"brigand" poems
Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.
Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.
Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.
Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.
The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.
A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
I once caught you naked by the sea,
No one noticed, such noble shyness,
Invited to worlds, aloof as sun breeze,
Of purple sands, heathered highness.
In novae of your eyes was shipwreck,
Forlorn beacon chiding the weary lost
Of new worlds lumbered on the decks,
Seabirds caroled up wing, heavens' loft.
Skin, fleshy of netted eel, salt and foam,
Was hide for a brigand, lubbers sessions,
Sheered by sheen, blinding sky of gloam,
Stars runged on their draped processions.
My seal, now fate, cloak within jubilance;
Coral sea wave, slips under moon dance.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
153
Dust is the only Secret—
Death, the only One
You cannot find out all about
In his “native town.”
Nobody know “his Father”—
Never was a Boy—
Hadn’t any playmates,
Or “Early history”—
Industrious! Laconic!
Punctual! Sedate!
Bold as a Brigand!
Stiller than a Fleet!
Builds, like a Bird, too!
Christ robs the Nest—
Robin after Robin
Smuggled to Rest!
1.9k
And thus declared the Arab lady:
"Last night where under the wild moon
On grassy mattress I had lain me,
Within my arms great Solomon,
I suddenly cried out in a strange tongue
Not his, not mine."
And he that knew
All sounds by bird or angel sung
Answered: "A crested cockerel crew
Upon a blossoming apple bough
Three hundred years before the Fall,
And never crew again till now,
And would not now but that he thought,
Chance being at one with Choice at last,
All that the brigand apple brought
And this foul world were dead at last.
He that crowed out eternity
Thought to have crowed it in again.
A lover with a spider's eye
Will found out some appropriate pain,
Aye, though all passion's in the glance,
For every nerve: lover tests lover
With cruelties of Choice and Chance;
And when at last the murder's over
Maybe the bride-bed brings despair,
For each an imagined image brings
And finds a real image there;
Yet the world ends when these two things,
Though several, are a single light,
When oil and wick are burned in one;
Therefore a blessed moon last night
Gave Sheba to her Solomon."
"Yet the world stays":
"If that be so,
Your cockerel found us in the wrong
Although it thought it worth a crow.
Maybe an image is too strong
Or maybe is not strong enough"
"The night has fallen; not a sound
In the forbidden sacred grove,
Unless a petal hit the ground,
Nor any human sight within it
But the crushed grass where we have lain;
And the moon is wilder every minute.
Oh, Solomon! Let us try again."
1.7k
the scream come from daffodils and parchment wrapped around dead fish
and demi-loaves of lunacy at new moon
succulent remedies to what not
and whatever... you remain altogether opulent in your nonchalance
whatever you wanted is dust; but you're not in France
you're maimed in false lies
of the ripple...
you're the noose garnet
swinging from the harpy's tongue
an impolite brigand
in the hate place
of your
miff.
and for what ?
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 2:55 PM UTC
On yonder strand
In bridled land
A motley band
With vigor fanned
Across hill, lowland
With self righteous brand
Seeking brigand contraband
From each licentious hand
To forthrightly remand
Every highway spanned
Tolls, tribute to demand
Each pilfering cleric did reprimand
Then every bloated collection was panned
Every royal vestige scanned
Gratuitous coffers to expand
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 11:46 AM UTC
I had too much,
Swirling in a bar,
Swells after swalley,
My girlfriends gone
And I, lost, alone with
Familiar strangers.
They circled me,
Paddling, soles holey,
Rafting under rafters,
My red hair drawing
Them in, motley moths
To a flame, locks lit by ****
And glinting with flit of glass
In peat drub smoking pub.
One brave soldier, sailed
On over and our glaze eyes
Danced, deftly avoided any
Glance as we swayed, silent,
His breath was dank, of sea,
Moist and salty on raw flesh,
I could nae help but wake from
Dream by the scent of only you,
But it wasn't you dreamful laddie,
In shelled ears some brigand shot,
Sprayed a cold loss awakening,
His words, nothings, oak aged,
I felt loudly drowning, caught
In a corner of rusted, hulled
Ship now sinking, he threw
Himself a line and I saved
My soul, a life preserved
By a leaving, breaching
Heavy waves, bobbing
Into the out of doors.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 3:32 AM UTC
( Sonnet )
I once caught you naked by the sea,
No one noticed, such noble shyness,
Invited to worlds, aloof as sun breeze,
Of purple sands, heathered highness.
