I’m on California 101
The highway
Taking you away
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

I fire the only firearm
That disarms you
My denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101

Blue as the sky of my vice
Hip-hugs my skin we drive
The Pacific and its yellow lines unwind
As slowly as the wind
We drive 101’s log jam
Listening to Pearl Jam

I’m Bonnie, my guy’s Clyde
And I gotta tell Elvis
The weather here is a bliss
Elvis, did you wear that hip-hugging Levi’s ?
My road trip essential nice vice?

We drive, high gear overdrive
To San Diego’s beaches and lagoon
To Los Angeles, you funny gowned goon
To San Francisco, everything there is eclectic
California, your State’s electricity is static

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

Road trippin’ with my denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West

We’re on Pacific Coast
Highway we followed along the Coast
To the Bay Bridge and the port
Of San Francisco, maritime city
An exceptional city that rules
Exception to the rule
We go country in the Bald Eagle’s county

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

Get your denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West!

May 1, 2015
University of California, Riverside.

Writer’s block
Blocked on the idea
Of what should be written
The rush to shush the shock.

Love stands naked de
Idealized it is taken
To its blankness to be
Withering alone white

Ness of its imperfection.
In the dead of the night
Time, slowly sings extinction
A painted sorrow in the sea.

Of its crippling cry
Sis and cis(ed)-glow.
By now it knows its eye
Is like a creasèd flow!

Love is afraid it is will
Ingly ugly, that doesn’t
Quite go with the thrill
Yes, it could dream yet it doesn’t

Let love melt on its own
Ed body now left alone!
It is filthy and during dawn
It’s just jittering for the john!

December 1, 2015
Lyon 2 University, France, 7:00 pm

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.

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

Yes, I am nowhere near me
Ghostly guts, a tear-gas eye
Watery, blurry, glassy
Empty shell of an hourglass
Yet my soul sands still can see
A boisterous love that I
Only find petty, prissy
Through the white scattered mass
Of that blank body you blessed
I’d rather levitate than feel
This past present of peace pressed
Against my longing lips and heal
With a flask of forgetfulness
I’d rather be true to my pulse
Than break it all on an impulse
Leaving the once-too–happy shell
In a now dim and ***** dell

For this is in sorrow only
That you’re around yours truly.

November 17, 2015
Villeurbanne

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

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

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

Apparently, it was like an apparition
            He eyed me, ***** in his wilderness
        Heaving me to the haven of his handsomeness
            Him, my male, my marvelous malediction

His Eye seeing my I inside the aperture
    Of his “camera’’, when our room was nature
        But plunged in the ocean of his sea, see
              Like two heroes wrestling on the coastline
     We rose naked, his fingertips skimmed my spine
Between skies and waters, with our furious epitome

       We made love to the waves, alike Eteocles
       The current circling our chromatic compositions
             Our tongues watery, our limbs exhausted
  In this hopeless happiness, we stroke our passions
On the rough wood of Pan’s harp, oh Polynices!
     Cursed by a kiss, blessed by a blow and exulted    
By the smooth summits of our souls and bodies    
Seduced by the sweetest sin, singing our silent rhapsodies


      My name is Miguel, I am not Michael the archangel
         But he certainly was. In the warmth of
the wave lays my angel.


November 13, 2014
Inspired by the movie by Javier Fuentes-León, ‘’Undertow’’ or Contracorriente (2009)

Look at this sweetheart, his handcuffed wrists wrestling
Casting his cries on the clouds of Cleverack Correctional
Fighting a soul as fierce as his targeted arrow
That he only felt in his flesh firing his crossbow
What if you needed violence to get emotional?
Despising the very day you came into being?

His skies were probably as blue as a sodalite
But yet you kicked him out of the path of Light
In your fake flawlessness, you threw him into Hell
You denied his delights, he became your fallen angel
Eva, don’t you complain, your son has slain, you paranoid
His classmates, but you wanted to fill your life from this void

We need to talk about you before we look at the killer
Eva. You bear the name of the first woman on Earth
Do you think she could have begotten a monster in her hearth
Aren’t you this sick America, wicked and weary in your woes
You wanted your baby to call you his beloved mother
But destroying what you had become became his vicious vows

And he was on the list. You never read the map correctly
Maybe he was your final destination, your last addiction
You are right when you write that you never found the solution
To the cunning curio he represented- of him you took a dimly
View. But did you once look back in his eyes, lit with desperation?


