"blague" poems
N'attends pas un sourire ... pour être gentil.
N'attends pas d'être seul ... pour apprécier un ami.
N'attends pas d'être aimé ... pour aimer.
N'attends pas de recevoir ... pour donner.
N'attends pas une blague ... pour que tu rit.
N'attends pas le silence ... pour que tu crie.
N'attends pas le vacarme ... pour te réveiller.
N'attends pas de meilleur emploi ... pour commencer à travailler.
N'attends pas d'avoir beaucoup ... pour partager.
N'attends pas le désastre ... pour regretter.
N'attends pas de souffrir ... pour agir.
N'attends pas d'avoir le temps ... pour pouvoir servir.
N'attends pas la chute ... pour te rappeler du conseil.
N'attends pas la nuit ... pour chercher le soleil.
N'attends pas l'erreur ... pour demander le pardon.
N'attends pas la folie ... pour chercher la raison.
N'attends pas la douleur ... pour croire à la prière.
N'attends pas le noir ... pour allumer la lumière.
N'attends pas la séparation ... pour te réconcilier.
N'attends pas la misère ... pour espérer.
N'attends pas la fin ... pour dire le non-dit.
N'attends pas la mort ... pour apprécier la vie.
...Car nul ne sait de combien de temps l'on dispose encore .
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 7:44 AM UTC
dimitri was a music man who paid attention to life's subtleties
he chiseled at a block of notes, hammering them down to sculpted perfection
music did he use as a platform to disguise his controversial contexts
distracting his judges with thin air before delving into the matter at hand
a scherzo, to illumine Stalin's atrocities
sewn into the playful boom-chuck, dangerous melodies and complex harmonies
in one instance, the William Tell did he use to comment on
power to the people and their triumph over the regime
it was a strategic ironic play
Rossini's light, airy music brewing with tumult in fact
une blague, a sort of joke to mock society
an unsettling fiddle bit later echoed in the likes of Bernstein
dimitri read his part at a UNESCO convention--
--deadpan, not looking up once from his paper
it was clear, he had his own opinion
a voice rang in the distance, an approaching bell
at a time when all were violently silenced
the opposition cleverly fashioning his statements
one only had to listen to his symphonies to find
dimitri's was a very attuned mind.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC
I think I may have
an aboulia
maybe even
aboulomania
but I'll give this a
pirouette
with panache
unless I come down
with
asthenia
I'll set up a balize
to guide my figurative
calamus
as words debouch
from
my thalamus
words that have been
in the eccaleobion
for a time
aeonian
it won't make much sense
as these things seldom do
a blague is a blague is a blague
completely
all the way through
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
as a child, i lived in constant fear of pain
hiding in dark corners
my teeth gritting, grinding
each creak of a floorboard heralding the next strike
the whining trumpet of
my oppressors' approach
thrown down stairs
locked in rooms
beaten blue
hands under
clothes, dancing over wounds
my only peace the slow rumination after.
this was my Hell on earth.
so then why
do I
only feel alive
when you hurt me?
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 2:24 AM UTC
#pretentious nonsense
interesting that
the word bears
a resemblance
to the more modern
word "blog"
for which it is not
the root
so if you want your blog
to have a pretentious air
why not spell it
differently
and say what it really is
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC