They surveyed my every mood
They established surveillance
Harshly punished defiance
Had me locked up, well, for good

They forged ideas in my mind
Had me believe I was blind
Shaped me into a pariah
Repeated they were the Messiah

Repeated for hours on end
A virus had plagued the cell
To this litany without end
No one was safe, they could tell

Words echoed into my room
We were either set for doom
Or grateful to be rescued
By their remedy, they cooed

My every step was measured
Some rebelled, they were injured
One mile is all we had left
To run and not go bereft

While the media explained
The pandemic knew no end
They monitored our thinking
A ceaseless, clueless talking

If you believed me to be
Some prisoner in a facility
Well, I am very sorry
I am just, like you and me,

A human being in 2020...

11:23-11:40 pm
Nancy

Enter your collective and inner consciousness
Seek, deep inside, the energies within.
Take a deep breath and expect this rebirth
That this new era is slowly paving in
Be a part of this revolution. Breathe in.

Pénètre ta conscience collective et unique
Cherche, au plus profond, les énergies cachées
Respire profondément et espère cette renaissance
Que cette période est en train de mettre en place doucement
Fais partie de cette révolution. Respire.

Your body is light as a feather
Floating on a silver river
A delicate cherry-blossom petal
Trusting the wind to propel it forward
To the edges of eternity, for this voyage

Ton corps est aussi léger qu’une plume
Flottant sur une rivière argentée
Telle une délicate fleur de cerisier
Qui fait confiance au vent pour la mener à bon port
Aux confins de l’espace-temps, pour ce voyage.


Birds of a rare rainbow plumage hum a prayer
A song of gratitude and joy
Your eyes marvel at the sight
Of this inner zen garden, made home

Des oiseaux dotés d’un rare plumage arc-en-ciel
Murmurent une prière
Un chant de gratitude et de joie
Tes yeux s’émerveillent à la vue
De ce jardin zen intérieur, fait tien.

Emerald-hued bamboos form a cathedral
Of protection and wisdom that you pass
Cradled by the fresh stream on which you rest
Light, free, you continue your journey deeper

Des bambous de la teinte d’une émeraude forment une cathédrale
De protection et de sagesse que tu découvres maintenant
Bercé par le frais courant sur lequel tu te trouves
Libre et léger, tu continues ton voyage profondément

And deeper, moved back and forth by nature
A vivid orange koi carp salutes you, undulating
You feel her breath create air bubbles underneath you
And from within, you become a calming mantra

Au plus profond, te mouvant par la nature
Une carpe koï aux vives écailles orange te salue, ondulant
Tu sens son souffle qui crée des bulles d’air en-dessous de toi
Et, de l’intérieur, tu deviens un mantra apaisant

Resonating throughout this luxuriant garden
Alone and well, encountering your own self
Meditating in a pure, regenerative slumber
Stay there, don’t come back up into the world

Qui résonne à travers ce jardin luxuriant
Tu y es seul(e) et tu y es bien, rencontrant ton être propre
En méditation, dans un sommeil pur et réparateur
Restes-y, ne remonte pas dans le monde

For a few more instants of silence and unity
With nature and everything that vibrates within
You are carried to a waterfall of turquoise waters
Become part of this whole, color your own soul

Pour quelques instants de plus de silence et d’unité
Avec la nature et tout ce qui vibre en dedans
Tu es porté(e) jusqu’à une cascade aux eaux limpides
Deviens une partie de ce tout, colore ta propre âme

Vibrate an echo that is yours only. Let it resonate
As you come back up refreshed. Throughout the Earth
Be a channel of joy and happiness for the planet
And close your eyes, go back, to this enchanted place.

Vibre un écho qui te définit. Laisse-le résonner.
Alors que tu remontes, rassasié. Autour de toute la Terre
Sois ce canal de joie et de bonheur pour la planète entière
Et ferme les yeux, retourne, vers cet endroit enchanté.

Nancy, April 15, 2020. 12 :45 pm. 15 Avril 2020, 12h 45.

Abort mission, reboot, we’ve lost control
Where are the procedures, refresh the protocol!
It seems like this civilization has been deemed unstable
Question is, are we really competent and able
To protect our planet and all that we hold dear
No, we ain’t, unless, under duress, we fear.

This coronavirus was like a bull in a china shop
We were concerned about constantly being over the top
Performance, marketing, scales, and stakeholders
It seems we need to revise the strategy, dear readers.

So what now? Are we going to slow down and ponder?
On what we have to give up and offer to manage humanity
Or keep on being obtuse, dollar-oriented and benighted?
Decide to see inside ourselves and stand united?

‘Cause, guess what? When life as we know it will end
It isn’t the green note that you desperately clutch in your hand
That will save you from illnesses, grief, and sadness
Thus: We have to seek the pursuit of happiness
Which will always prevail, keep on smiling to the new day
All this frenzy will appease itself and soon be at bay…

Nancy, March, 30, 2020. Written from 12:03pm to 12:40pm

2 hours of therapy
1 language spoken
$80 colorless shirt
3 women ditched
1 child left behind
40K a car
7 feet a boat
200 m.sq mansion
11 countries known
400 books read
2,000 lines of code
50 meals tasted
1,000 promises
143 ifs and whats
0 honest job
1 private plane
500+ LinkedIn contacts
6 real friends
0 lover
0 liver
2 pounds of coke

And you equal?

Jan 26, 2020
Written between 12:22 am and 12:36 am.
Nancy

2 hours of therapy
1 language spoken
$80 colorless shirt
3 women ditched
1 child left behind
40K a car
7 feet a boat
200 m.sq mansion
11 countries known
400 books read
2,000 lines of code
50 meals tasted
1,000 promises
143 ifs and whats
0 honest job
1 private plane
500+ LinkedIn contacts
6 real friends
0 lover
0 liver
2 pounds of coke

And you equal?

Jan 26, 2020
Written between 12:22 am and 12:36 am.
Nancy

Ocean: When you are legendary

Utopia of lost Atlantis
Sunken city asleep
Under pillars of larimars
Plato’s wisdom once bestowed
Untold magic and sacred stones

A surge of madness, whips of rain
Battling down the hull of a boat
From beneath the profound chaos
The Kraken, furious, emerges
The ship is wrecked, turned into dust!