In novae of your eyes was shipwreck,
Forlorn beacon chiding the weary lost
Of new worlds lumbered on the decks,
Seabirds caroled up wing, heavens' loft.
Skin, fleshy of netted eel, salt and foam,
Was hide for a brigand, lubbers sessions,
Sheered by sheen, blinding sky of gloam,
Stars runged on their draped processions.
My seal, now fate, cloak within jubilance;
Coral sea wave, slips under moon dance.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero)
What an excruciating blow
You have dealt me!
A brute's uppercut offloaded
A smashing hit delivered
Like a monstrous boxer
Desirous of fame
With an amateur to tame
At this one bout too many
Wherein you have hit me below
The belt as a sadist deriving joy
From my anguish
And relish
From my enormous loss
Oh mower,
Nay hewer,
Can't you feel anything?
Can't you see?
Can't you reason for a while
With your prey?
Can't you pause to ponder
Just for a brief moment
So you can take a good decision
Choosing the right tree to fell
Instead of bringing down a mere
Sapling with your obedient saw?
Why deal sweeping blow
On a mere rookie?
Can't you distinguish
Between the ripe and the unripe?
Between the hen and the chick?
But hawks like you can pick
Meat amidst bones as Moses
In a basket amidst bulrushes
Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's
Infant-eating sword
And in wisdom did you wait
Patiently to visit Methuselah
At the zenith of hoary hair
Master of double standards
Eyes gorged
Conscience seared
Heart cold like frozen chicken
******* dry and drooping
Like a hag's
A ruthless scorpion
That stings even babes
Rampaging ravager
Notorious brigand
Marauding machinery
Eliminating without scruple
Whoever you choose
Whose hireling are you?
God's or Satan's
Or both?
A blank cheque you flaunt
To cash as you wish
But can't you condescend to a negotiating
Table when a mere sapling is marked
For a cutting down?
Being a professional boxer
Long in this senseless trade
You should have seen the heap
Of pain you would leave
In my heart by this cruel blow
Against a budding amateur whom
You have served voracious earth
Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
my body wants to shatter into thousands of tiny waves,
with dotted i's and flawless traces
my thoughts are soldiers walking to their graves
stolid grins, formed feet in iron spaces.
Silverware, silver wear, a face staring into the depths of my soul, eyes focused, pupils dilated, one beat
two beats, three beats, a mountain naked in sulphur water, and ******** clad nature
hands warmed up around all the bread you can eat
and wait you're
gone again. that brief space where i saw your zero zone undressed
silk scarves unbound: your hair floating over your *******
you floated away again in the wind after you scoured the roads
saw how much you could ingest until your swollen body implodes
Wake up at 2 am, pull the curtains back
eyelashes dusted with moonlight settled on the black
little love sighs dancing with snuggle-time dreams
goodbyes issued by jazz men and dancers on their beams
my iron-clad stag
trotting the rag tag jag
singing in the band
-- a rogue hearted brigand
heavy hearted and pale
words useless and stale
terrified
terrified of everything: of the heart i don't understand
of the yesterdays in the sand
and the wan-waxed-moon
this blood-red flesh-torn tune
and the way we lie intertwined
like my soul's lost its mind
on this bed that smells like me
but not what was a soliloquy
not the future i can foresee
on waves of waves and seas of sea
but put your arms around my waist
lick my neck and savour the taste
because i'm floating away
but unlike the night-chased day
i'm losing this game;
this game of no shame
no shame, and I blame
the wind-tossed demon
and the gods of the sky
whipped by the clouds
and throw high and dry
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:04 AM UTC
Wrap my slithering soul in layers of wanton and historical bark, where dendrochronology branches her gorgeously captivating system of vascular cambium and seals me within the vice of her vengeful caress.
History has truly borne witness to the brigand of robbers who interfered with travellers in the depths of the forest of aristocratic whoredom.
I am buried underneath chords of feminine expression, where the synthesis of bass, melody and harmony unite into an unspeakable realm which cannot be interrupted by parallel expressions of sterility.
