Reacting to the new dangerous trend of taking the ****** off in an until then consensual ****** act.


Dear America,

I strolled down your famous Sunset Avenue
Tasted the marine-inspired SF clam chowder
I had dreams about a Hollywood Undead venue
I had in mind Madonna, Monroe and their powder…

Dear America,

You gave me Ginsberg, Baldwin and Brooks
You gave me Hawthorne, Poe and Hemingway
You gave me strength and glory along the way
You gave me all my poems found in these books.

Dear America,

Today I want to tell you about stealthing
No I’m not talking about your crusade and sword
I want to tell you about a new trend and word
Consisting of taking your ****** off in the act

Dear America.

Irving told me he saw a desperate mother– it made me cringe
At the hospital, watch her son slowly pass and leave her
In his arm they gave him an against whatever AIDS shot syringe
This mother planted the needle in her arm.

Dear America,

The gay community was stigmatized because of barebacking
Horses of desire that they decided to tame
And you tell me your youths are, as we are speaking
Making love risking their lives, and no one is to blame?

Trumpets of shame I hear, crumbling the walls of reason
This brand new world to our bodies is nothing but treason
What is that? Is stealthing ****, America? I don’t know, say,
What was your reaction when they took your freedom away?

Dear America,

To the insolence of the 1970s youth, the recklessness
This generation responds with an air of stupidity
Go waste yourselves on the altars of dumbness
We won’t move a finger, to again witness this madness?

April 28, 2017
Lyon, France

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

To Laurentin,

Black Lace

Underneath a tight corset
Bound by a sensual link
Black and satin, carnal
Lets the eye roam
The heart, so tightly bound
Cannot be left alone

So calm a beat
To his mistress’ steps
That he never fails to guess
Whether this silly lover
Could, if he moves her
Undo these pretty knots!

Written on September 8, 2016
Translated on April 19, 2017
Lyon

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

This is your soul speakin’
Time has come to enter the ring
You want ‘em to know you’re the king
I don’t wanna see this body give in
For that matter, be the master
Off with this super cozy sweater
Pump it up baby, work it out,
Hold yourself together and try it out.

So let me tell you it’s gonna hurt so bad
But when the signs kick in, don’t stop
Tell them guys you’re gonna get on top
To do that despise respite, lad
You wanna sweat and you know what?
Considering the effort, it’s great
Think about your badass swat
Punch this body to the floor

You don’t want to reach your limits
You’re here to overcome them, so come on
School gave you more than satisfying units
You’ve learned to cope with it, you’re tough
Don’t waste your time, your session is on
And don’t be surprised, this is gonna be rough
Whisper you love this power when you grab it
If you fake the whole stuff this is not gonna make it


So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and screaming
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!

You’ve passed the 30th line, and you should begin to feel
Sweat covering your hands and this heavy barbell
Ain’t so bulky after all, here comes the spell
Casting this astonishing adrenaline, don’t kneel
Ignore the pain caused by the bench press, you feel better
If you hold onto it because this is the right track
You won’t die baby, bounce and destroy the latter
And remember of the rest you don’t give a frack

So get up, gimme all you got, this is the first round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!




That’s not the helluva lot to do, you know
At first you can just choose to take it slow
But I thought I told ya to rip your ribs
Well yes, sweat is dripping on your hips
Don’t give up **** it, don’t give in
I said don’t give up, did you hear me speakin?
You’re getting stronger, I said you’re getting stronger
You’re a 700 nitro gun, guy, and it’s getting warmer.

So get up, gimme all you got, this ain’t the final round
You like the way you’re struggling and lifting
You like the way it accelerates your breathing
Learn to appreciate it buddy, this is the sound
Of a furious fighter finally enhancing his heartbeat
Stand up and follow this unleashed upbeat!

June, 10, 2014.

After workin’out.

Not for sale.