‘’What do you mean, special?’’ probably is the answer
To his enigmatic and yet so crystal clear
“I used to think I knew," " Now I'm not so sure.”
That inspires nothing but a fantastic fear
To the courageous and curious reader
Can you still feel this unhinged pressure?

Oullins, France
May, 21, 2014
After watching the 2011 We need to talk about Kevin movie and reading Lionel Shirver’s book.

That handsome guy in the club.


Hey baby, come along, c'mon here, closer
I'm quite experienced, but I'm no womanizer
I want to feel your body burning under this halter
Hey, now the atmosphere is like sweater weather

Sweater weather baby, have you heard about this before
If we start that round, I'm sure you'll beg me for more
I'm gonna love you and make your body levitate
Now baby, c'mon here closer, don't hesitate

Worship me as your god, and I'll say you're my girl
Let's turn and dance and curl up and twirl
I promise my kisses are nothing like you've felt before
Oh yeah, I tell you baby, you're gonna beg me for more

Hey, let me buy you a drink, it's on me
If you're from Arizona or Paris I don't care
I'm gonna make you mine if coming closer you dare
Hey, gorgeous, I love you, you're a beauty

Worship me as your god, and I'll say you're my girl
Let's turn and dance and curl up and twirl
I promise my kisses are nothing like you've felt before
Oh yeah, I tell you baby, you're gonna beg me for more

Now we're leaving the club, and you're laughing
Oh baby, it's gonna be such a hot evening.

Jan,18,2014

Volens Nolens
Willing or not


I drink
To think
Myself into
The oblivion
I think
To drink
The alluvion

Sullied on the soil
Of our lost foil
For caresses we coil
Like moths around the light
In the drapes of the night
We have bled,  we make love
In our blue and grey cove

Coloring
The blankness
Blanking the colors
Along the dolors
Of this foolishness
Of this nothingness
Agonizing

Ashore the rivages
Of our images
Numbed by the fresh thick flows
Of their fleshly life’s vows
Reflecting
The four flames
Of our blames

July, 19, 2014

One’s body is the beast of the soul ad libitum
Skimmed, tamed, frustrated, desires-******
Learning in its sweet but furious rebellion
It is made of skin-dust in the stream, alluvium
Of a deep sinuous river, element of passion
Imperfect orb yet proud matter of perfection
Placed at the center of your senses, riotous jewelry
Bedecking, centerpiece of your dominant chest.

Veiled during our rites, silent under the canopy
You seize against your mouth my finery, lover, my fest…

The liquid gemstones give way and the string
Weaves itself again, lightning bolt around you
The palace is shaken by an echo, noblest equilibrium
Hidden crater, fusions, explosions and a blue lava ring
Slowly spread until the delta of your Nile…
Our flesh collide. Then, an unbridled pulsation rises, a mile
Away from the mountains of our erected temples
Swimming against the black tide of our Aegean seas…

In a white morning’s gleam, we have lost to our bodies
Hand-to-hand, in love, in a mutual fantasy.

Translated and adapted on July 9, 2015.

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

A marble stone perspires
Naked among a hall of flames
Its soul slowly expires
Melting under the fires
Art among a hall of all blames.

Marred, o meandering mind
Attached, and tainted by human kind
Grazed and abused by God's gold gaze
Numbed and mumbling in a maze
Irked, taken by the moral bind
Fearing this fool felony
Idling to be once loved again
Collapsing in agony
At you goes this poetry
Trying to tear apart your pain…


March 20, 2013

Five beats four lines one feeling

This dream I had last night is dear so odd
Of thoughts it could be but a silent stream
Your face was sun was soft in such a dream
I stop the quill, it quivers, quiet flood.

Villeurbanne, 1:50 am, Wed Oct 21, 2015

(translation in French below)

Cinq temps, quatre vers, un sentiment



Mon cher j’ai fait ce rêve la nuit d’avant
Des pensées c’est mais un calme courant
Dans ce rêve doux soleil était ta face
Je freine ma plume, tremblant le long flot glace.