Your carriage awaits, Madame.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
This is a man,
without change.
This is a man,
alone.
No convictions
to sour his soul.
This is a man,
who sees the tide.
This is a man,
Who is outlaw, brigand
and savior.
He walks a path,
no dusty trail.
He makes a call,
just to gamble.
This is a man,
with no hope
This is a man,
amoral.
No God, No Glory,
just alone.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
Hiking in a musty wood,
A path is laid in mulch and fern,
Dark and canopied, rung evergreen
And deciduously rooted. My one goal
Set to plateau, reach of hilltop meadow,
Others had told me, lay a pond in the sky,
Was there to experience a peek, where tall
Grasses and dry luster of flowers wild, sang
In highland clearings of golden lace and tarn,
Set with sun to fly and by sharing the long ocean
Straights, beyond the wildest, white horned mountains
Of the moody pacific and with eyes casted once more of
Youth, after sanded sleep and then to steep in wandering
Cloud, as eagles, robed in light and gleems of night, drift,
Careening wistful and free as running dream or simply roam
A foot as the wise, bearded, mountain goats sure and snowy
As they ruminate and forage.
At elevated breaking point,
Of storied, pristine clearing, a smoking, lone marmot knotted
His voice in plead and alarm as I was about to breach,
As brigand, the sun clad forbidden, citadel unbidden,
Home of pious souls, of cerulean still waters, intact
Peace, untrampled sanctuary. As made, that day,
Unwashed interloper, I gazed through threshold
Ends of trees and respectfully circled,
Reverent in spectacle and joy,
Back, down, earthwards.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
- Qu'es-tu, passant ? Le bois est sombre,
Les corbeaux volent en grand nombre,
Il va pleuvoir.
- Je suis celui qui va dans l'ombre,
Le Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois, du vent remuées,
Sifflent... on dirait
Qu'un sabbat nocturne emplit de huées
Toute la forêt ;
Dans une clairière au sein des nuées
La lune apparaît.
- Chasse le daim, chasse la biche,
Cours dans les bois, cours dans la friche,
Voici le soir.
Chasse le czar, chasse l'Autriche,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois -
Souffle en ton cor, boucle ta guêtre,
Chasse les cerfs qui viennent paître
Près du manoir.
Chasse le roi, chasse le prêtre,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois -
Il tonne, il pleut, c'est le déluge.
Le renard fuit, pas de refuge
Et pas d'espoir !
Chasse l'espion, chasse le juge,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois -
Tous les démons de saint-Antoine
Bondissent dans la folle avoine
Sans t'émouvoir ;
Chasse l'abbé, chasse le moine,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois -
Chasse les ours ! ta meute jappe.
Que pas un sanglier n'échappe !
Fais ton devoir !
Chasse César, chasse le pape,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois -
Le loup de ton sentier s'écarte.
Que ta meute à sa suite parte !
Cours ! fais-le choir !
Chasse le brigand Bonaparte,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois, du vent remuées,
Tombent... on dirait
Que le sabbat sombre aux rauques huées
À fui la forêt ;
Le clair chant du coq perce les nuées ;
Ciel ! l'aube apparaît !
Tout reprend sa forme première.
Tu redeviens la France altière
Si belle à voir,
L'ange blanc vêtu de lumière,
Ô Chasseur Noir !
Les feuilles des bois, du vent remuées,
Tombent... on dirait
Que le sabbat sombre aux rauques huées
À fui la forêt ;
Le clair chant du coq perce les nuées,
Ciel ! l'aube apparaît !
Jersey, le 22 octobre 1852.
1.1k
.
Hiking in a musty wood,
A path is laid in mulch and fern,
Dark and canopied, rung evergreen
And deciduously rooted. My one goal
Set to plateau, reach of hilltop meadow,
Others had told me, lay a pond in the sky,
Was there to experience a peek, where tall
Grasses and dry luster of flowers wild, sang
In highland clearings of golden lace and tarn,
Set with sun to fly and by sharing the long ocean
Straights, beyond the wildest, white horned mountains
Of the moody pacific and with eyes casted once more of
Youth, after sanded sleep and then to steep in wandering
Cloud, as eagles, robed in light and gleems of night, drift,
Careening wistful and free as running dream or simply roam
A foot as the wise, bearded, mountain goats sure and snowy
As they ruminate and forage.
