This poem was written to describe/honor a boat-shaped wooden sculpture on which a town was built.

Here’s humanity chucked on that tub
Figure the fuss in the ship’s hold
Roaming ‘round the deck, helm is hell for holding
How come that outland ship ain’t capsizing?

They ****** up their toll of ****** *****
Thrown out, left behind, they’re coping with that schism
Roving ‘round Ocean blue between two small isthmus
Grinning like they used to ain’t gonna be easy fun.

Here’s humanity beating it to starboard
If they had behaved themselves, possibly
God  almighty wouldn’t have batted an eye
Zealous lots in exile on that ****** city-boat

They built up  walls ‘gainst their bitter heartbreaks
Alleys, their homes and even small gardens
On a boat! Oh my, isn’t that tub gonna sink?
The wind-facing prow is a freakin’ chimera!

Such a craft is like a merry-go-round
You feelin’ sea-sick ? Looks like a hiccup!
It’s not rocket science, maybe a bit pitchin’
Here’s these talented convicts’ last resort!

Translated from the original version in French, July 19, 2018, Oullins. Appoline

Desperate to grab the grail of words
we decide to share our joint thoughts
to introspect our vision together
of what it takes to write two at this hour

Pen and paper, one
writes witness into the mind of the other
and meets the timid point of punctuation, followed by
the exasperation of words
it only follows

rules do not apply
nor does a simulacra of similes
the enjambment is our language
that we create we can
misplace
is it our native tongue so much so that
poetry never needs to be learned?

The friendship of thought to process
Relays poet to poem
to poet
And poem again

It's with you now
          I walk
Our eyes along the same path to troth

It's truth is spoken
Between lines, it's in the heart
Our paths, alone, come together
Its friendship Is art

Dialogical process fill in
the blanks at  1:01 4:01
p.m, hey aim
For the sweet link we proudly
discovered and shared in eyes and ink
Both black.

It's lack of light
Where the sun of the one seeks the night of the other
It's days and nights; mark hours... asunder under calendar
And daydream of once and again seeing the same sun face the marvel of the other

We are time traveling, air traveling through words
book a seat at the airline company of poetry
What the other sees in the sun sky above her
the other thinks of under his night sky
the thought of one never cancels that of the other
We trod on the same path
Me with Ginsberg, you with Plath.

Written jointly by Appoline Romanens first, third, seventh and ninth paragraph  at 1:00-1:27 pm, Lyon, France and by Jesse Altamirano, second,  fourth, fifth, sixth and eighth 4:00- 4:30 am, Riverside, California
May 23, 2017

Secret garden

The grass is wet, the moonlight high
The birds fell silent in a sigh
The soporific stars shine bright
The sweet scene is quite a sight!

A breathing although discreet
Can be heard arising unashamed
Through the branches heavy
With tonight's eerie dew

And the jealous light reflects
On the smooth glittering surface
Silver and black- the dream is real
You stand unseen but stare

Shadows connect when thus angled
Leaves like hands entangled
Just ask them if you dare
What they feel

Appoline
Germolles
August 15,  2016

Ocean: When you are legendary

Utopia of lost Atlantis
Sunken city asleep
Under pillars of larimars
Plato’s wisdom once bestowed
Untold magic and sacred stones

A surge of madness, whips of rain
Battling down the hull of a boat
From beneath the profound chaos
The Kraken, furious, emerges
The ship is wrecked, turned into dust!

Ocean: When you are awe-ful

A breeze flows, ***** sea gloats!
What a beautiful mess- debris floats
With a quest for vengeance
Opposing swells are relentless
Casting spells on the defenseless

The ocean is endless, it's stupendous
Guarded by deep clouds - tremendous
Dreams drown staring at these clouds
Feels proud, someone from the deep down
A half-asleep Kraken screams loud

Ocean: When you are ritualistic

Fresh and salty energetic waves
Diving the dreamer into a megalopolis
Of scaled goddesses performing a ballet
Invited to a very cruel and festive banquet
Colorful, an aquatic aurora borealis of blood

In which the mythical mermaid sings
Skimming her *******, a pendant of aquamarine
She is Pacific, lustrous and libertine
Her voice enchanting the remotest sea-temple
On the surface, the waters suddenly turned red