Villeurbanne, 2:18 du matin, 21 Octobre 2015

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.

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

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

Black, tamed, tanned fleshes
Backs that have bent under the lashes
White, knocked, stripped bodies
Souls that have cried under the follies.

Here they are, numbed and weak
Here they are, abused and bleak
Here they are, numbed and wicked
Here they are, afraid and naked.

Broken, divided, lost knowledge
Minds that were pushed towards the edge
Bullied, bucketed, libel laws
Bones that were eaten by jackdaws.

Here they are, tortured and whipped
Here they are, tainted and with, wrestled
Here they are, gagged and secluded
Here they are, gunned and, for, settled.

Where are you, mockers and dealers
Horrid hearts who have robbed the beggars?
Bullied, bucketed, libel laws
Bones who were envied by the caws.

Here they are, accusers and lawyers
Here they are, robbers and buyers
So let me ask you a question,
Where are we in this garrison?


March 23, 2013

******* pricey thought
Pretending to be a princess
I’ll catch him and rip his fancy
Dresses off cuz there’s no ecstasy
On his naked raked body
Old and possessed reeking ***
Smells of coke or ****
My ****** up American dream
Your hells, heels and hills
Your hits, ****, teals and tills
You and your exquisite cream
Of love–I’d rip you apart apart
From this adorable gait
Underneath that glorious golden Gate.

September 23, 2015
Villeurbanne

To my Mom,




Folded amid the pleat of your pleading phalanx
The polished stones perspire against the liquid
Metal. Pleasing among ladies the most placid
Alas the precious possessing them does not mix,

With the muzzled and mild-mannered muted muses
Or with mischievous ones pummeling the world’s walls
Grumbling in their baleful and poisonous houses
Masters of the sapphire which in their hands falls.

And binding the blessed garland along the long line
Of your blinding blazing gorgeous blond golden hair
I thus hope it is to you a fine and a fair,

Sign of a love whose ripeness has just bloomed like wine
This gift could be detailed the echo of a dart
That is, in this sole spring repeated by my heart.

Lyon, May 23, 2014

In Memoriam,

Where is the face that launched a thousand ships?
Girls of the age of the waves are named after her
Helen, whose Sparta is now a mundane village
No one breathes in her mythical sillage
No one grabs her golden belt above the hips.

Where is the lithe Hermes and his winged sandals?
Women of today wear him daily on their necklaced throne
Around the neck and the perfume, a scarf is thrown
Do you know of this French house creating scandals?

Does Apollo know he has been sent into space
In an intricate horse of iron called eleven
Here’s hoping he saws the strings of Lyra
He, bringing poetry and Letters to grace.

What about the boastful Paris and his pride?
Cursed by Aphrodite and Helen’s eloper
What would he know of the City of Lights
Paris, paradise of lovers to reach new heights…


And what to say of fair Spartan Hermione
The incarnated actor making much more money
From Hermione to Emma but none of the myth
Both had to fortunately grit their teeth…

Ajax the Lesser who forced himself on Cassandra
Still tears your household and floor asunder
Warrior whose name now scrubs the dust
Off nowadays lame palaces, bound to rust…

Homer, father of the epic poem of Greece
You should hide under your sheep’s fleece
What would you say to the yellowish Cyclops
Benighted idiot, pondering on donuts!


Lyon, March 2- March 4, 2017

On the reddened snow, they pray for the body
The corpse onto which all Reason expired
Man’s, woman’s, fallen folks
Listen up corrupted queen, they sing your soul!

Face it, horror, you’ve killed all your subjects
They follow you, wandering losses, Great *******
You curse within your reach your town, your atheists!