Caress this soul, come and seize
The purest perfection of its pains
Apply an ointment on the scars
With patience and compassion
You just might be able to ease
The burning of those acid rains
That gnaw on my skin like an abrasion

I used to believe this was a real feeling
I used to repeat this as I was hoping
Somebody would care to pick me up
But watch how fast the time is running out
I am tired of my tongue trying to tell
Many things and words to make it up
I will rise again, for this is why I fell

So go right ahead. Defile with your iris
This shell you can curse or kiss
You believe you will someday tame
I warn you though, this is not a game
Your battles have only begun
If you have your fists, then I have my gun.

June 11, 2014

Hey folks, listen to the soup I’m spilling
I’m just a random lass
But I don’t give a rat’s ***
About all this huggin and loving
You think I’m inclined to fall for grace
You think I’m gonna waste my time 
On this courtin and kissing
Cuz France held my first breathing
I’d gladly trade ‘em boyz I liked for a dime
I’m born to fight and I don’t ******* mean
Under their gorgeous minds and bodies
Like really. A Man, at his finest can beget
The swiftest soul and body- and what do you get?
A brain led by powers, hormones and pulsions
That is once in a while driven by addictions
So if this is your perfect human race
Then I think I’m in for the haze
That I see in your eyes and words
You wanna put up a fight, then bring your swords
Cause I love that one in a million
Flow of your heart, its alluvion
Your imperfection being my inspiration
You are at the core of my unreachable adoration
****, here I go again all cheesy with my bits
Guess I just need to take a couple more hits
The murkiest the beauty
The finest, for it is poetry

July 24, 2014

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

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

The pagan crowd, the fallen heart
Like thirsty beasts rose from the dirt
Their eyes ******, their teeth hungry
Like thirty blades, cursing Mercy

They squeaked and called, they screamed and growled
They tossed and turned, they laughed and mauled
A thin body to them is brought
Among this hell, to calm their drought.



Naked angel, oh flawless flow
Your blood descends and they will throw
Naked angel, oh flawless dream
Their claws at you, lost in the stream

Piercing your veins, soiling their skins.
Filling the night with their mad screens
Piercing your soul, feeding their might.
Filling the night with fallen lights...








You vouched ******, you violated
You so perfect, and yet tainted
Avenge yourself on this altar
Where you were ***** and thus so far

From this nightmare, free your spirit
Do not sell your last heartbeat
Open your eyes, o creature
The sun has ended your torture

Join them, join them, in their kingdom
They were banished, denied Wisdom
Kiss them, kiss them, darkened beauty
Glorious Queen, sweet felony!

April, 11, 2013

No guts to ***** a meager mea culpa ?

Were you begging me to spare you, man
Trudging on the floor raising your shabby swords
I would still silence you saying, ''Any last words?''
Separating your soul from this soil, despising your wan...

Your blood would flow, your pain would glow
Appearing obvious under my enameled blades
However, I would remain in the reassuring shades
Watching your pride wiggle and wail, hearing you swallow

The shame that would strike you at your utmost.
As soon as you cursed me, I hated you the most
Do not rely on your ideal, this is your ordeal
Your dreaded nightmare, except that it is now real!

Were you begging me to forgive your mistake
I would only whisper that you are now at stake
You did choose to solve this case in your lull
Tell me, were you tortured and was this as dull

As this devouring pain cursing through your body?
Years went by and you ignored my fading name
Uttering in your sleep that I was surely the one to blame
Feel it, tremble under it, this is your deserved agony

You thought it was a sporadic game, dices to roll
You have played with numbers, and you stabbed our love
Livid will turn your face, because soon funeral knells will toll
The poisonous clove will soon sprout, I have an iron hand in my velvet glove

And you will finally fall from your God ****** grace
The yellowish waxy rotten tone of your face will melt
Under the fires of justice that have become scarce
Watch my hand you fed undo the blades from my belt

Any last words, coward, before my rage hits your rib-cage, loafer?
Anything to say, threatened by the horrific scythe, loser
You poor excuse for a man, let alone for a fallacious father
You used to lift me up to the glories of the skies and call me 'my daughter'...