Ocean: When you are awe-ful

A breeze flows, ***** sea gloats!
What a beautiful mess- debris floats
With a quest for vengeance
Opposing swells are relentless
Casting spells on the defenseless

The ocean is endless, it's stupendous
Guarded by deep clouds - tremendous
Dreams drown staring at these clouds
Feels proud, someone from the deep down
A half-asleep Kraken screams loud

Ocean: When you are ritualistic

Fresh and salty energetic waves
Diving the dreamer into a megalopolis
Of scaled goddesses performing a ballet
Invited to a very cruel and festive banquet
Colorful, an aquatic aurora borealis of blood

In which the mythical mermaid sings
Skimming her *******, a pendant of aquamarine
She is Pacific, lustrous and libertine
Her voice enchanting the remotest sea-temple
On the surface, the waters suddenly turned red

Ocean: When you are watery hell

On the horizon, the wide blue yonder scribbled
A storm surge, the dreamer lost urge
Hope purged and dwindled, waves got stained
Silently an atrocious maelstrom wiggled
There the sea-temple stood naked and belittled

Resonating to the sound of an unheard curse
From the inside of the mermaid's purse
An enigma, a blank verse - unfathomable
Making the deep not amicable yet diverse
The ocean is inhabitable still, unnavigable

Written between December 17, 2019 and January 17, 2020
Cc Jordan Rains and cc Appoline Romanens

A whiff of perfume
Floating in the air
The sun reflected on your hair
An aura of untold fortune
I see right through you
The veil has been pierced
The path, long, lonely and fierce
Behind: The law of attraction
Beyond us, something set in motion
Holier than time or love or sense
I met your eye to your heart and hence
Mine you are for our stars align
A silent contract our kindred souls sign
No land can't stand to tear us apart
You have something of me and I a part
Of you. No matter the distance someday
You were you are you will, ours today

Nancy, November 26, 2019, 10:57 pm

The Lemur is enthroned on the heights of an island
In a luxurious villa, complete with a sauna and a pool
The Dormouse holds, modestly, a small pharmacy
Where people can buy necklaces, gemstones and pretty threads.

Every Monday morning the lemur fixes
His hair with a delicate ivory comb
Asks about the stock market in overflow
Swallowing a pure white powder in a row

His orange eyes threaten to explode
So he sits down, eats lobster and sated,
He doesn’t have a care in the world as descends the evening
His paw resting on a black jade cane stolen from the dormouse

Monday morning, the lemur, operational
Goes fast, pick and pickaxe at the mine
Extracting, sweaty, some beautiful spinel specimens
Hoping that one day at the Lemurian’s he would dine

For a trifle, the latter bought him
His most beautiful crystals and this without paying taxes
He became the leader of the island thanks to his kinsmen
The exotic animals knew something was wrong…

His only friends were the rich and the bohos
Under the yoke of this monkey, the island was a hellhole
Their chef was addicted to coconut powder
Whoever dared to say it was put in irons

When finally, an evening he overdosed
Nobody buried him among his friends
The Dormouse humbly undertook to do so
At the hole where he dug, he found a stone

The moral of the fable, listen to it then,
Who shows compassion exists with reason
Do not judge too fast, because we're leaving too early
Nature often rewards us in her own way.

September 11, 2019
Nancy, translated on November 17, 2019

Besieging the circle of an above-ground fort for its light
The cold, sharp wave storms the lighthouse
Robust turret of stones in the middle of nowhere
Off La Rochelle or Le Finistère

And she, agitated, is indeed seavage!

Quietly approaching the canoe on sand
Hope of coconuts, hammocks in palm trees
This tropical land would come from a fable
Mix of lava and water, the Piton has risen!

And she, struck, flies in white vapors!

Reducing the life of country smugglers
She is often tombs of ill-fated Ulysses
How far away she seems, then, the boot of Italy,
For those who have left everything, dreaming of being born there!

And this crossing does not offer a visa!

Stifling pitifully under floating *******
The gray sea without corals is emptied of its life
Only the abyssal fish do not see how
On the surface, belugas find the time long!

And she, once a sanctuary, became compost!

Inspiring, from the foam, the writings of the poet,
Sea, Ocean Blue, Aegean and beautiful Seychelles,
Because without it, our life would have been so thin
In our inner worlds, its flow always calls back!

And she, stained, becomes crystalline again!

See in these painting our vital element
Exhausted, neglected by our great laziness
For it to be paradise and not only distress
Let's save the coastline, fragile like an opal!

Translated on November 2019
Nancy

Fall train rolling through the landscape
While people dig the ground for gold
And weapons to poorest countries are sold
Ice water becoming scarce on Earth
We shroud pollution from our eyes to escape
The truth that nature is running out
We diligently put flowers and green in our hearths
To surround ourselves with virtual images of life
Hiding the truth that humans are running out

Yet money is made out of tree paper
And CPUS run thanks to extracted crystals
And sure Google has a plan if all else fails
Gas is waging wars but soon it'll be for water
If we go extinct nature will always prevail
There will always be higher oceans to sail
Grass with grow and outreach skyscrapers
Will your children ever see polar bears?

A pine tree of 42 years of age was cut down
What if your mother was exhibited 'fore town hall
To be decorated with garlands, lights and all?
Then ditched, naked without her verdoyant foliage
Once healthy, now dusty at 42 years of age?

If our universe was reduced to 14 seconds human time
We'd only represent 1 second, yet the hourglass
Is about empty, we don't have hearts of glass
Eternal we aren't, unlike a diamond or a lime
We are expected to not just make an impact
But save, recycle, protect, nurture and act!

Not anything too complicated
What a parent would do for their child
Humanity, now has come the time to be lucid
Otherwise, at the end, all that's left will be decrepitated!

November 9, 2019
Train to Lyon

Rainy day of August
Body soaked in water
Blood spilled on the globe
Newspaper, bold typewriter
Announcement: We all trust
Our firms going down the *****
Conscious failures activated
We are up and running
Alarms and seers devaluated
The clock, tick tock, is turning

Oblivious with our existence
We collect data to combat the sentence
"Climate change is an orchestrated plot"
Our oceans swell with our pollution
Take a drag citizen, ‘tis the finest ***
"Global warming for sure is an illusion"
Get down, gulp down the pill of nothingness
Fertile ***** matter, for a ravenous press
Rise with me poets, let’s stand before the storm
This is also with words that awareness we form!