Cruel! They praise you with their Ave Maria
Black soul! You should reply with your Mea Culpa
You are the embodiment of my nightmare, Daimon
Following God, I scream “Evil lives inside you !’’
They bless you, thinking you are divine
Repeating, “Bless, evil lives inside her! ‘’
You probably see yourself as a goddess in Heaven
But the more they cried, the more you’ve fallen…

Translated on August 14, 2015

Dwindle, dwindle, devious dwarf

The dew skims the sides of my lawn
A fairy must have had here something sawn
A soft stain of sorrow silently slipped
Out of the pages of Edgar Allan Poe
The wind wields the wild warming woe
As a tiny creature, from the book has flipped
It has oddly ended here. Subdued and suffering
I leaned over, and saw the poor eye-sore
Hardly breathing, as lost and fragile as a spore
I picked it up from the ground as it was stalling
And its evil grin pinned me down to the floor
Devious dwarf, dwindle, dwindle
No one, no no one will ever solve your riddle.

And this is how, strangled to death in the moor
The dwarf dances over my demise
If the tiny man starts to misbehave, be wise
Close the book and open up some Chaucer
You'll be spared from it chuckling, reader.
It laughs, beware human, it dwindles
And the leprechaun claims it likes girls' freckles.

November the 28th, 2013
Based on the word '' dwarf'', given by Adrien Mathieu.

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

The Boat-Bridge floats over the Bay
Devilish hell-colored titanesque
Sailing sophisticated red ray
Hefty, gargantuesque
Passage, tied to the fate
Of angels –Golden Gate .

The aqueermarine City
In Baker’s hues revives
The aquamarine beauty
Of Athena’s visionary eyes
Home found fond Exodus
On top of Castro –Olympus
I touch the bridegroom’s bustier



The Boat-Bridge burns, becomes lustier
In this marriage of many a desire,

It consumes my soul, I come

To: San Francisco, –my heart-home.

March 31, 2015
San Francisco, California

Marble, you no longer move
In their agile and skimpy arms
Under torrents of fire and hail
The majestic sinuous trees
Try to grapple your rose’s stalk
That of your body, inert, alone, morose
Those dark trees standing for the branches of my desire
Roughed up over and over again by a storm of passions

On the subdued soil of time through the wind
Like a veiled corpse living on a divan
Your kisses wither, blank of existence
Perfect bunch of flowers fit for an effigy
A statue erected by our violent patience
A bunch for sure, fit for nothing but a somber elegy
Facing death! A visage turned over to redeem.
Your body, lacking our decors’ agreement pours out

The blood of sacred love, the ideal love of the idea
That you held so close, so near, traced on the thinned out curves
Of my caresses, of my distresses, of my hips
You neither no longer are nor I am but a chanted fallen angel
Without you I can’t be, should I slay the Occident of your name
Of the moving geography of my fleshy map, my Orient
Between us, a mocking distance overhanging and weighting in the chasm
Of this Ocean shaped abyss, Mayday my soul! No!

Your absence is my grave, despite it being decked with flowers
What sort of beauty one should expect from a perfumed essence-less flower?

Translated on November 4, 2015

Flutters of your blood
Your heart joins my flood
Chest to chest we pervade
The air with love we invade
Our flesh and fingers fidget
As close as we can get
From the unique encore
We feel when I skim
As lights are sweet and dim
The key to your craving core
We lay beside Neptune the blue
Tone of our celestial tune your hue
Flashes through my panting eyes ajar
As we both finish the dynamic painting
With one momentum from one jar
Sweetly letting go of the world united
Entangled as our lips remain parted
One in the expanding universe
On the verge of veering from this verse


December 25, 2015, 10:41 pm
Libourne, Western front of France

Jusqu’à la fin des temps
Elle fut choisie
Dans le baiser empoisonné du Banni
Ange de plaisir, servant le Démon au Paradis…


3 Décembre 2011
Victoria Gardens, Pékin, Chine.
Traduit en Août 2015


Inside the Demon’s den.
 

Until the end. 
She has been chosen
In the poisonous kiss of the Fallen. 
Angel of delight, serving the Demon, in Heaven…

December 3, 2011
Victoria Gardens, Beijing, China.

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

This season births a golden brown hue
Painted on red leaves heaved
By the warm wind this fall evening
One can read the imprint of time which stuns
A network of living paths, on the brown veins
Like a body’s own, lifted
Led, by October ravished
Over the hills and dunes.