Were you begging me to spare you, begetter
I would turn my heart away from you, rather
This sturdy bone structure of yours handed over to the reaper.
He whom despises mercy to reason deserves neither



I wish I could pretend believing we never saw it coming
But what is the point of keeping your head high
When nothing remains in you, not even the faintest sigh
You are going to expire and yet, not even your lips are moving.

Were you begging me to love you, as you pant
I would tell you that the clock is adamant,
We both are well aware time has now run out
Anything...? -  you have been ruled out.


December, 27, 2013

Let the mask fall, let this head roll.

I do not have a role in any of your poll
My soul is empty, my sides are lonely
Let the tear speak, and nought lovely

In this pain all is vain
In this plain, all is lain
No glitters, no dancers
No twisters, no lovers.

Let the mask fall, let this  head roll

Inside, beneath, nothing to scroll
My heart is cloudy, my blood is icy
Let the skin speak, and nought happy

In this hand, nothing stays
In this palm, nothing frays
No kisses, no wishes
No lilies, no worries


Let the mask fall, let the dust shine

Do not ever call me divine
I do not have a role in any of your poll
Let the mask fall, let my head roll.



April, 11, 2013

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.

Are my hearts reaching roots and trees?

I feel it quiver deep down inside
A continuous ****** I can't abide.
You whispered you would stay by my side
But you're gone,  you've withdrawn,  like the tide.

And my mind feels that gap, when it cries
Left to the emptiness of the void.
Beware, I may get paranoid
Have you ever believed in your lies?

I feel it giggling getting higher
And it shows you I was tougher
Than this little sweet teen you cuddled
Than this hugged high school girl you hurdled

And my mind rejoices, when you say
That I was nought but a heap of hay.
Whilst you've made sure to keep me at bay
Are you a little more noble than clay?

The more one sees from men you're the lees
The more I will feel free from your fees.
While you are standing up on your glees
Are my laughters  reaching roots and trees…

Father?


July 14, 2013
Onboard a train from Lyon to Montpellier.

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 graved this memory of us, fascinating canopy
My love, each time I am staring at the obsidian sky you are shining endlessly ...



Appoline H-Romanens , last day before June, 2012 , Inspired by and with Matthieu Harreau

Tender was my night.

Oh, you don't know how bitter is the night
My shabby dreams are throttling me like a bight
If only you would have kept your feelings under control
It would have prevented you from treating me like a rag doll.

Thus, your love is silence.

You said I shall forget your memories.
Pretending you were just some other fancies
For sure, there is plenty of fish in the sea,
However, you were by far my wonderful and beloved lea.

Thus, your name is silence.

Oh, you don't know how bitter is the night
When the sunset is settled, against you I must struggle and fight
If only you would have not pressed your burning lips on mine
It would have prevented me from quivering from my soul to my spine

Thus, your touch is silence.

Oh, you don't know how bitter is the night
Even if inside the soil of your darkness has sprouted my light
If only you would not have taken my feelings for an illusion
It would have prevented you from sinking me into this delusion.

Thus, your kiss is silence.

You said I shall forget your memories.
Pretending you were just some other fancies
For sure, there is plenty of fish in the sea,
However, you were by far my wonderful and beloved lea.

Oh, you will never know how bitter is my night

Thus, the rest is silence.

January, 4 2013.

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

Hate Words Eight Words

The face is now veiled in darkness
Soul of a beggar but name of a king.
I used to grasp his embrace
Now of him, I have no trace.

Holding the globe of the past
He stands, is, memory of distress
I watch him quickly breathe his last
As trudges the souvenir of thievishness…

I summon my self’s shield
Silent steel, I stay still
Nightmare, my battlefield
I was, am, guided by my will.

His lust eyes me and smile
Fight in the flesh, he purs
Slime of a sight sick and vile
Covered in cowardice and furs!

Verbal violation of his desired aether
He who despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!

Seated on his malachite throne
He attempts to break my temple
I constrict my ocean turned ripple
It awaits, is, will be a cyclone.

