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La nuit est un gage
La nuit est une sécurité
Les ténèbres le meilleur camouflage
Alors pourquoi traité la nuit de danger
Purgé d'insécurité tout ce qui concerne le noir
Nikki Feb 20
I was a menace
out in the dark, out in the rain, out with the black candy canes

I was a taunter
hidden behind my laughter, my wounds, my obscene gestures ... oh no, were they too cruel?

One look is all it took,
to strike a match with your eyes
inflamed memories through burnt fingertips
deceased flashbacks floating down to the bottom of the river
I galavant thru alleyways with gloved hands
purely my gaze should make you shiver

this life form has left me half torn
laying underneath the stars right next to the gutter
more noble gentlemen have risked their romances for your my dear

what would you take me for?
I ride the dead night upon my black horse in circles
among the empty hills and through the startled trees
enveloping and twisting before the moon herself
carefully eying those who've permanently plagued me
beheading several in rows like collapsed flowers on a grave

NEIGH!!!

Don't stay out too long
I'd run if I were you
it's getting a little too late.
Gemini Jan 28
Black as a cat, purrs like a cat, acts like a cat. Even a bell hangs from his neck. Every trait of a cat. Emerald eyes and blonde hair. Sweet puns and romantic kisses. Who wouldn’t want a love such as Cat Noir? Try as he may to woo the lady of luck. The ladybug. Soon he’ll show her, soon the Lady of luck and the heart of the cat will become one.

A few more puns and saving should pay off in the end. This kitty just has to wait a little longer. A kitty as black as night. Eyes belonging to those of an emerald. Hair like gold and a heart made of sugar can make you melt the minute you lay your eyes upon him. Cat Noir is his name, and LadyNoir is his ship to sail.
acacia Aug 2020
let this view be for him: how it must—
the echo draws the lingering soul out of me
but it stays for it whirls and it makes me cry
but the hour of the day to impress you sings the joy
of the One —he stops and I come towards the rain,
and an impressionable glow of horn creeps into the sauna,
and it lowers my body, giving me the “immeasurable” chills:
but still these are words: god is in here, yes, god is in here—
god is way inside the violins and the dreams of these chords
he hits these notes and these horns play as if it was a cliched night
my aching god, my body falls in line with his movements on the drum roll; my neck moves, my hips sway, my waist penetrates the other day into the next morning for it is ephemeral :
the little windows of babes that twirl in these sounds in this rhymes in sight of his horns—filled with city nights

they sound like city nights like lurking blackness over trees and buildings lit up with windows of orange-yellow-opaque and she dances in the background—
this trumpet-woman: she dances, she does a spin she is trying to get her spin; she is trying to get her tap, she is trying to get in the door—she is stuck in the door
the key, she is fumbling with her key—little flails, a higher flail, she flails, she heightens—
she is close to opening the door
she sticks the key, jamming it in there— she turns she turns, she twists she twists: the keys
she takes a breath. — . she turns, she twists, she turns, she twists—
she walks away from the door, the key stuck in there
she staggers trying to learn how to walk again; drunken, she blares out, she blares out in the city coughing and her saxophone belting—she squeaks, she slurs, she blares, she whirs, she slurs, she blares, she sings, she screeches, she whistles through the day and the night

:four trees breeze by her, black skirt flow and taxis pass by her:

lame sounds into the wind, she keeps going. lame sounds into the world—she turns, she twists, she falls slightly, she skips and steps and she turns the key! she inhales [ ] ankle twist her arm trips,
her wrist squeezes into her pocket; clad all black—the stars join her and she sings lamely into the night, her voice reverberating throughout the leaves
a car yells as she repeats the night:
she sings out lamely, blares and twists and turns and she walks to the door—crickets pray, the car yells—she rests her head against the door—cars yell and honk, driving through her door: the door is open: the walls talk to her, the stars all watch her—she limps through the halls, the trumpet, the saxophone limps; the doors watch underneath: peering into the skirt of the trumpet: the hosiery adorned legs cramped and relaxed: tension jarred and stirred, wiggling free: peeking at the shiny bronze in between the bridge the way the air flexes around her

it changes shape towards her daily repeat nightly motion of monitoring the trapeze\

the sky gives atmosphere and volume into her hair—the realm
of being stuck, she is stuck and repeats: she is stuck and repeats
the lame song and blares into the ceiling: the empty missing ceiling—she blares and croaks and lamely walks to the steps of the day. it is night.
her eyes follow the trail up their Stare, and as she goes up each stair she feels despair pouring out of her porous eye’s pores that are open, and eyes closed to the velvet touching her uvula-*****. . . she drowns on these stairs and stains . .  .
cannot make it up—lame song— cannot —blaring —despair
exhale ][ inhale [] exhale ][ inhale [] prana ... lame .. . prana ... prana ... sati ... samadhi... liberate citta ... drop the poor chord: lame, lame song . . .