This network of veins I own
Forming this soft orange dream
And this hair tousled
By the season’s fire, mad about
The golden muses’ whispers, fairies
The tracks of the stealthy squirrels
Vivid ribs imprinted into the warm clay
Keep my feet to this fall soil
This secret carved into yew.

Appoline
Translated and written on October 24, 2016.
Lyon

Despite the years, I still remember
The fruit of my desire I could not slay
Her delicious flesh, the reason of my vice
Her exquisite perfume, amidst some irirses.

Our nighttimes garden was her palace
Clad in her autumnal ablaze dress
An empress. I myself was her minion
In  an awful convulsion… I kissed her

Soon biting her, tearing her skin, my beauty
Avidly and ruthlessly I drained her
Screaming her name, mutinous, “Clementine!’’

As the star shot across the sky, I was long gone
And she fell, under the veil of a sad evening
A crow clawed at her then, in his mansion.


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne

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

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

I looked him in the Eye
Shuddered, this was my I
As exploded the pyre
And the quivering lyre

I watched my soul fight in a fury
I had only seen with Poe
I shivered from skin to toe
That Eye, squinting, said ''Mary''

As the music - magnificent!
Fired the flickering flame - luminescent
Finally fondled my florid flank
My mind, my mild mind, went blank

Under my fading moonstone
His hand dropped one obol
I heard the knell of the night owl
The shrieking sound of my marrow bone

Beauty of the banished bride
Can you hear the fest from afar?
This is how his devouring pride
Slaughtered you on his altar

Your prince kissing other lips
Drinking from cups seducing sips
As his Eye, oh this petulant prying
Eye, was the last you were adoring!

January 29,2014
Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe's short story,  The Tell-Tale Heart

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

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

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.

On your knees you pant
Devastated, waste-land
You feel your blood this bland
Rush filling you whole empty
As you slowly and deftly
Rise again sunset, slant

Light of your courage, wage!
Wage war, light of courage!

On your feet you rest
You will fight so lest
We forget for those
Who can’t stand
Devastated, waste-land
You are of thorns the rose

Light of your courage, wage!
Wage war, light of courage!

On your skies you reach
The tallest tower lower
Than your lithely self
No bounds no leash
You fly up, up higher
Freed from your self!

Light of your courage, wage!
Wage war, light of courage!

December 3, 2015

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

Engraving the grave of love

A stone cold cheek kiss
That brought back no bliss
I dreamed the day of the dead’s
Carnival plebeian fire
Round the two winged heads
Of Notre Dame more than, ****
Your own ancient love pyre
The sky, navy, anew, whispering, sighing.

We didn’t babble, my beat up heart
Constantly repeating “beat it!”
But my feet thought
This meant the sidewalk:
We marched, on and on
We walked, both alone
My heels echoing
Paris, clear, calm kept on calling.

The pathetic pictures of two pasts
Fading away fading fast
During the day of the dead, dealing
With this tepid, torn, tarnished time
Last night I bet and bargained a dime
With my deterrence– a dime turned dove
“Fly away, Paris is no place like home, to love! “

Sunday, November 1, 2015, Paris, Le Marais

In memory of the victims of the attack on the gay club, Pulse, Orlando, June 12, 2 AM

The Queen’s Lips

The Queen dismounted her silver-haired stag
Her gown glittering with the stars’ twilight
She raised her tears-streaked face to the night
The blazon of her horse displayed a rainbow flag.

Grieving, she walked into the nightclub
Her heart throbbed, and quickened her pulse
She opened her arms and embraced the people
Her people, our people, forced into the stillness of death…
Radiating from her lips, they saw a simple light of hope
The halo filled the hollow holes of their hearts
They rose, victorious, wounded but determined!

As her scream of love perspired in the air
She inspired them, she rebirthed their lair
Dear mother of desire, freedom and pride
Fifty bullets won’t slow your relentless stride!

Your love heals the benighted hate
Despite your beautiful body, marred with fifty bullets!

Appoline
June 15, 2016
Lyon

The prince of the flowers of malevil
Sees the black creature
In the dark night, hard
Hallucinatory skin
The top note so pure
Heart, depth, body, under her shawl

She is woman, moving
In the author’s mind
The night of her mysteries
Does not follow the hour
Of day taking the earth
His perfume however perspires

Of the poet’s mind,
This is not a study
Letters can tell the difference
Between a worried passerby
And a non-existent love
For Baudelaire, skinny.