The viciousness of his speech
Echoes in my mind from afar
I am no lamb on his altar
Vicious blood-thirsty leech,

He twists his hem of power
With a swift sound, removes his helm
Walt Whitman in the refreshed bower
Lend me your boldness in your realm!

Blank and wide are his irises
Empty shell of a shabby knell
As he, mud-eyed, rattling, rises
My mother’s doom for which she fell!

Violent destruction of his born aether
He who despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!


His coarse voice resonates
In the shame-paved room
He shines, splendor of his gloom
Empire of unknown coordinates,

Naught of an ultimate utopia
Boastful volubile hegemony
Defecator of his dystopia
Machine of his misogyny!

Hear my battlecry, begone
You have with your blade
Tainted my giggling jade
Lo! I am amazonstone!

Point your ringed finger
Your mysterious misery
Hails no glory or mystery
At the gown of your anger,

Vivacious victory of his degraded aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!

I face you, clad in love, glad
I remember your name I had
I fed your face to the flame
To shush the shreds of this blame…

My femininity are my swords
Of peace I touch the infinite rare rim
Eight words against your eight words
Shout a mea culpa seditious stream

Of a tongue that I despise!
I felt your despair’s backlashes
Do not fret about your demise
To me you are already ashes!

Sit down as I melt
With my inner core
You tastelessly tried to smelt
All your hope and your last ore!

Vivified volition of your pugnacious aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!


My long silver birth-link
With you vanishes
I mark with the ideal ink
Your name on your fleshes.

Your image flickers and stutters
That’s the paralyzing current I felt
Horrendous is the thought of your belt
Your astute apologue blinks and blathers…

I close the door of your crumbling palace
Your voiced obscenity put to rest
I won’t wait for your inaudible, alas
Apology for this thread of threat!

Gone is the blood of your shade
Slowly to the ground you will fade
Away from the light you begot
You ******* bipolar bigot!

Voidableness of your daughter’s aether
He whom despises mercy to absolution deserves neither!

A night nest

A curled up cat
On my days out purse purring
Our daily rain around him pouring
He’s the white bunny under the black hat
Smelling the everlasting smell
Of the ravenous squirrel that ate
From my extended hand a plump nut
The fluffy rodent gone, there’s nothing left but
The imprint of the squirrel’s paw for the cat, late
At night, he pervades himself with the fur, like Icarus
When driven heavenward didn’t see the sun and fell
The cat is sound asleep, he doesn’t notice us
He chases the squirrel, quiet down! – He’s dreaming!

March 14, 2016
Guillotière, Lyon

Shipwrecked

Washed ashore the Atlantic
You’re dreaming with your Pacific 
Blue iris before this body’s curve, caressed
By the white sun past
Its zenith, on her tanned skin
Of your warm California the leaking and thin
Gold melts with the metamorphosing swell
You are a living picture, you dwell
Among this apotheosis as the swift
Ocean whispers spindrift
In the glorious gleam of a maritime morning
Lost in her ultimate, she is peacefully sleeping

You want to kiss this Ideal slowly
Discovering the veil of what she’s pursuing
Undone by your fingers, letting the waves
Of her quick heartbeat slide under your nails 
Like this fine sand is crowning her hair in the salty
Air, as your delicate hand, gently
Arouses her lips whilst everything is exploding
Around you, wet with the swell’s run-up
Your South-Western voice’s tide conquers your beauty
Her sore arms hang onto your stature up

And down under the mythical scenery and eye of nature
Loosening the long knots of a complex stream
In your sweet violence you’re a soundless brawler
Delicious land, she’s pulling you closer
You’re becoming the journey she wants to go on
Her sighs reach you, from her throat are undone
She’s emerging from her wildly perfumed dream
As you’re making yours reality, your desire awoken
By the landscape of her body in this summer’s heaven. 

Translated on April 6, 2015
Lacanau Ocean, Southern France

I sense your strange soul rise and rest
Sighing in your sweetened respite
Oh rest I seek your silenced crest
Your secret in this soothing night
As the swell rocks our marine nest

Your soft music, mysterious score
Swoops me to a dear distant shore
Scene of your shinning sudden dance,
In your rising swaying cadence
The sapphire ocean, I sense.