What’s your imprint upon this land
Things do not end as you become sand
This Earth sure will survive grass above our mass
Stones will crumble yet nature will not pass.  

Nancy, August 17, 2019

Some prose poems patched in his hands
Suddenly then, ecstasy or hypnosis faces him!
As he was reading, bathing in scents of cedar
She stands before him, disrobed, Phaedra-like and solemn!

He mouthed those lines while blossomed within him
A garden of secrets, rustling beeches
The mused muse came to visit him when
Every morning he read on, gold upon her head

He never put the velvety book down
The air heavy with laughter, desires, and rhymes
The Western wind gently rocked them as they held
Each other…Yet as the last poem echoed, she adamantly fled!

Translated on April 17, 2019
Nancy, France

I thrive to travel
to unravel
a hidden gem,
a curled-up stem,
a somber flower,
Only I can pluck.
her pungent smell,
oceanic swell,
arises in the night,
Half-darkened, half alight.

It has blossomed with pain
turned sky-rain into blue
radiating of survival
And it is not purely evil:
glowing with a queer hue.

‘Tis I this flower I describe
To a Leo born to be bride
Sighing star of a scorpion
Faithful to love for an aeon.

December 26, 2018
Train to Nancy

It’s joy crumbling down
Smelling
the faintest air of anger
Tumbling
tumbling down into molten
lava, melting, melted down
small ash, turned burning fire
Desperately stunned, joy is stolen.

A snake shushing the silence
facing this combat with but resilience
The sun is scratched stuck to the sky
it rains often, rivers of black tears to cry

She says she’s anxious
He deems her obnoxious
She wants to expurgate
this ill feeling, feeling of hate
She’s born with. A heavy burden
that’s hard to tame, tear or soften.

Humanity
isn't defined
by immunity
I have secrets left behind.

November 18, 2018
Written between 10:44 pm and 11:07 pm.
Lyon

To him, the city is a bustling empire
Of which, at night, she becomes the umpire
Rather than believing she acted out on her dreams
His heart on his sleeve, concealed in fine blue seams.

She knocked on her door. He appears in the frame
His scent intoxicating, she greets him politely
In his tight embrace, she is no longer the same
Stepping into a world where he is hers truly.

She seeks his eyes, he claims her mouth
Above them dangles a lantern and a moth
That can’t take its eyes off them yet struggles
In its bulky body, that their laughter can’t muffle.

Trapped in their desire they undergo the wave
Spindrifts of two bright souls that love attempts to save
The moth can’t take the heat of their burning hearths
Language traces the unfathomable story of their hearts.

Through speech and touch they exchange many an innuendo
They shape the shadows of the city with a fingertip
Sisyphus is the idol they both seem to worship
When they part, for they must, they mutter: “A presto!”


ENSSIB, Lyon
October 5, 2018
For M and A

Soiled vital waters
fetid air, putrid eyes
enshrouded in their mess
pray your savior at mass.
Parched throats of children
skyscrapers of greed to worsen
Apocalyptic weathers.

Laughable leaders
******* you whole
you nodded to their role!
A nation forming fighters
Renegades! Ink traded for
a green and gregarious grenade
and in theaters, more horror and gore.

Curl up in bed with your ***** fingers
Ignore the insisting despair that lingers
Unattainable towers of desire
Sketching lines in your petty quire
Shout out to your flag carried by jocks
Olympic games of hardened idiots
Humans on paper, hideous grey flocks.

Sectarian society silenced by dollar signs
stupidly suffering the absurdity of this all
Lather your body in perfumes to find you whole
wash away the stench of your indifference
Gulping down whatever nectar of horrendous hope
Willingly treading down a meaningless lethal *****
Even our dying Earth won’t bend your deterrence!

August 29, 2018
Lyon

This poem was written to describe/honor a boat-shaped wooden sculpture on which a town was built.

Here’s humanity chucked on that tub
Figure the fuss in the ship’s hold
Roaming ‘round the deck, helm is hell for holding
How come that outland ship ain’t capsizing?

They ****** up their toll of ****** *****
Thrown out, left behind, they’re coping with that schism
Roving ‘round Ocean blue between two small isthmus
Grinning like they used to ain’t gonna be easy fun.

Here’s humanity beating it to starboard
If they had behaved themselves, possibly
God  almighty wouldn’t have batted an eye
Zealous lots in exile on that ****** city-boat

They built up  walls ‘gainst their bitter heartbreaks
Alleys, their homes and even small gardens
On a boat! Oh my, isn’t that tub gonna sink?
The wind-facing prow is a freakin’ chimera!

Such a craft is like a merry-go-round
You feelin’ sea-sick ? Looks like a hiccup!
It’s not rocket science, maybe a bit pitchin’
Here’s these talented convicts’ last resort!

Translated from the original version in French, July 19, 2018, Oullins. Appoline

We're old friends, already
Whirled up in the wheel of time
A pacing symphony  
Passing through the telephone  

For hours on end.  
We do not deter from this trend  
Rhythm and rhymes, reunions and recusancy  
Always together, and on the same frequency

In a second we crisscross the ocean  
Building up our literary scene    
Our secret and permitted panacean  
Ointment, we've never once foreseen

That we're old friends, already  
Your wise heroes advisers of my own  
We share so much tenderness  
With which we could clothe dawn.

Written to  John Maloney,  
July 5, 2018  
Lyon, France

A cluster of clothes clamped to my skin
Shreds of country flags floating in the wind
Harrowed by the heavy hollow heresy
Of humanity, scattered bribes of poesy.

But when you speak, my secluded soul
Sees the watercolor rainbow formed by four nations
Euskal Herria, France, Spain and America
You hold in your accents my tenderest childhood.

And when poets ink their nationalities
Through the diaphanous paper, light
With the burdening joy of their fatalities
I follow the trail of their voyage burning bright

Where you barred it all on the page
Shadows of lashes on your literary back
Raw and pure, rare and *****
The essences of you, self-permeating.

Aurora, your rose-kissed fingers
Skimmed your book, the imprint lingers
Surrounded by your poignant power
My quill joins your flow, serene seer.

