Last night it stormed, wind and the rain
turbulent was nature, unruly, mutinous
city sirens lurked, night sleepless as bedlam broke
nameless sounds outside the windows spoke
shadowy clouds raced around each other's skirts
buckets rattled, hedges hissed, one dog barked
restless atmospheric fingers plucked flotsam and jetsam
while the birds hunker in their bunkers made of leaves

-cec

Permets moi de rêver sur ce chemin himalayen
je ferme les yeux dans mes songes incertains
tu égrène les notes au gré du vent célestin
tu suit le chemin du soleil  diamantin
mélodie du bonheur souhaité attendu  après-demain
je vois les visages parfois souriants, souvent féminins
souvenirs diffus, clandestins.
dans les nuages de ma mémoire aux accents florentins
je navigue au cours du temps, impatient
donne moi le courage manquant,  se voulant olympien
efforts se voulant baudelairiens.
Que ce soit chansons ou poèmes  baladins
accepte cet hommage à ma langue de France..

When bad things happen, where are the people?
A man fights alone in silent despair,
while laughter and screaming echo through the void.
Indifferent voices suffocate the heavy air.

The window for change will open,
but they waste another chance in the cold.
In rooms of power, apathy keeps growing.
Psychedelic visions masquerade as the truth

They gamble and sell domains.
Those for whom ideas matter most
are led to the pyre, to oblivion.
Human systems are shifting.

So, it’s time for another soulless game
for the inevitable castling.  
As the tower and the king,
sharing the power, they dance wildly.

Human beings
completely intricate—
distorted, subtle, direct, ironic,
melancholic, and other adjectives…
Not as clearly defined and innovative as their works.

In transcending the mirage,
longing for fulfillment,
made from the same clay,
the same flesh and bones.

They were born and still live,
sometimes, they pass away.

In the marketplace of lost illusions,
unwanted experiences—
transforming, shaping the messages
received from the Looking Glass World.
Seeking a new idea, like an exotic flavor—
to remember, to forget, to be angry,
to reflect, to love, to hate, to be loved.

And all of this for something so elusive,
to make life more tender.
Their fate was decided before
they could ever think...
And for what?

To laugh, to cry,
to be safe or stoic,
and to touch this strange structure.

Losing grip on reality,
without balance,
as they used to say.

I’m already on a dizzying poetic carousel,
with one foot in my normal life,
and one hand in virtual poetry.

We are not Flawless
bad crossings wrongly drawn
shifting paths
exacting revenge
reflecting our existence
by delivering force.
Neither are we Lawless
living and learning
shifting paradigms
exacting our course
retaining our existence
by showing remorse.