.
Feeding the birds in winter,
So they might come,
Friends through a window,
At home I have so much space
On empty walls, waiting
For photos, paintings
That now occupy floors,
Waiting for someone,
A golden ring from her,
But the telephone is mute
And boxes are kept and music,
A passion plays all by itself,
In stations set, programmed,
Processions of droll and cross,
Sweet undulations to bare,
Barely listened to.  

At home,
Blankets cover chairs,
In the cold that only I know,
How warm the walls seem,
Unadorned, yellow for sun
And red for mausoleum,
There's enough blue
In the sky.

The sun loomed young through the ribs of the Punic Port
Bringing back his turquoise splendor to the Med-Sea;
And Seagull, who in his morning flight did escort
The golden loaf of bread fishermen longed to see,
Soared higher and higher over the glazing port,
Preparing for the long voyage when the time be.

Expectant and white was the Carthaginian knight,
Oblivious of the blue peril; no long flight
Would scare him, no azure thirst would he have to fight.
Only the phantasm of an alien skylark,
who would despoil the timer of the golden sun &
peck out her "off" button  with his accent mark -
Would make him soar & sing in his vision of bravery.

(c)LazharBouazzi

Have you found a Saviour;
One to emulate,
Then denegrate,
Whip and crown and tree?
Then turn, and say,
It wasn't me.

Would I have seen the god-like qualities,
Listen to the sermons,
Eat the fish and bread,
Drink the watery wine?
Would he raise me from the dead?
Could my feet fit the prints
On the sands of Galilee.
Would he admonish me
For having two coats,
Finishing my smoke
With one straw in my coke?

I have found my Saviour.
His name is Xavier.

dream of a dark
sky, where the ocean
with its gentle pull
gathers the mosses
of the waves, unravels
and drifts in gold pools
full of moon and love.