His ***** mistress
Of his desires and angers
His body makes him suffer
The poet writhes
Under the pressure and the spell
Of his harmful fragrance

Written on December 13, 2016
Lyon Metro
Translated on April 19, 2017

A bottle, in the sea, has fallen
Message of mystery
Creased weary paper
Washed by the swell, swollen
Wandering along the water
Wrenched by the waves, misery

Whilst an impetuous wind
Cradles the vial with its washed out blue cap
The bottle reaches its destination
The translucent sand welcomes it with a slap
Washed ashore
It would be hard to read what it once clearly bore…

On the beach, a blond maiden bothers to pick up, sunbathing
The drenched draft with its strewed words
And as she starts reading
Gone is her grinning.
Letters speak to her in a death rattle
Her father blacked out during the battle
Forever. On the creased weary paper the writer
Traced: ‘’Don’t worry, I love you, my darling’’
Her tears now erasing completely so much strength and energy
Gathered to retrace the story …

Of the blond-haired maid
Only a piece of paper remains, it is said.
By the tumultuous tide
Hope reached the other side…

Translated on May,9, 2014

1st place, Jacques Prévert Jeux Floraux du Béarn (French poetry contest), 2008

Instead of brooding over
The blackness of a light
That tenderly brightens
As the sheer warmth thickens
When you hug each other
I should think this is right:

I should delve in the kiss
Of the winter season
Rebel against my skin
We humans, all akin
I should seal my reason
In this holiday bliss…

But without a shelter
Without a clean cover
Not just a mere lover
How could I then not wish
For my ordeal to be over?
My pleas rush like a swish!

You plead about people
You’ve lost to wars and crimes
You could still when injured
Hurry to your white hall
Me, I just have my rhymes
But you call me perjured!

I will walk wild and weak
To the summits of time
With nothing but a dime
To see on top of all this love
You have deemed bleak.
The velvets of the glove

This lady in her shawl
Touches to her forearms
If I knock do you believe
She would hand me a bowl
Of this Christmas cold eve
My home her humble arms?

Lonely lunatic child
In the gleam of the moon
Oh! I hope she will soon
In her lenient linens
Open to the pure wild
Ness of my night silence

For a piece of this bread
I would tell her my world…
But she leaves satisfied
In the laughs of her thread:
To me demystified
Her dreams I can’t afford.

December 25, 2015
1:06 am
Libourne, France

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

The ultimate ecstasy
Smart soul, such flirting figure,
Shunning their staunch yet sly lame,
Shielding their stout sin secure,
Stunning snake, flickering flame,

Goddess of the greediest guts,
The ram rears before your ray,
The men moan, and hear their ruts,
They surrender if you say:

''Covet me, corrupted cores''
You tie them to your jetty,
Sending them at your soft shores,
They are caught, clasped and petty.

Your power paralyzes,
Heals from all the illnesses,
As it damns the strongest might,
Wait ,is your womb worth the wright ?

Vile Venus' voice, vulture !
Arcane angel, oracle,
Stop rising the sepulture
Of your victims, fool focal !

Your love has a foul fragrance,
I won't submit to your trance!
Poor, obsolete absolute,
You are now using a flute

On your bounded bared bodies,
Enjoying the energies
Flowing from their feeble blood.
Bathing in this fetish flood :

You are aroused, Addiction,
And as they all are in awe
On them you then  pour your woe
Your awful absolution...

Smart soul, such flirting figure,
Shunning their staunch yet sly lame.
Shielding their stout sin secure.
Stunning snake, flickering flame.

Wether a drug, or a well
Of the finest *****,
Wether a mirage, a dell
Deadliest equilibrium

You will lurk,  and surely lure
In the dark, yes you will mure
Anyone tempted by this
Ecstasy and emphasis.

''Her name is Euphoria''
Her youth an Utopia.''
Thus, supposedly nowhere.
In fact, concealed everywhere!
The grievous allegory
Agape and agony
Faith as well as felony
The ultimate ecstasy.

April 21, 2013

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.