I see the shape of your sore spine
Swerving like a delicate shell
Swinging siren at night, my line
Is light under my silent sight
And with my song your name I spell

But as the dream’s dome becomes dust
Destroyed by the sun of Isis
Oh under the dark sky I trust
I know that your soul is not just
That slumber’s metamorphosis.

Creature of the sea when sound
Asleep, a naiad said she found
You, human by day. a poet
In the sea, desire of sunset
Sings this silent secret to you.

January 15, 2015
University of California, Riverside

To the Poet Matthew Dickman



When you mentioned a crow
I thought of Allan Poe
Yet your words wielded
Allan Ginsberg’s queerness
Your awesome Americanness
Shuffled Allan’s wit
With your heart and gut.

You gave us a performance
But none of that heart and flowers
Romance
You were real and raw
On paper, in person
Personifying
Writing about it all.

Out of your world came out
The ardent desire to feed the pyre
Of ravenous demanding poetry
With no rhymes but sentences
A sentence which sent on death row
The rest of the worlds I heard today.

Words are wasted but yours resembled
A cherry-shed coke’s can, vintage 1975.

Lyon, November 6, 2016

Tonight, in the black light of a slight hope

Tonight, in the black light of a slight hope
With my chalk I’ll describe you:
I’ll begin with your mouth
Beaded with gold, as tasteful
As sponge finger. I’d want to
Softly touch you.
I’d kiss your mouth
So languorous and red.

Two rubies in the air of tonight
Shining with mischievous liberty
My fingers gently move up
Your sight seeks me, sometimes flees
They are always within a reach
But statuesque, you count on me
To be, on the inside, Prometheus
For you know that your dear heart matters.

Tonight, in dark of a quixotic manor
And of that gasp of yours
When I hold you
Drawn by the quill your power
Is giving birth to, mirage, o male mage
And under my ink I possess
The complexion of your skin, your coloring
I hold your slumbering head.

I’d continue with your hips
That I’d slightly, in time, skim
Flower of a new spring
In the naked, wet and white warmth
Of your body. All of a sudden, you’d shout
Panting, you’d feel on the small of your back
The lingering stopping of my chalk
On you, fluttering.

The line is rushed
Because under your sighs I yield
A daring dove
I am for you, I hungry for you.

In a stream-like momentum
I plunge into you willing
To grab you, to know you’re my hope
In the silent and black night…

And the tongue of your flesh
Stains the drawing because your breast
Willing to itemize my drawing
Sketches you with a light-hearted air!

You are then
On this canvas
My tender gold
My long star

Art of a love
Which means much more
Oh so much more
Than what words convey!

Written on October 8, 2015. Translated in February 2016.

To Laurentin,
Skylark

Another sheet of paper for you with inked words
Pretending to pretentiously carry metaphors:
Lights for February, for anchored loves
Becoming projected, mundane candle holders.

The shadows in the room sketch your silhouette
You’ll hear dawn: shrieks of the skylark;
Cuddled in a precious dream, in the drapes of your shape
Multiplying the room with your sighs,  saying… more…

I’ll think on you, in you, and then for you:
Your breath, your jolts, your smiles, your sounds
Will be my compasses,  capricious circle
Naked ‘fore the Universe, under the skies of your roof.

And sealing upon your mouth tonight’s stars
The flask of my air offers you the threads
Of my words’ desire, a black supple river
On that day, no roses, but the lovers’ span…

Written in Lyon on Valentine’s Day 2016.

Poem-report: Greece

Writing poetry in the Hellenic region
Equals to discussing democracy
In Athens, its cradle then despotic tomb
The poem can’t survive in this rather cracy.

Greece however always belongs to pugnacious Achilles
Keeping the mythical beauty of its temples and islands:
The sea is as clear as the thin aquamarine
Which used to ornate Pallas’ bust, sibyl.

And what of Apollo, supreme oracle of Delphi
He is done delivering visions, no one calls out his name
The poet summons him, but he fails to arrive
What can he make of sanctity or lent?

