Tag Archives: web

Only she

Posted on by under Poetry

Only you

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‘I’m not a romantic nor much sentimental,

My heart was never sweet; who dares call me gentle?!’

This is but a disguise, a clever thought mantle,

Which took a second to completely dismantle…

For as soon as I looked, as soon as I saw her,

The world turned to a blur, I was instantly hooked,

Came the electric shock, amorous contraption,

Oh the most powerful chemical reaction!

Our eyes met a moment, for a single instant,

And everybody heard, no matter how distant,

The deep, bright explosion shaking my whole being,

They heard the dam breaking, my emotions freeing.

They saw the perfect sound, heard the perfect color,

As I basked in pure joy, far removed from dolor.

It took a single touch of a hand, a soft breath,

To fill my head with thoughts of us in life; ’til death.

For as soon as we crossed gaze, beautiful white dove,

I knew immediately, I had fallen in love…

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Sculpture

Posted on by under Poetry

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De cet amas de pierre

Dans la roche taillée

Que l’artiste si fier

Admire émerveillé,

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Les formes et contours,

Les ombres et lumières

-Ces naturels atours

Dont elle est coutumière-,

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Exaltent un corps figé

De l’espace et du temps,

Éternel mouvement

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Dans l’immobile instant;

Reflet d’âme piégée

Dans un brillant moment.

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What you write is not what you are…

Posted on by under Thoughts and other ideas

Well not always anyway.

A writer doesn’t always write about how they feel or about how they think or view the world, not exactly. Writing isn’t always an open letter to one’s soul. Sometimes it’s less than that: Just a fun way of escaping daily thinking and routine. Or more than that, like a profound analysis of one’s psychology, moods and soul. But other times it’s something different, something that isn’t exactly them (or me or you), something that fills us, that passes through us, that uses us as a means of reaching others.

Sometimes, for a writer, writing is a vessel for foreign emotions. Fabricated emotions, borrowed emotions, emotions that are empathized… Emotions that aren’t ours, that do not belong to us but that we feel anyways. A writer acts a bit like a channel for these emotions.

I am not sad or happy, I don’t feel trapped or wings grow just because I write so. Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps not. Writing is a mash of a lot of things and a bit of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff that we don’t always understand or think or feel but that we put into words anyways because it seems the moment to do so.

Writing is something you do to express yourself but not necessarily to express your self. This is something important that I have learned by participating in writing classes: never consider the protagonist of a story (or the subject or theme of a story) as the writer themselves. Try to think of it more like a mirror, a projection, something the writer decided to write about and that is dear to them, holds meaning, but doesn’t define them. The point of view of a character in a story is not the point of view of the author, so it is not to be refered as so.

True, as an author your ideas, thoughts and opinions often end up in your characters but that doesn’t mean that everything the story expresses is what the author wants to express or tries to convey. Sometimes, when writing, one even conveys things they didn’t even want to convey. Art is made to make people feel, think and reflect. Sometimes it expresses ideas but always remember, art and artists are a very clearly separate duo, even if they are completely fused together.

This was just a small rant to try to clarify this for all of humanity. Here’s the tl;dr you have to learn from this: ‘I am not what I write. Mostly.’. Maybe it sounds stupid, unnecessary or incomprehensible (I apologize if it does) but I felt it was something important to say and I wanted to express it.

Thank you for reading and understanding.

A song

Posted on by under Poetry

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There is a song that is old, that is new,

There is a song that is cold, that is wet,

One made of precious hard gold, heaven’s brew,

One that is, though often told, hard to get,

Melody many times fold, life and death,

Harmony at the threshold, one more breath,

Oh giving strength to those bold and those not,

They, who break out of the mold or are wrought,

A tune that has long been rolled, mouth to ear,

A tune all witness unfold, there to here.

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Bit by bit

Posted on by under Poetry

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One step, two steps, ten steps,

A hundred and then a thousand steps,

One mile, two miles, ten miles,

And then a hundred thousand miles,

Bit by bit, little by little

No matter how fragile, how brittle,

Build up your dreams and your future,

Choose your path and carefully nurture…

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Im my box

Posted on by under Poetry

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Yes my dear! Now please pull that lever over there,

Turn the faucet, flip the switch and punch in the time,

Switch on the light and close the door, oh but beware!

Do not touch the breaks, I love hearing that sweet chime…

I’ve seen many a thing, met many a being,

So tell me now my dear, and don’t hold on your breath,

Anywhere, anytime: of what are you dreaming?

Come, let’s run together, through time, space, even death!

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Night cargo

Posted on by under Poetry

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I’ve got this machine in my head,

Thudding tempest of my dread

I can’t stop it, I cannot flee,

It runs continuously,

Leitmotiv behind the curtain

Going round and round again,

Suppressing every other sound

In the darkness all around,

White noise amplified by the chug,

Rocking sea turns into drug,

I’m going mad, I want to scream,

Sanity goes up in steam…

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A girl has no name

Posted on by under Poetry

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There is a girl living in my dream,

But sadly I do not know her name,

She lives in the forest, by the stream,

Far from humanity, far from fame;

Sometimes goes out to the wild to hunt

The nightmares, dark, twisted and lurking,

Chasing them away, turning them blunt,

In hope of one day saving her king.

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I need

Posted on by under Poetry

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I want it all,

I want it now,

I’ve no patience,

Not big, nor small,

I swear avow.

My existence

Needs a rhythm,

A set of rules

To make me move,

Algorithm,

Advice from fools

Just won’t behoove…

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Hi hungry, I’m dad.

Posted on by under Poetry

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When is a door not a door?

Simple, when it is ajar…

While you may cringe to your core,

As this pun leaves a deep scar,

Can you feel the slight chuckles

That rise deep inside your chest,

And before your mind buckles,

Now aware that you detest

This joke and not just a bit,

Take a second to look back

Upon your life, quick flashback,

And you might have to admit,

Despite great fear and pretence,

Despite your views and your stance

On this matter which seems mad,

You have now become a dad!

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