Inspired by Aurora Vélez García
Lyon, July 5, 2018
Appoline Romanens

It’s eleven, curfew’s enforced
Please wrap up your line
You were typing away
The lampposts went silent
It made you look up
Cling, and now a starless sky.

Urban decoy of human decay
The light has a syllable of its own
Voltaged language of *******
The city hovers over your hours.

A hedgehog silently treads
Runs past me, active and still
Before my satisfied quill
It made me look up.
Insects on my screen
Were nocturnal verses
Makers of my moonlit poem.

Chalon sur Saône
June 27, 2018

You sink into the fresh cotton ocean
fragranced by the oriental softener
I want you to reach into your inner
most abyss, while I pick my lotion.

We are alone my love, tonight
I owe you with my hands, give up the fight
Trust me, while I weave a warm thread of
tenderness on you, with me, you tread.

My fingers cascade and snake along your spine
I dedicate this moment to you. My message
is carved into you during this slow massage
To me, you are truly defenseless, thus divine

Imperceptibly, I skim your skin,
your breath, I appease
my angel, dream with ease
fallen asleep at my shin.

April 9, 2018
To Laurentin

A dark line snakes along the shoreline
Vanishing into a towering temple
Home to the finest Michelin cuisine
The ravenous crowd awaits, raven-clad, fangs out.

Chef Yukinosuke’s obnoxiously fragranced guests
Survived his expertly orchestrated dinner with death
They devoured his fugu main course, without remorse
******* with a familiar demon, gatekeeper to hell

Muffled screams can be heard behind the rice paper curtain
A clamor of voices arises, one can hardly maintain
The merciless knives wielders, red lips kissing bone
Eternally insatiable of sins they can’t atone

For. Yukinosuke adjusts the nori bond
Of this new victim, his room will be fond
One poised drop of noir caviar in her navel
Her scaled-tail undulates, tale-tell

Signs of her struggles before slaughter.
Queen of the seven oceans served with a side
Of whipped up seaweed cream from the tide
Her breast perspiring under a life-like lotus flower.



Before her, watering mouths stare in disbelief
***** men eye her perfectly tamed skin
A woman sadistically touches her finger to her shin
Yukinosuke’s knife glistens, still free from grief.

Marred mermaid munched at midnight
Lusterless tuffs of salt-streaked hair
Vanished into thin air.
A trampled on silky red ribbon in lieu of a gag
Remains. Her turquoise scales to be made into a bag.

April 8, 2018

Black inked signs constellate the book
An alien seizes the pages with its code
It’s humming a tune in js node
Transcribing the object with bits it took.

Computing rows of digits to see
On its cover an apple tree
Lit up on the smooth pad you hold
For this ebook, you have just sold.

April 6, 2018
Lyon

The needle inched closer
To his palpitating pain
In a sigh, in vein
It was stabbed deeper.

The rush of thrill
Shushed him still.
His nerves numbed
He kicked, in vain.

His demise followed suit
In a stainless jumpsuit.

April 06, 2018

Don’t stop writing
Till you’ve blushed
Enough to say it’s good
Till you’ve bled enough
To feel it’s said
Till you’re despised
For what you stand for.

Still your breath
Pace your rhythm
Feel your core
Patient.
Embedded in the ground
Ocean wave passing
Spindrift
Swell at your soul
Serene
Soothed.

The portrait is dusty, behind our bookshelf
Inked on a thick beige sheet of paper
We’re shades of black, quivering bodies
Our eyes evasive, no mirror of the self
Sitting through this ordeal to see a stranger
For her quill we cuddled, we were at ease.

Poetry, like art, is deceiving sometimes
I wrote you a sonnet and it was gibberish
You saw the craft, the ink, the form
But behind the words, what of the storm?
It was an attempt, you found it impish
A music piece of which you heard the rhymes.

April  5, 2018

April 1 prompt a day Secret poem



Was the bookworm introvert type at school
Became a language nerd Basque Latin Greek German
Never, in the flesh, loved a woman
A friend passed away and with him our first caress
Will always be refreshed by the ocean’s recess  
A newborn baby battle incubator but before dad a fool.

Get drunk while traveling on the beauty of miles
But never once got plastered in a bar
Consigned all my secrets to various files
With words my passport, I walked alone and far
Left a piece of my smile on Californian soil
I follow the track of friends squirrels, my foil.

Long lost sea poet always hoping new sun
Never depressed or repressed yet not blessed
Clearly narcissistic but fight to survive, run
Helping people on my way but they know best
Learned to stand the pain, turned it into power
A scorpion at heart, yet afraid of fire.

If she wasn’t hooked on honey
she would fall down on my page
I rescued a blue-winged bee sage
I hope she’ll enjoy her stay
in my human home
She strains her abdomen
I pray it’s not a bad omen
her Hermes powers at rest
Did she leave her nest in earnest
I found her on lonely gray stairs
I pray she heals from her despairs
as the carpenter bee sleeps dangled
To my honey lathered chopsticks
I admire her frail black body
I gently blow on her she’s inside
my heart. I felt hers when she
Gripped my thumb.

March 13, 2018
Lyon

A take on violence

The exiling waves of life
Battered a Syrian child
Swept ashore. We scrolled.
We shrugged this violence.

Eyes glued to a simulacrum of love
Expecting the controlled dominance
Of a filthy rich fictional character
We said: “It’s vanilla.”

Violence as an idea is sweetened
You gulp down the pill
But violence as a means is condemned
You still gulp down the pill.

March 6, 2018
Lyon 1 University

(HER:)

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
Unwanted scenes, a mental ****
You can’t deny nor really escape
An incoherent theater plays out
The nighttime chronological film
Your memory drills the decor
Into your emerging, lethargic brain
You strive to piece it together
It makes sense, you want an encore

My web of dreams is wrought with
People in deeply masochistic scenes
Boudoirs and antique settings
I delve in these repeated lunar sins
Inspired by or tormented in a moon fire
Some hazy mornings I remember that my empire
Comes from those profoundly symbolic rooms
Child of the cross, blessed in a white cloth…
Now naked and proud, embedded in… who?
Silky velvet eyes, dark corners and dooms…

Or, like a prophet, dreaming about my family’s priest
Last night a call that hurt so much that was so clear that was
Unreal. A letter of blessings he wrote by hand
Tools on a table, gifted, in the shape of a small casket
In this horror I besought my heart to have erred
A premonition, coming from so vivid a past emotion?
What are your dreams made of?