The deity’s site looks as wild as it was then
Between an ochre mountain and a rising sun
The stray cats and dogs, worshipers of the past
Are the only believers who now crowd the p(a)lace.

Greece is pauper alas, and exploits its legends
To obtain some drachm from European folks:
Statues and vases, paintings and almonds
Everything is copied and sold–what a Herculean task!

What sad realization takes hold of the voyager
To follow the tracks of heroes, eager
Athens is filthy, and to heal her gray boyishness
The acropolis is yours for about thirty euros!

Men of our time have desacralized
What had been dreamt about when barely imagined
Glory only remains in what you can read of it
I almost couldn’t find some muses and their lyre.

Written in French in Athens, March 31, 2017
Translated in Lyon, April 19, 2017.

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

The hidden rite

The labradorite scaled skin glistens
Full of cyan as well as cyanide
Fantastic fish it finds the stream
In the crease of the cliff to hide.
On one hand it meets the core
Of nature. It is telluric till the end
The labradorite kisses the lore
On the other hand, a legend.
The slippery fish follows, swerving
The selfish body of water
Displaced, it becomes sensual
Yet it’s just a fish as usual.


November 12, 2016
Lyon

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

The poet, a butterfly

The butterfly is burdened
By first and foremost its name
Its lithe body bearing that lame
“Flying butter’’! It’s bewildered!

When mocked, the poet creates
Towers of Babel scratching the slates
Of the dark-blue hefty Heavens above
Its urge to spring free it cannot solve:

It’s compelled to flap
Its wings shiny with arcane dust
Over flowers sipping the ***** sap
Yellow and warm like a baked crust!

If you ever touch this creature
Pointing your finger at nature
It will fly away, to never return
Ruthless human, what did you earn?

The powder on your skin from the aerial
Grey and sticky, you’ll dispose off
You can’t write with this material
The veil the insect was so in need of…

Let it be overwhelmed with its gift
This hydromel from the skies high
You cannot grasp all the gist
Of those who breathe and ache to fly!

March 30, 2016
Lyon 2 University

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

Scorpio

The aesthetics of masochism:
Finding happiness
In overwhelming
Pain’s sublime
Fighting tooth and nail
Out of mind
That and those who hail
To destroy him
That sign
Such  anarchism!

He can hate to love
And even love to hate
Triggering passions
His joke. He enjoys
Being yours, yours entirely
But hidden, the scorpio
Will never admit
He can make you split

Like some shining schist
Engraved in hearts
The lover’s torment
Is stubborn inside
He finds a destructive bliss
In desire’s abyss
But his stinger
Points towards you, lover!

August 20, 2015
Translation
Oullins’ multimedia library

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

Red

Palm under the squirrel’s paw
Supported on my arm
Feeling its sweet heartbeat
I feel its pulse go slow
Its gentle, beguiling beat
Warm and furry fluffy friend
Fitting right into my palm

The jay is only the jack
Because the red is my king.


Appoline, May 26, 2016
Lyon, Guillotière.

Secret garden

The grass is wet, the moonlight high
The birds fell silent in a sigh
The soporific stars shine bright
The sweet scene is quite a sight!

A breathing although discreet
Can be heard arising unashamed
Through the branches heavy
With tonight's eerie dew

And the jealous light reflects
On the smooth glittering surface
Silver and black- the dream is real
You stand unseen but stare

Shadows connect when thus angled
Leaves like hands entangled
Just ask them if you dare
What they feel

Appoline
Germolles
August 15,  2016

The charred scent of paper
Atop the ******* skyscraper
Burns when a life is consumed
In its greenish greedy gown
On it has been proudly sown
A golden triangle. It assumed
Its complete authority over
The human race we chase
Its glinting giggling gorge
Postponing the petty morgue
Adorning chests in a tower
Of wealth, of woe, of war
Some are the jacks in tar
Others the *****, the ace

Hovering over cities
Teasing the daisies.
That thick soot
Flawless is flaying
Slowly peeling
Away layers of our root
We gambol and gamble
Pitiful onions in unions
Hawkers jaywalking
Hunters, judges, humble
Flock of those who can think
Trying to make sense of ions
We can with a gun link
Deaths and collapsing ink.