Ocean: When you are watery hell

On the horizon, the wide blue yonder scribbled
A storm surge, the dreamer lost urge
Hope purged and dwindled, waves got stained
Silently an atrocious maelstrom wiggled
There the sea-temple stood naked and belittled

Resonating to the sound of an unheard curse
From the inside of the mermaid's purse
An enigma, a blank verse - unfathomable
Making the deep not amicable yet diverse
The ocean is inhabitable still, unnavigable

Written between December 17, 2019 and January 17, 2020
Cc Jordan Rains and cc Appoline Romanens

A cluster of clothes clamped to my skin
Shreds of country flags floating in the wind
Harrowed by the heavy hollow heresy
Of humanity, scattered bribes of poesy.

But when you speak, my secluded soul
Sees the watercolor rainbow formed by four nations
Euskal Herria, France, Spain and America
You hold in your accents my tenderest childhood.

And when poets ink their nationalities
Through the diaphanous paper, light
With the burdening joy of their fatalities
I follow the trail of their voyage burning bright

Where you barred it all on the page
Shadows of lashes on your literary back
Raw and pure, rare and *****
The essences of you, self-permeating.

Aurora, your rose-kissed fingers
Skimmed your book, the imprint lingers
Surrounded by your poignant power
My quill joins your flow, serene seer.

Inspired by Aurora Vélez García
Lyon, July 5, 2018
Appoline Romanens

This season births a golden brown hue
Painted on red leaves heaved
By the warm wind this fall evening
One can read the imprint of time which stuns
A network of living paths, on the brown veins
Like a body’s own, lifted
Led, by October ravished
Over the hills and dunes.

This network of veins I own
Forming this soft orange dream
And this hair tousled
By the season’s fire, mad about
The golden muses’ whispers, fairies
The tracks of the stealthy squirrels
Vivid ribs imprinted into the warm clay
Keep my feet to this fall soil
This secret carved into yew.

Appoline
Translated and written on October 24, 2016.
Lyon

In memory of the victims of the attack on the gay club, Pulse, Orlando, June 12, 2 AM

The Queen’s Lips

The Queen dismounted her silver-haired stag
Her gown glittering with the stars’ twilight
She raised her tears-streaked face to the night
The blazon of her horse displayed a rainbow flag.

Grieving, she walked into the nightclub
Her heart throbbed, and quickened her pulse
She opened her arms and embraced the people
Her people, our people, forced into the stillness of death…
Radiating from her lips, they saw a simple light of hope
The halo filled the hollow holes of their hearts
They rose, victorious, wounded but determined!

As her scream of love perspired in the air
She inspired them, she rebirthed their lair
Dear mother of desire, freedom and pride
Fifty bullets won’t slow your relentless stride!

Your love heals the benighted hate
Despite your beautiful body, marred with fifty bullets!

Appoline
June 15, 2016
Lyon

Red

Palm under the squirrel’s paw
Supported on my arm
Feeling its sweet heartbeat
I feel its pulse go slow
Its gentle, beguiling beat
Warm and furry fluffy friend
Fitting right into my palm

The jay is only the jack
Because the red is my king.


Appoline, May 26, 2016
Lyon, Guillotière.

My love, my words tonight are weak yet ablaze
My emotions are trapped and lost in a maze
But my heart beats recalling yours, and I am fainting under your grace
This space between your tender arms is by far my favorite place

Do you know how your kisses are fresh and new-born roses?
Touched by the drizzle in a February dawn
Do you know how your voice sounds as though a lyre rises
Do you know how your hair is sparkling to reflect a lovely fawn?

My love, I have sunk my soul in the swell of your sight
And your hands wrapped tightly around my waist is such a delight
That cuddled so close to you, this poetry becomes breathtaking
And my heart releases for you this passionate flow, gushing.

Angel, over the hills and far away I wish you could return to me
Allow me to hearten and heal you with my melody
Oh, on your stars are graved this memory of us, fascinating canopy
My love, each time I am staring at the obsidian sky you are shining endlessly ...



Appoline H-Romanens , last day before June, 2012 , Inspired by and with Matthieu Harreau