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Coming through arches and glass
Out with your bags, inspected fast
Under a tree in a garden's sun
Read out the rules to everyone
Tell us how to drive safe as kids
Homilize on the things people did
Over and done, we get our cards
Useful for work or for fun
Seems like only yesterday
Everyone had to ask 'rents for a way
I am leaving scratches on the ground; dragging
my feet: they no longer take me home
if there is one.

The tree in the backyard fell during the storm
and with it went the young years of my life
torn in half by the lightning

and took from me the shade I sought
in your hair and the thoughts they often led me in
and some belief in fantasies.

Even my dreams won't cross the threshold of the room
I confine you in; you haunt me
like homesickness and runaways.

You gave your life to the birdhouse
and waited for the wings to reveal themselves; flutter
and fly away.
Hp doesn't feel like home anymore.
I DENY THE EXISTENCE OF DEATH
( for Timothy Ades​ )

Timothy opens
his mouth

and butterflies
fly out.

The room abounds
with butterflies

all claiming to be
Robert Desnos.

Words released
into a voice

" a soul
without a body"

moves amongst us
and moves us.

The ghost of Robert's voice...

"Bien qu'elle semble sortir d'un tombeau
Elle ne parle que d'été et de printemps,"

whispers in my ear...

"Elle emplit le corps de joie,
Elle allume aux lèvres sourire."

Carried high on the shoulders
of the voice of Timothy Ades

Robert Desnos
is passing.

I stand up
and bow
****

At the Bar Des Arts Timothy Ades  got up and read a funny Brecht and as I was priming the next reader he
suddenly announced that he was going to read Robert Desnos' LE PAPILLON and this glorious tone poem burst upon the air and I was lost for words. I adore Robert Desnos but had never heard him in somebody's voice before...the sheer joy of it( knowing what a terrible fate he had)brought tears to my eyes. It was as if all the happiness that ever was...rolled into this one voice flinging itself against death.

***

The lines quoted in my poem are from Desnos' LA VOIX

Une voix, une voix qui vient de si ****
Qu’elle ne fait plus tinter les oreilles,
Une voix, comme un tambour voilée
Parvient, pourtant, distinctement jusqu’à nous
Bien qu’elle semble sortir d’un tombeau
Elle ne parle que d’été et de printemps,
Elle emplit le corps de joie,
Elle allume aux lèvres le sourire.
Je l’écoute. Ce n’est qu’une voix humaine
Qui traverse le fracas de la vie et des batailles
L’écroulement du tonnerre et le murmure des bavardages.
Et vous ? Ne l’entendez-vous pas ?
Elle dit : « La peine sera de courte durée »
Elle dit : « La belle saison est proche »
Ne l’entendez-vous pas ?

Robert Desnos (Contrée, 1944)

****

LE PAPILLON

Trois cents millions de papillons
Sont arrivés à Châtillon
Afin d’y boire du bouillon,
Châtillon-sur-Loire,
Châtillon-sur-Marne,
Châtillon-sur-Seine.

Plaignez les gens de Châtillon !
Ils n’ont plus d’yeux dans leur bouillon
Mais des millions de papillons.
Châtillon-sur-Seine,
Châtillon-sur-Marne,
Châtillon-sur-Loire..

And so it was with even greater pleasure that we managed to coax him back to dazzle us with Desnos at The Keystone​ where he delighted many a monkey. We eagerly await his forthcoming book of Desnos which will be coming soon to a mind near you. Be prepared to be Desnos'd all over again.

What a pleasure it is to know Mr Desnos waking about in the voice of Timothy Ades.

https://youtu.be/znijbQvfJZs
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
I woke up this morning and my name flashed on T.V.
They said i blew up places , they said i killed masses .
Men , women & children I murdered them all.
Who am I ?
I am a muslim and i am taking this fall.
They used my name and spread the terror.
I am not them , it surely is an error.
We, muslims, are the holders of peace , we spread love.
Why am I being  represented by their false actions.
I am a person, with different notions.
World will now brand me a terrorist.
Don't judge me by their actions , I insist.
I am not them, they pilfered my name.
They inflicted libel , and my religion to defame .
I have been robbed , robbed of my name.
I am a muslim , human like you , all the same.
My name has been robbed , my identity stolen
I deprecate the terror and mourn for fallen.
There are millions like me and humanity lies in our depths.
But we are all victims of Identity Theft* ...............
We Muslims condemn  the Paris attack.
last year
i promised myself that i would never be sad anymore.
but boy did i break that promise
i sunk back into anorexia
i relapsed to selfharm
i became suicidal
but once again i promised myself to be happy.
but everytime relapses came faster
and they were a lot stronger
last week i made the same promise.
and here i am in my bed
writing the same suicide notes over and over again
happiness just isn't for me
A heart torn
Torn between two
Do I want him
Or do I want you

His hands on my hips
But your name rolls off my lips
Torn between love and passion
My heart slowly rips

In losing grip
But I force myself to hold on
I don't know why I can't except
You're already gone

He says he loves me
But that's not true
There's no love
Like the one I had for you

He seen me smile
He seen me cry
All over a girl
And he doesn't understand why

From him I hide the truth
I wanted to make her my wife
Now she's gone and he's here
But I guess it's just the bisexual life
The term Bisexual
was coined in 1824.
Back in the days,
when Gender meant
what was in your pants,
not in your head.
Don’t try to tell me I am Pan!
Don’t bring me back to the stone ages,
When I tell you who I am.
Why do I say I’m Bi?
People then understand what I am,
Instead of trying to say I **** pans.
Because It feels just right,
Not too uncaring, not too tight.
Because I am bisexual,
And my love is my right.
If I kiss a woman, I am a lesbian
If I kiss a man, I am straight
I have this illogical need to scream at the heavens from atop a cliff
To scream I’m here in this world; I exist!
To say I am just bisexual is wrong
To say that certain aspect of me is the most oppressed is wrong
I am a woman, I am bisexual, I have tourettes, I have depression
I could go on for hours saying I ams
Saying statements that describe me
I am oppressed and stereotyped by the society I live in
So why is being bisexual the one I defend the most?
I asked myself this daily
Until I found the answer
Every other fact about me is undeniable;
I have a ******
I have diagnoses
That is tangible evidence
I have no sheet of paper with a signature of some fancy M.D.
Nor do I have some body part that labels me as bisexual
There is no definite way to tell if I am bisexual
Which makes it easier for people to say You’re just confused or It’s just a phase
And no matter how often I say it’s not; they won’t believe me
They don’t believe me because I don’t have the evidence they want
I don’t have an M.D.’s signature
I don’t have that ‘bisexual bodypart’
All I have is my own knowledge
And I don’t give a **** if that’s not good enough for you
Because I do exist
And I am here to stay
This is an old poem that I wrote quite a while ago. I think some people may enjoy it.
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