The bright dollar bill smolders
On Atlas’ sore shoulders
An intricate golden lattice
In lieu of a benighted bodice
It lifts Man on a rusty noose
King on a heap of newspapers
The charred choking scent
Demonic, deliquescent
Atop the ******* skyscrapers.
For a divine raiment
Would the goofy government
Trade your blood and lymph
For a smoke and mirrors nymph?
I choose not, please turn us loose?

We are the scorching enemy
All in all, possessed by the mark
We gloat over the metonymy
Of our radiant success
We are nothing under duress
But pigs left bound to bark
In the mud of our sockets
Buy this diamond necklace
So you can prove, in the race
Of rats, you are the best of piglets
“How much does it cost?’’, asks the poet
But his voice is regarded as a dandling duet
Society sleeps, makes loves, guzzles
A writer too, probably feebly fizzles…


All the while the creased cremated paper
Will keep on swallowing us over and over
This smoke once was the signal of civilization
It is now the ominous gleam of our globalization
Soothing soot it is not, it throttles us all
I foresee it but soon we shall
Fall back into this drowsy land
Demise of those who did not stand
Up behind the legacy of a quill
That is now silent in steel, still
Child, write down your future
Your literature will triumph for sure!
I’d read his lines instead of gulping down
The shiny pill of tomorrow brand new uptown!

January 26, 2016
Guillotière, Lyon
7:17 pm

Read too much prose today
Kerouac, Micheline and Miller
And that old Bob Kaufman too
Tried to sell me their rhymeless lines
Child, Eyed, D.A Levy capitalizes all
Splashing bloods and vessels on the wacky paper
Airs of San Francisco, Paris and even…PAUSE!

Read too much prose for hours
On end, Kerouac, Micheline and Miller’s
And that old Bob Kaufman as well
Tried to sell me their rhymeless swell
Child, Eyed, D.A Levy capitalizes, he does
Splashing bloods and vessels on the wacky paper
Airs of San Francisco, Paris, and even… PAUSE!

Renegades and outlaws, Bible of the Outraged
To me rhymless poetry is like a hammer’s sledge
Ramming its fake fluid down people’s throat
And all is left on here is some ink one should blot.

January 19, 2016, 7:45 pm
Guillotière

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

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

From the Thames, I snake along the black
Serpent taking the Tube, London’s rack
On the Northern Line, the night lays ahead
I remember the town’s name at the top of my head

Camden is like a classy underground broad
Come along before you’re again on the road
I was a chick when I first came to Camden Town
At eighteen, now a woman I’m downtown

From gothic ***** clothing to Hare Krishna
Camden is kind of like Gingsberg’s California
It’s shabby and mystical, silly and lyrical
When I’m there please don’t give me a call

Camden is like a drunk crow looking for Poe
In between nails and leathers that glow
You would grab a dude and he’ll be beneath
Jack the Ripper roaming at Hampstead Heath

My New England, Camden was and is
Not because of bars and hashish drags
Camden possesses underneath her rags
The sweet scent of a quirky release

Deliciously deviant divine
Line up at the looming line
The black Northern Line inked
All throughout London, linked…

December 20, 2015 9:26 pm
London, Victoria

On a bench of relief
I sat. My pen green
At Bloomsburry gardens seen
By the wind like a leaf

To the publishing house around
I submitted my rhymes– this garden
Is against my literary gambling a warden
Behind those doors I heard a different sound

I toss the written coin–Head or tail?
London is a greedy squirrel searching litters
Would you British bustling bushy tail
Want to keep my tale and like my letters?

On a bench of hope
I dreamt–about poetry
My treasured sole trope
Lent to someone else’s industry

Bloomsburry I say your name
House of many a request
Your doorstep is my conquest
But what is, to freedom, fame?