(HIM:)

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
An uninvited guest, a dying ember.
Dreams like false memories are hazy
Fading away hastily- vaguely
Still remember a few things namely
A hedgehog hissing and running around
something similar to a floating clover coin
I'm staring at a red colored behemothic door
There's a note scotch taped on that door
It gives me feelings of a signboard.

Blurry visions; I made the decision
to head for it but wait!
The hedgehog is still running around
It looks at me and starts screaming
Strangely the room is teeming
with darkness; Am I dreaming?
I think I am but I'm heaving
Believing whatever I'm seeing
Fleeting valor but I keep reeling
I'm getting closer to The Brobdingnagian
But where's that gnawer? I'm not seeing
him anymore; It was here before

I'm standing in front of the door.
Floor squeaks but I ignore
This blackness is stevedore
Bugbears came back for an encore
Hefty tidal bores inside my heart
Ready to wipe out everything I have
I look around, I see coal-black
No door knobs, no thoughts gob
I'm trapped in this **** room
My head throbs, I'm no Dom Cobb
Need to escape from this maze
I play a bit part in this Big Sleep
I'm not Bogart but a trash heap
Fear streaks, grey doubts peep
I know I'm dreaming but I still keep
seeing what I don't wanna see
I'm more dormant than The Mauna Kea
Trapped in this room like a bumblebee
My mind's worse than a potpourri

I was looking inside for a skeleton key
Then I opened my eyes suddenly
Why is it always like a movie without an apogee?
I looked around to find somebody
And I saw you in the mirror
Staring at me blatantly
So I'm asking you- Hey, tell me!

What are your dreams made of?
Waking up with distant eyes

Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, I remember
the way she smiled; Once again I saw her
Last time I saw her was on 22nd of December
Now that she came once again
I am not afraid of the hurricane
that hit the coast; I was lost
She found me- Long story cut short.
Storm clouds all over the skies
Thunderstorms loud; Heavy lightning strikes
My life was completely disarrayed
But now she's by my side; I'm not scared
Her beautiful smile- all things it repaired

We were talking, Don't remember what
Like old times, a very long chat
I remember saying yes to a few things she said
She smiled, happiness spread
all over my body, no discomfort I felt
All worries eased, all fears calmed
She helped me like she used to help
I don't want this day to end
Just wanna stay here for the rest of my life
I looked around, I'm somewhere else now
Wow! It's beautiful; I'm looking at a painting now
Where is she? She's not with me
I don't see her anywhere near.
I looked around; This place is overcrowded.
Unknown faces; Sadness shrouded
All the memories we made clouded
my path; I don't see a thing
I always loved her
Then why does she leave me halfway everytime?
No matter how much time I spend dreaming
Happing ending will always be an unfulfilled dream
Of mine; I'm screaming
Then I opened my eyes suddenly
Why is it always like a movie without an apogee?
I looked around to find somebody
And I saw you in the mirror
Staring at me blatantly
So I'm asking you again- Hey, tell me!

What are your dreams made of?



(HER:)

“An apo-gee”
Distance away-from earth
An apogee is a dream
It’s an acme, a ******
We dream of having dreams. We lie awake, we dream
We fall asleep, we dream. We think of dreams, we dream
In this so irregular laden-meaning scene that stream
Is new matter at night. Leading us through the deepest
Crevices. We recall a hazy landscape...

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, we remember
The nano seconds of our journey
Like photographs trapped in a camera
We lie down in bed, in our camera
Which is, my dear, the latin word for room
We are a canvas, we are the mechanism
Behind the machinery of dreams
Our brain sorts through the day, sending messages
Hermes in a tiny globulous sphere.

But you asked me to describe the machinery of that matter
In my dreams, I am sometimes seer, sometimes victim
Sometimes goddess. Females are seldom present
Men, men, men, it’s a men’s world
They’re not like horses, a mere form of their symbol
They’re made of skin and bones, their voices bewitching
In no fantasy realm. A concrete cell or a palace
A de Sade manor but… then… always in a room
I must be making use of some mise en abyme.

An abyss, an apogee
Away from earth at the
Bottom of the sea

This woman you speak of
She must be ghost yet queen
I have not seen nor heard
The flutter of her dress
Maybe in your carnal caress
She walked away
WIth a demeanor so noble
That left you longing for her kiss
This bliss of love! this… miss
I mean, dismiss.

(HIM:)

And I woke up listening to this
This soul kiss that I too much miss
Is a call to fall up, deep.
Close my eyes; Time to fall asleep
In a slit trench counting sheeps
Keeping up my defense
Against the fin-de-siecle pretence
Because everything in here pretends
to be real when they are really surreal
Some dreams are meant to make us
feel that way
They won't let our problems wake us
So they can take us away
From the Groundhog Day, we live every day

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
The taste of that hot meal I had
I can trace it back though I go from
one dream to another like a nomad

A world so beautiful yet everything seems offbeat
The places you visit, the people you meet
Things you did when you were in the hot seat
And things you didn't 'cause you got cold feet
Sometimes in bits & parts, you remember
The long run behind the paper chase
Hard to remember, easy to forget
Images in our head sometimes deface
the imagery of this imaginary coquette
Dreams- what role does she play in our life?
Look through the lorgnette you are holding
You'll know she's the one controlling you
When you search for yourself in her world
Always incomplete, leaving an invisible mark
Inside your mind, onerous to find
Makin' you blind during the night
When you open your eyes & try to rewind
That old broken disc inside your mind
Nothing you'll find cause there's nothing inside
‘Cause that dream just died.

Waking up with distant eyes
Body numbed in its dreamscape
Still, forced to extract, remember
I wish I don't remember this nightmare
A nightmare is a night's mare
Don't know whose footprints I'm seeing here
Inside I'm hollow, about to be swallowed
by sorrow as my faith in myself is so low
Not so clear still I gotta follow
the trail all by myself, I'm going solo
In my backpack, I carry blessing from Apollo
Make use of your snowshoes, hare!
Going somewhere but I'm not aware
That I'm in the open air, completely bare
Ears impaired but I hear a fanfare
All I see is darkness when I stare
at the road ahead to find out who's there
The Oracle is somewhere near
Waiting to rescue you from this despair
And make this matrix a magic square
You will hear what you wanna hear
If you keep moving forward, dear!

