A beggar I once met
At the port of La Goulette
Greeted me with a nod
But he spoke to me not.

A beggar I once met
At the port of La Goulette
Made me wonder all night:
What's a beggar who beggs not?
c) LazharBouazzi
*La Goulette is a seaport town in the northern suburbs of Tunis.

This most beautiful morning
Stirs my heart

A lone black horse
Stands motionless
In a frost encrusted field
Waiting for the sun
To warm his body

The grasses and trees
Ice covered
Are waiting too

They are waiting
For the orange sun
To revive them
To free them
Of their crystalline encasements

My frozen heart
Is melting
At the beauty
Of Autumn

Brown, orange, red, straw

Everything stands still
On this early Saturday morning
Waiting for the thaw

Reminding us all
That we are small

And telling me
To offer my prayers

To the magnificent sun

You fly up high
You fly down low
You are a beauty
A natures show
You are a beetle
So **** cute
Tho so little
You ain't a mute
A power pack
Loaded on your back
You flash your lights
And ignite the nights
The light that glow
I hope it doesn't blow
Your wings are shiny
Your eyes so tiny
If your heat bell rings
You might burn your wings
It would make me sad
To see a burned firefly
Others have fled
As above my head you fly
You are my beautiful
Firefly...


©sim

I guess
I'll go back to poetry
now that
the real thing is ending

It's hard to lose touch
when you finally found it
hard to imagine
being content
staring at computer eyes
and typing can never
replace her flesh and blood hand

yet the reality is we must part after meeting
so brief the moment
so unsweet the parting
I may write a poem full of tears
I may tear this **** keyboard apart

trying to make it all real once more
her feel her heart her love for me.

An old picture for an old room.
An old song for an old day.
A visit to the other ways of looking back at time.

Sweet sensations, bitter sweet blood,
Rosemary and thyme.