December 15, 2015
Bloomsburry Square Gardens
London

Like a line love
Tethers my threshold
Poetry can’t catch hold
Of what we cannot solve

I chase, take down the thought
So that someday you ought
To see without the veil
Towards where I can’t sail

Is love a leeching spell
That bloodthirsty, pray tell?

December 11, 2015
While recording a song
Lyon, rue Juiverie

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

Crippled crowned crowds crawling for a crate
Craving to cry in crystalized cradles

Formed of fires in a fidgeting frame,
Favor the finest flavor for your fate!



Bedtime in a bleak baby-like babble
Blessed on his bustier blasting the blames

Gently gathering her gorgeous gauntlet
Glad to be glazed in the glass of his gin!

Soothed by his sights for this serene sin
Secretly seduced by this spoiled piglet

Whooshing wooden wildness withering
On the willing winding ***** whispering!

December, 3, 2015
Lyon 2 University, France

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

Written to Matthieu,


Loving

The pain of a doubt .
Seeking.
Perhaps, perhaps, seeking.

Healing

A futureless
Sentimental Wound
Meeting you again


In your words.
Isn’t that just
In real life
Role-playing?

Feeling
In lulls

Your long absences
That’s not a lie

Not getting

If we should take
What’s left to us
What we’re testing.

Remembering

For a few minutes…
Whether we were lovers
I watch you wither.

Thinking

About giving you back

What you thought
You discovered

Seeking, seeking,
Seeking.
Where desire
Has gone



I could tell you

That the past

Must have engraved
What happened


But giving up
Repelling

This memory
Everything is nighttime…

Writing

To know

That darkness
Is hard to drain!


Translated on August 7, 2015

Philosophy Café
Going downstream
Smoking
Its thoughts
Taking short drags

Trash Kant
Forget it all
One’s life upside down
A disappointed
Slow life
Trash Kant

If it’s without a hero
It is not Cicero
No one gives a ****
About any dame
Trash Kant
Yes, we can’t

Socraes would blush
If he heard the dialogues
Nothing would be written
Down a Decalogue
Sade’s sayings
Are insipid to them

Trash Kant
They pay the rent
To live in their
Oh, what a racket!
Pitiful alcohol
A risible sadness

And well they wouldn’t fare
In front of Charles Baudelaire
They only get of *****
The pensum
Trash Kant
No, we can’t






That’s an inspiration
A slow, peaceful
Aspiration
But you can’t get away
Without a sigh
And a bitter spleen


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne

Tender mystery of nature
That I hold in my hand
You, sweet secret so secure
Shiniest charm than the sand
Who would have thought that I
Could cherish the iris of your eye
You are the reason of my dream
And each time you let me in, your stream
Brightens my heart, the effect never wears off
With you the book is never written
In advance, so what are you made of ?
I have cast different spells on you so often
Your soul, so seldom opened has smiled
Your existence elates my enameled essence
Being one light, thence to me your beauty has never lied  
Why are you such an elixir, core of my diligence ?
Each time I drink your words, you recreate my Renaissance
Let me reach you again, we will enter in our trance.  

Will you read my bold words, behind that mild romance ?

November, 2, 2013

The mountain surrounds a limpid lake
Of a calm and captive silver-green
Like the waist of the wedded, a sylph
A besotted body, light, loved by the wind like the yew
Where are you escaping to, peaceful flow
In your fertile floor above which there is plenty of lives?
To the point of triggering the blue sea’s breeze jealousy
You hold, silent, Lamartine’s soul
He described you, lake, time’s metaphor
On your shiny waters, necklace of photophore
The sun beholds you, skimming your sides
Like the poet’s quill, your white bird.

What did he see in his prophetic century
Hurt by a soft and painful romanticism?
Holding you in his arm, his altar, in love with
Your richness, your serenity that the poet
Afflicted by time couldn’t feel
Save for his apostrophe, his eternal sigh
To you then, oh lake, the whisper of a scripture
That is known only by you, enigma in literature
Story with the man with words and scars
You contain in your dome, his most beautiful enamels.


Translated on August, 24 2015