Untamed wilderness and an open sky
The Mighty Huntress is nearby
The Spirit of the Wolf will never die
Smell of fresh blood, ravens fly
Beautifying the color of the night sky.
Don't know why I was chosen as the prey
I don't know what's in for me
If I keep walking through this way.
Then long streams of illusions
Flew in from all directions
I cannot reverse the flow
It's like those silent rivers
Heading furiously towards the sea
Why do I see things that I see?
Gotta keep moving; Do you understand me?
'Cause time moves fast but very slow here
Sound of clock ticks I don't hear
Home's far away- a million light years
from the earth but still near
Suddenly a black hole appears
In front of me out of nowhere
I'm going down through this abyss
I'm not afraid 'cause I know where
I'm going; The Light is showing
me the bottom of the sea.
Almost there, I can see it clearly
I know this is where I have to be
So I closed my eyes slowly
As I reached The Apogee.
----
December through January 2018

Poetry workshop experiment

Gathering a crowd of pen-holders
Using colored inks, sheets of papers
Asking them to write a few words
Guided by a quickly- scribbled prompt
Asking them to make poetry upfront
With a dose of courage and imagination
Asking them to write a few random words
Telling them that they’re making a poem.

Finding an impromptu rhythm in two lines
Trying to grasp that pattern and persistently
Improvise to capture that flow that uncertainly
Found itself thought out and written on the page
Percolating the images behind the associations
Entering the subconscious minds of the pen-holders
Telling them that they have become writers.

Not on a whim, not just for me, but because
They were not given the consequence or cause
Of their talent but simply, certainly
The reassurance needed to write poetry
Without getting drowned in rhythm, devices and sound
Of what they have created they are undoubtedly found

Pen-holder if you are,
Take patience and courage
To write on your white page
You will discover a writer
If you persist and resist
Daring to trust the rush, the lust
To write, pen-holder, you must
Be aware of the unknown
Flow of words that can be sown

November 22, 2017
Lyon

Drops of gold
In the stream
Silver sold
To my dream

Drops of blood
In the flood
In motion
Emotion.

Grey temple
Fine apple
Delusion
Illusion

Pure bubbles
Six shuttles
To the door
Of my moor

Raw and rare
Disrobed to
The white air
And for you.

As the rhyme
Plays with time
Pushed aside
Kept inside

Vanishes
Turned into
A taboo
For the night.

I lay there
By the pool
Whilst my sphere
Is spooling

Speeding up
Round and round
Filling up
The pale pond.

As I freeze
The soft breeze
Of the thought
I have fought!

August 1, 2014

My love, my words tonight are weak yet ablaze
My emotions are trapped and lost in a maze
But my heart beats recalling yours, and I am fainting under your grace
This space between your tender arms is by far my favorite place

Do you know how your kisses are fresh and new-born roses?
Touched by the drizzle in a February dawn
Do you know how your voice sounds as though a lyre rises
Do you know how your hair is sparkling to reflect a lovely fawn?

My love, I have sunk my soul in the swell of your sight
And your hands wrapped tightly around my waist is such a delight
That cuddled so close to you, this poetry becomes breathtaking
And my heart releases for you this passionate flow, gushing.

Angel, over the hills and far away I wish you could return to me
Allow me to hearten and heal you with my melody
Oh, on your stars are engraved this memory of us, fascinating canopy
My love, each time I am staring at the obsidian sky you are shining endlessly ...


June 2012

Looking for Snoopy

Rollin’ on that rhythmic rollercoaster
My knuckles dead white, I can’t
Lose it on this lightspeed slant
Of fire, feeling those flashes
As the thunder thrill goes faster

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna scream, got some
Dignity under this blue dome
Are you shakin, it’s bootin’
You ain’t got time for tremblin’

I’m targetin’ the sparklin’
Sky full of that shinny gold
So I can start believin’
I’ll reach someone I hold
Dear in my throbbing heart

Are you diggin’ what I’m sayin?
I ain’t gonna tremble until I touch
The silvery stars to rush
My present to your present
In the myriad of the moment
A doggie you’re still drawin’

Turns out I found this fellow
Surviving on this swayin’
Spinning track trippin’
I put him in papers that glow
To your doorstep delivered
Hope you’ll enjoy, recovered

That merry memory
Packed with awesomeness
Allow some silliness
From California and me
Happy birthday Mommy
With love and pink cherry

February 15, 2015

On a chilling winter night
The quill slips and icy, has to fight
I wrap my frozen heart around a shawl
And frost traps my ink which freezes too.

However, inside, my body burns with desire
Making me tremble like red hot magmatic fire
But this poor quill, alas
Numbed in this weather is exhausted already!

The flame of my candle flickers and weakens
Inspiration shows a passing fancy and she wants to be desired
I’m going to break free from this heavy inertia
But how? Everything is still and tired!

Oh cruel globe! Why is my soul so mute?
She was able to drench me in its natural artistic flood
I can’t believe in her sudden inactivity
What’s going on, I’m going numb in my blood!

Oh you my muse, spread your silky artistic veil
Over my being beseeching you to save it
Oh you, my well of inspiration and mystical words
I implore you, listen and come to my bedside, hail!

But why is everyone, Heavens, deaf to my call?
Just who is willing to hear my plea of despair and silence
No one can revive this depressing poetry and her fate
Loneliness, to the four winds I’m going to dislocate!

In a certain hour of a chilling winter night
I’ve let my writing expire at my workbench
Farewell then, poetry, fie!
In my night I fade away and nothing muffles my plight!

But with this new dawn, don’t you cry my muse
I’ll write  with you,  I’ll be in your care
And we’ll content ourselves with sweetness, laughter and schemes
I’ll once again respond to your vital needs

However, aura of happiness and joy
I simply won’t do it tonight, but finally,
Don’t fret and rest in my dreams, hopefully
Tomorrow I’ll worship you, unconditionally!

