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April Lorenzo May 2015
Un, deux, trois
Je peux voir la lune ce soir.
Les étoiles: un, deux, trois.
Je ne peux pas compter
le bouquet des étoiles.

Voilà, ils sont infinis.

Le temps va arrêter,
maintenant, cette heure, cette seconde
avec moins des personnes.
Le moment ne terminera pas.

Voilà, il est infini.

Finalement, les étoiles, je peux compter.
Un, deux. Seulement deux.
Tes yeux, mes étoiles.

Voilà, tu es infini.

J'ai le coup de foudre pour toi,
sous le ciel ce soir.
Un, deux, trois,
Tu as le coup de foudre pour moi.

Voilà, nous sommes infinis.
I wrote this poem for a class requirement and it got selected for « Printemps des Poètes 2013 » organized by l'Alliance française de Manille. You can go use google translate. It's actually decent if you traslate it there except for the last stanza. You'll get the gist of it tho. But if you want the legitimate translation, message me.
kelia May 2015
you smell like a memory
a 50 person charter bus only carrying 28
i don't want to let you hear my heartbeat
but i can feel your breath on the inside of my elbow

we have nothing in common
except the day of the week
today we are friday

you are thinking about a two hour time difference
june july and august

'i'm living in the moment,' you say
i nearly kick my legs through the glass of the window
tiny imprints, evidence of a nap on your shoulder

'i'm living in the moment,' you say
and i dip my french fries in your subtle charm
tasting sweet and salty all at once

'i'm living in the moment,' you say
i plant flowers in your ears
but you wait for them to grow

'i'm living in the moment,' you say
'but i'm not that kind of guy'
blue Nov 2013
Amoncellement de papiers
De travaux à complèter

Accumulation de pensées
À jamais terminer

Mon esprit vagabonde
Dans des réfléxions profondes

Remarques et insultes
Sans cesse, me tumultent

La peur s'installe en moi
Adieu estime de soi

J'espère sans cesse
De combattre cette tristesse

Étendue sur mon lit
Je laisse sortir mes mots par écrit

Esquissant des dessins
Je souhaite pour un meilleur lendemain
blue Nov 2013
Pieds dans le sable
Cheveux dans le vent
Joie véritable
Dans mon cœur battant

Un regard vers toi
Observant la mer
Je  me noie
Dans ton mystère

Si seulement
Tu te retournais
Verrais-tu à ce moment
Que je t'aimais?

Un sourire
En ce beau soir
J'étais prête à partir
Et te chuchota alors

*«Au revoir.»
blue Nov 2013
Miroir, miroir
N'arrives-tu pas à voir?
Derrière ce monde ingénu
Se cache des gens malotrus

Miroir, miroir
N'arrives-tu pas à voir?
Derrière ce sourire chaleureux
Se cache un océan de pleurs

Miroir, miroir
N'arrives-tu pas à voir?
Derrière ce sourire ébloui
Se cache un tristesse infinie

Miroir, miroir
N'arrives-tu pas à voir?
Ce que tu reflètes
Est la raison secrète

*De ma tristesse
Mesmed Jausa May 2015
je n'ai pas une femme
mais je n'ai pas une cigarette

j'ai l'histoire pour le manque extraordinaire
mais je n'ai pas une cigarette

j'ai vive sans un moment placide
sans le sang de les innocents
mais je n'ai pas une cigarette

je n'ai pas une femme
et je n'ai pas une cigarette
My youth has been nothing but stormy and savage,
A tempest of thunder and lightning and rain;
Though glimpses of sunlight have lessened the damage
Few ripe fruits now in my garden remain.

My mind has reached its autumnal phase,
With the ***** and the rake I begin my toil
In earthy hollows as deep as graves
To gather anew the rain flooded soil.

And who knows whether my dreams of new flowers
Will find in this earth washed bare like the shore,
The mystic elixir that would give them might?

Alas, alas! Our lives are eaten away by the hours,
And at our hearts the hidden Enemy gnaws
And ***** our blood like a parasite!
I am lovely, O mortals! Like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where poets are bruised to the bone
Formed to inspire each in their quintessence
A love as eternal and silent as essence.

I unite Ledaean pallor with a frozen heart,
I scorn movement for it displaces my art,
A riddling sphinx, on a throne in the sky;
Never do I laugh and never do I cry.

Poets, at the feet of my imperial pose,
Which I seem to adopt from statues grandiose,
Will consume their lives in studious indulgence;

For I have, to enthrall those docile paramours
Pure mirrors to enhance all beauties evermore:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal effulgence!
Mia Barrat May 2015
Noon.* We are closest at Noon, when
the sun is cruel and when I teach you
how to tell when a girl wants a kiss. I've
built a wall between us; now be a dear

and lean against it. As the sun hammers
onto our heads, I reflect upon how difficult
the word Noon must be to pronounce in
your precious French mouth. You feel self-

conscious about your accent well guess what
so do I and I've been encumbering this
freedom-infested continent since 2001. You

try to dig out a groove in the wall - but you
see, when I built it I made sure it was so
sturdy we'd die against it. This is *Noon.
This is Sonnet at Noon, the sequel to Sonnet at Dawn. Next up is Sonnet at... I don't know yet haha
Xan Abyss Apr 2015
Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
You know Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time

In the shadows of Notre Dame
A monster stalks our halls
A giant, hulking, hungry mass
Searching for ****** girls
It's the truth, don't you believe it?
The beast is out there creeping
It's much easier to see
than the demons we all keep
Under lock and key
Inside you and me

Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, hidden in his hell
Watching from the bell tower as life is squandered daily
Nobody seems to understand the truth of human frailty
But there they chime again!
It's that time again!
Quasimodo's still alive
Because the Bells are right on time

A monster forged in hate
was a man who died for love
and though he suffered the slings and arrows
of the cursed world he lived above
Quasimodo died
as Quasimodo lived
Believing that the gift of love
was the best gift we could give.

Quasimodo, ringer of the bells
Quasimodo, dying in this cell
Lying in the crypt with arms wrapped tight 'round his beloved
Embracing his dark angel as eternally as love is
But it's that time again!
Why don't they chime this time?
The Halls of Notre Dame are still
Quasimodo must have died...
An ode to the 'Modo.
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