she limps up the stairs, each foot hitting each stair twice:
up down down down down up up up stagnant stagnate up down down stagnate — up down stagnate stagnate — blaring blare — loud: cranky! — she drunkenly sings, sways up the handrail, pours out her drink down the roof, and watches it fall:

the doors open, all simultaneously, whilst she looks down the stairwell pouring her drink down there for all to have: "Share joy, turn the key! Share, it is stuck! Get it out of the door! Open the door..." she shouts, she blares, she levels out. she yells.
lame song, limping . . . drunkenly dressed. Sloppy. utterance, muttering, low voice, trembling, yet now repeat the motion of the night. — realistic night days of the sophened mind, she blares, she cuts, she blares, she lowers— accelerationist accrucianado — "Dressing me out : the worst way to die go figure:! The constellation shows you!" lame song, blare, drift, loud lame limp. she walks further up the steps—the same song repeat, quivering now, more gusto, more braggadocio: "drawers long. inhale. prana. paroksha. indirectly." she opened once  again: concerto opus *****: quiver, blare, blossom: the stars shine now, and she sings while they fall around her—

she refrains, they fall, glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, she refrains. she refrains. they fall, glidely, they drop, lively. swiftly. sprightly, brightly—she drinks in her own drinks of drown, she goes down the octave. down. there, the sky changes waving around: now over the highway, she blares loud, floating in the sky, floating above cars, and the traffic below her . . . she blares out croaks: she croons to them the same truth of the heavens they couldn’t see and she refrains loudly, glidely:
whizzling up there—her drool drizzles down there—inside and outside—pumping in, the throbbing joy: thrusting divine, thrusting angels—hayorically she moves dizzily over cities—oceans above her—traffic below her—she cramps up, the stars guide her

her more sing move; she waves more,
to the passerby, the clouds drift by for love/ no love /she drinks more love/ to the god where she blares, she croaks, she wheels out there, into the world cries of a never harmed One:
of a One never divided into Many: and she and the ones in a 50 foot radius are hit with atomic blasts the size: bruised and battered flesh, heart is black and body is blue, but the spirit is incorruptible and the spirit remains when the body burns when the sun dies lamely flying, limply stars guiding—
drool stuttering from each pore on her, she drives away in her no-more vehicle: this is the last body, and she knows this: and she accepts this is her last body, as she flies over New York City,
drifting with the race cars, absorbing each and every person and being: crossing roads that never existed, singing songs to nobody
city noir -
Jana Pelzom May 2020
There it stood,
To ruin the mood;
All bright and red,
The Russian roulette.
The gunshot had rang,
Then a head started to hang;
The Lady had left;
Death not there to jest,
In this wilting hour.
There chilled to the bone,
The bullet lodged alone;
Jack froze what was left of the breath.
There left the only life,
The gun in its warmth,
But maybe not for I hear a cry
And someone nearby
Has seen what night could not hide.
Felt first hand what was noir;
It was chance played;
Not with Luck at hand,
But Death as the croupier.
Noir leave it to Chance ©️ 2020 Jana Pelzom
Jonathan Moya Nov 2019
In the rear view mirror
he can see the specters..
  
her upside down reflection
scatter when a foot
hits the puddle…

hear the notes
of a trumpet solo
popping thru the
open red door
of a jazz club…

remembers when they
whacked his partner…

and left their
footprints on his ribs..  

left his mouth
out of joint…

wounded,
in love with that
woman in the blue dress
holding him in her arms…

asking her if there
is anything else
he should know..

because she is
a major part
of the mystery…
SamanthaX Oct 2019
2.13.

I’m walking through a
Masterpiece
This lonely dirt road
Reminding me of
a old familiar place
In a time
before time
became a
long time ago

Where your
white bones
were carved
to become my own

In the stories of
past and present
constellations

Of how we all fall down
The Values of
the Dead Wildflowers
All fall down

Hush now
Listen to the
sound
Of petals decay
Let them fall down
Rotting away

Cold fingers lifting
away lullaby lingerie
Corporate corpses
refilling graves
Hush now
As you fall down

Singing
Ringing
Around

Again with the
death threat lies
Give me a breath
of life when I die
So I can break
free
So I can fall
down
Hush now
Gun to my head
Hush now
Don’t make a sound

Breaking free
I found your
broken body
I know you
I see you keep your
Demons close

I do too

The tale of stars
and their
troubled hearts
trailblazing down
together in
tangled sheets

In the arms
of God
falling asleep
Starry Aug 2019
As I try to fall
Adleep
I see the ultraviolet glow
Of the neon signs from out side side
Making this seem
A French noir
ms reluctance Mar 2019
I shall let you go now –
you were but a lucid dream;
a plume of fantasies
I exhaled in a lurch of longing.

Let me say goodbye
before I forget… to miss you.
Darling, you were the knife
I used to cut through
this long nursed ache that is life.
Deb Jones Dec 2018
She sat at her desk
Silhouetted in black and white
Sipping from a highball glass
A cigarette in a long
Jade holder, stained dark
Crimson from her
Perfectly painted lips
Burning to ash
That is tapped
Toward the ashtray
But without fail falls to the floor
She scratches out words
Seldom taking a break
She is so full of emotions
She doesn’t have to even think
The intense hurt
The hot feeling of shame
The ice that is even now
Starting to encase her heart
And so much more
Poured out onto
Rich white cotton paper
Using a feathered nib
With a short squat bottle of ink
She writes so fast the pages
Fill with her fiery pain.
And the writing helps
Cool her hurt
Even as the tears trickle down
Her beautiful face
In these moments of pain
Her face is laid bare
But that doesn’t detract
From her beauty
Her seemingly poreless face.
She finally sets the pen
In its inkwell.
Her cigarette in the ashtray
As she sits back
In her brocaded seat
Her silhouette now
Is diminished
As if her words carried weight
That is now
Transferred to paper
She rests for a moment.
Before going to bed
She really does feel lighter
After everything is said.
Such is our poets of old
Passions.
Defined by words
I never take any poetry
For granted
I too want to obtain absolution
In my words.
From my words
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