Written on August 26, 2010,
Translated on November, 13, 2017

https://squirrels2poet2queen.deviantart.com/art/C-section-714557319

UNPUBLISHED

I’m sick of crying ‘fore a scene
In a delivery room
When the father who was obscene
Realizes his ***** went through

It came and dried and released it
A child into the world it perforated
My mother’s belly. A decision an incision
Paternity eternity morality depravity

The ****** broke like Mom’s waters
Soft you once asked me if I had ever seen
A man’s walking *****, Solanas is less obscene
Everything I’ve never told you is burning

Dad from 0 to 17
Bitter is the thought of your existence
Linked with a silver ink I excruciatingly link
My despair to my abhorrence
From scene to obscene I remain your sin

Your daughter I am, the third of your children
You let them fade slowly, we fend and defend
Our roots we deny you, we cry for you
******* pulsating **** you ain’t my end

Nov, 11, 2017
Lyon

A faint scent, that of a

wetted perfume, arises from the

body that’s writing there

in a white enameled bathtub

a body shuffled by the sub

way– a pen in hand

not using another purple hand

soap. It ponders on the people’s

purple perfume lathered on their faces

“Smile good, else we’re all ashes”



Wet hair, naked *******

all seen on T.V and billboards

Silence– rarely heard in between

the pen’s strokes. Hands between thighs

purple faces buried there

in a white enameled bathtub.

Water drained, in the middle, drenched bills

Cover up the laughed at body of the economy

Feed her with Monsanto and let her hear Trumpets.



A faint scent arises from the American

Body that’s… drowning there

a silky hand of… blue ribbons of… politics

gripping at her panicked throat!



In a Lyon bathtub paper and pencil, October, 16, 2017

Courteous love knows the charm

Of the loved body’s pleaded sheet

Upset before a well of tears

He is the first to complain



Friendly love whistles a gay tune

in her glory, mischievous

She appreciates powdered saloons

And many a silly mischief



Sensual love and his perfumes

Reads on purple lips

The screams and sighs at the frontier

Of a bliss– It’s morning already!



Translated on October 27, 2017

Lyon

Inspired at the thought of Laurentin

Automatic translation of

An automatic rifle

Goes ratatatatak attack

The field is clear

The ghosts of souls still near

We are A-OK in this situation with this

   AK-47



Peace is dragged in the dirt

Rope around her black stifle

**** around her black skirt

A soldier offers her some water

Her struggles refuse to whimper.



A stout blond-haired chieftain

Watches from afar. Red stains

Of pain and blood subdue her

She will collapse within the hour

All she hears is the rattle of the

Blond snake talking to her



Automatic translation of

The automatic rifle

Going ratatatatak attack



Someone attempts to translate

The anger of a Glock:

“It’s just around that block

That you will fall, Peace

Sentenced by the death clock

Mounted on the automatic rifle

But you’ll be A-OK in this situation we have the

           AK-47”



Trump(ets) of shame echo around the devastated field

They told the blond chieftain he’ll be lead in track and field

In college. They showed him naked models in lingerie adds

They still show up on his LCD screen in apps

They told him he could buy a revolver for a couple of quarters

So he said “no quarters, please take this batch of Grants”

You are A-OK in this situation with this

     AK-47



Automatic translation of

The automatic rifle

Went ratatatatak shot in the back



In between his hatred-filled decaying teeth

The chieftain was staring when she fell, without an ounce of grief

Rubbed in reassurance his bulgy AK-47 for relief

He then came… to the conclusion:



“REST IN PIECES, PEACE”



October 3, 2017

We hiked mountains and dove into ocean temples
We tasted apple candy, fried onions and sushi platters
Without you to nourish my soil, my earth shatters
In my mouth lingers the dry taste of our kindred kiss

Longing for a touch that is now long gone
I trudge when I walk back to where we walked
In dreams I call (your name), in dreams I fall
Back into your arms…emptiness… alone!

October 2017, Lyon
Dedicated to my former Californian lover, Aaron S.

You’ve published your rhymes in print


That’s the shortest way to put it

On a shelf. Now the book proudly lives

Through the eyes of those who read its lines



I wonder why some saw some sun in my blue night

After I did. Darkness and light where? always here

Unequally balanced, always starting a fight

The aesthetics of my mentors, my atmosphere



From France to Bei-

Jing to the Sea

Ty by the Bay

I write swell





The ocean is organic

Odyssey, *******

With the liquid it lifts

And lies back down

Both an eden and an abyss



So is my soul, swerving

In the current, red like,

Redcurrant

Poetry is debased

That is, recurrent.



August 30, 2017

Lyon

Craving the crack of the whip possessing the flesh
Before it hits the air, the breath of the bound captive
Hearing in the silence of the caressing hand a touch
Pored out behind the shackles, the feathers, the rules
Trying to make sense of the frustration and delusive
Desire of the entangled ******* rough and intricate mesh
Taking off all misunderstanding, embracing your blush
A sort of rituals of carnal, Sir, Mistress, Save Our Souls.

Bound to love the feeling of expectancy in a dark room
Dealing with all traumas and successes bending a knee
Savoring the exquisite or frightful balance of pleasure
Muttering an ****** language known by all yet dreaded

A scene in which your persona stages a fantasy
With a consenting partner or in your mind, it is easy
There is no self-help book for this topic, it all takes place
In your body and your heart, you decide if you keep pace
Power plays challenge your equilibrium, your lust
Whether you believe in a prophet or in flesh and dust
The beginning is near and she carries all your hidden rites
If only you would disrobe and lie down in many of your nights.

Lyon, July 28, 2017
11:04 pm

Marine stretch of many mysteries
Dome of underwater dreams and miseries
Home of many a shipwrecked ship
Score of a mermaid, the waves her luscious lips
I bathe in the salty swerving swell:
My ocean and sea, I know you all too well.

The Atlantic and the Pacific were adamant lovers
They made my head and body spin
The rolling waves made a tumbleweed of me
On a bed of pebbles, sand and broken shells.

The Aegan was cold but inviting
A pathway of black urchins paving
The way for the deep and intimidating graves
Of many foreigners Greek gods and runaway slaves

I answered the call of the Indian Ocean years ago
A normally peaceful lagoon had a wave hit my thigh
I remember the rising and falling of life wherever I go
I most cases it is, of mindlessness a sigh.

