day,
Day and night,
No great ever comes from quite.
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Red and blue, blue and red,
what must die will soon be dead
Blue and red, red and blue,
and I shall leave no more clue.
Un fil sans conducteur
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J’aime cette fille
Qui ne tient qu’à un fil
Je peux voir ses failles
Ces trombes, ces rafales
Soufflant en sa gorge
Comme le blé à l’orgue
Le faux et le vrai
Se séparent et se quittent
Et si je l’offrais
Le livre des choses dites
Pourrais-je y lire alors
A voix haute bohèmes
Et autres verts décrits
(Car ta strophe me plait) ?
M’y plonger âme et corps
Sans fuir ni pâlir ?
Que veut qui tantôt aime
La douleur s’écrie
Et en totem érige
De beaux “qu’aux”, de laids
Si la main vient salir
L’oeil, lui, encourage.
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Je pirouette avec les mots pour la figure plus que pour le style.
Here I stand
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Here I stand
In the rain as under sun
At last.
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Tales of Ore 