July 17,2017
Onboard a train from Chalon to Lyon

Memories of your heartening smiles
You are an Angel of America across the screen
Of voyages. I’ve pinned your words
Papers and thoughts of the utmost kindness
On the window of my soul, of a one-of-a kind gentleness.

I remember your office and that smell of Christmas cookies
Permeating the air. In the middle of March, silly senses
I believe meeting you was like stopping
In the middle of a mythical glade, embracing a wild wholeness
Your voice, like Virgil’s through this dismembered (s)hell, second circle
Guided me.

Last night, under the canopy of Zeus as Taurus, beloved
Europe, I let my guard down and Orpheus handed me to Morpheus
You were here, alone in a bare room, I joined you, I just knew
It was you.
You wore a tight grey shirt and I put my head on your lap
Relief of the dream state
Queer, good, silent, compassionate.

In that dream, drained, dreary, I desperately donned your tenderness
Raiment of an enlightened being, soothing.
When I woke up with this odd sensation of well-being
I just knew, it couldn’t be otherwise
That I had seen you, your keen, wise
Eyes
And I arose anew
I just knew
It was you.

June 28, 2017
5:08 pm
Lyon

To Allen Ginsberg and Frank O’Hara


Come out, ye boys of my literary dream
Frank, stop discussing this Rembrandt painting
Take a good drag like I never did, and come out
Down the street, down the ***** ***** days of madness
Allen, talk some sense into these selfied statuses
Come out, ye boys and talk into the microphone
Loosen your tie, Frank, show us some real art
Lose it on the sidewalk ye boys and let’s break
The rules, the locks, the prisons of the soul
Addictions, fears, anxieties, inanities.

Come out, ye boys and throw some rhymes to us
So we can think about ourselves while worshipping you
So that some people out there can stop *****-shipping
Sending our lukewarm bodies and fluids against the wall
What would you say Frank, of all the Rivers who
Try to reproduce the beauty of the human body on screen
Without the aesthetics, without the knowledge
Of what love means. Garter belts and welts, is that all?

Come out, ye boys and let’s be graphic, let’s be artistic
Teach us how to spread your love your legs and your legacy
Pass on this fearless gait, this adamant will to keep on
Despite the junk of our cities down the ***** ***** streets
Come out ye boys, admirers of poetry and people
Come out under a rainbow or a ring, SM fans or prudes
Let’s march on an on an on down our ***** ***** streets
With ye, boys.

June 21, 2017
Lyon. 10:36 pm.

Desperate to grab the grail of words
we decide to share our joint thoughts
to introspect our vision together
of what it takes to write two at this hour

Pen and paper, one
writes witness into the mind of the other
and meets the timid point of punctuation, followed by
the exasperation of words
it only follows

rules do not apply
nor does a simulacra of similes
the enjambment is our language
that we create we can
misplace
is it our native tongue so much so that
poetry never needs to be learned?

The friendship of thought to process
Relays poet to poem
to poet
And poem again

It's with you now
          I walk
Our eyes along the same path to troth

It's truth is spoken
Between lines, it's in the heart
Our paths, alone, come together
Its friendship Is art

Dialogical process fill in
the blanks at  1:01 4:01
p.m, hey aim
For the sweet link we proudly
discovered and shared in eyes and ink
Both black.

It's lack of light
Where the sun of the one seeks the night of the other
It's days and nights; mark hours... asunder under calendar
And daydream of once and again seeing the same sun face the marvel of the other

We are time traveling, air traveling through words
book a seat at the airline company of poetry
What the other sees in the sun sky above her
the other thinks of under his night sky
the thought of one never cancels that of the other
We trod on the same path
Me with Ginsberg, you with Plath.

Written jointly by Appoline Romanens first, third, seventh and ninth paragraph  at 1:00-1:27 pm, Lyon, France and by Jesse Altamirano, second,  fourth, fifth, sixth and eighth 4:00- 4:30 am, Riverside, California
May 23, 2017

Life
Baffled.
What befell
Our civilization
Is hell. There is no heaven
When religion is mistaken
For a token of radicalism.

Death
Rejoiced
What brought her
Our people
In a living inferno.
There is no pourparlers
With terrorists and benighted
Souls.

Manchester
These people are heathens
No virgins await them up the heavens
But the cold-blooded sight of a bleeding earth
Stigmatizing those out there who protect their hearths
In tears, facing the West
This is a waste of our so called civilization

Jews
Muslims
Christians
Buddhists

We aren’t.
We are humans.

In the aftermath of the deadly attacks that befell Manchester Arena, May 23, 2017.
Lyon

<font size="22">“Can’t **** every day” is what he said
Hello, we don’t even.
Formal French frankly thrown away
Shock. No.
Scenes of SM and secret desires swirl to me
Wave of pleasure, literature of the flesh as well as poetry
All gone with the air of his breath. Breathe. No.

Can’t withdraw the ideas of fantasies
Can’t fight too long against love’s urges
Can’t deny to ignore them sometimes but
Can’t pretend to love him when his pride
As a male is destroyed, because his walking stick
Is askew, I’ve walked my path from California to here
Can’t always shush my fantasies’ atmosphere
I’m upstairs typing away my rage
On the from the start sensitive and ****** page
Wrote a book of poems full of mysteries and furies
Thought he knew it burned, bright.

Lyon, May 4, 2017

love  like  night  soul=  body  knowS  oh  words  2015  heart:  b­lack  time

tellS"  sound  want  say  dear  gonna  just  feel  desire...  thi­nk,  baby"

poetry light  away  kiss  gave  

way  day  america!   mind  beauty  rest  france  translated  make  naked  dream  

ski­n  eyes  written  fall   tonight  hold  used  kisses  blood  

long  lost  sea  poet  slow­ly  hope  new  sun.

4:55 am, snoring boyfriend is downstairs
SOUND asleep
I lie awake and seek to reach the deep
Well of sound and music, a poetic
Kingdom, I made my queendom
With. Never tried emjambments but well,
They seem to fit, they bring to thoughts freedom.

SOUNDS like my well-being
To write poetry is living
The instants to the fullest
Even on a cellphone my rhymes do not rest

I may SOUND poised and in control
But at first my poems were about pain and all
The things that poetry sublimates with her crown
I owe much of my style to what Ginsberg wrote down

My American poetic self is a committed eye with an everlasting passionate SOUND.