At elevated breaking point,
Of storied, pristine clearing, a smoking, lone marmot knotted
His voice in plead and alarm as I was about to breach,
As brigand, the sun clad forbidden, citadel unbidden,
Home of pious souls, of cerulean still waters, intact
Peace, untrampled sanctuary. As made, that day,
Unwashed interloper, I gazed through threshold
Ends of trees and respectfully circled,
Reverent in spectacle and joy,
Back, down, earthwards.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
They have all signed their names in the register,
they are figures in a satirical play
the city is veiled with smoke
It’s 5 o’clock.
Rapunzel is in her tower
which she built it up herself
without doors or any window
above
beneath there’s Orwell’s world;
Merida is still running through the forest,
She wants to find a brigand
To go after the gargoyle’s register,
But the forest is burning.
And the Little Mermaid,
No longer came from the depth;
Though Peter Pan is still flying,
To find a curious
Sleeping Beauty
*
It’s 5 o’clock
and they have signed the register
they are people in a satiric world
they have covered the city
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 5:51 PM UTC
I was staring at the horizon on
A clear and balmy day,
The sky was blue and the sea a type
Of aquamarine in the bay,
There wasn’t a sign of storm or squall
Till the sunset turned dull red,
And then the sky, of a sudden turned
From blue to the grey of lead.
And you were stood there, Geraldine
With your collar turned up high,
You shivered once, then looked around
Took note of the darkening sky,
‘Is that a barque or a barquentine
I see tied up to the pier?’
And slowly, filtering into my view
Was a ship that wasn’t there.
It hadn’t been there all afternoon
It hadn’t sailed into the bay,
I’m sure that I would have noticed if
It was fifteen miles away,
But there it sat with its stays and sails
Reefed in and sitting becalmed,
But dark and ever so threatening
I was right to feel alarmed.
Then Geraldine ran along the pier,
I was trying to call her back,
When lightning lit the sky above
With a sudden tumultuous crack,
She turned just once and she called to me:
‘Don’t follow, it’s my fate!
The ship’s the Admiral Benbow,
I’m a hundred years too late.’
She ran, and her coat flew out behind
Like an ancient type of cape,
And on the deck of the barquentine
Were men, with mouths agape,
A single plank lay across the pier
And up to the wooden bow,
Which Geraldine clambered up to board
While I stood, and wondered how?
No sooner was she aboard, than then
The men gave up a cheer,
And she I saw in the arms of one,
A brigand privateer,
She waved just once, then she went below
To my ever present pain,
The love of my life, my Geraldine,
I never saw again.
The wind blew up and the rain came down
And the barque then raised its sails,
Was cast adrift in a heaving sea
In that coastal port of Wales,
And then I swear, the Captain came
To the bow, and then he leered,
And by the time that I turned around
That barque had disappeared.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 5:33 AM UTC
Muse aux pieds nus,
Pour l 'amour de l 'art
Tu acceptes que j'ajuste
Ta pointure.
Tu chausses du trente-sept et non pas du trente-huit
Et je m'exécute
Que ma volonté soit faite
Ce que Muse veut Dieu le veut
Tu t'étends sur le lit de Procuste
A même la terre à même le ciel
Et tu sens mon parfum brigand
Qui te martèle et qui t'allonge
Puis qui te rogne
Et qui t'attache aux barreaux
Capiteux de mon poème.
"Et si tu mettais trente-sept et demi
Il suffirait d'une demi-semelle ! "
As-tu suggéré
L'air de rien.
J'y ai pensé !
Qu'importe en effet trente-sept ou trente-huit !
Mais en poésie tout est aussi mathématique
Sinus cosinus tangente et logarithme
cube racine carrée carré
Or trente-sept, même s'il est nombre premier cubain et non brésilien n'est multiple de rien
et surtout pas de huit.
Et trente-huit, s 'il n 'est ni premier ni parfait ,
Est de la race des nombres composés brésiliens puisque trente-huit vaut vingt-deux en base 18 .
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
I once caught you naked by the sea,
No one noticed, such noble shyness,
Invited to worlds, aloof as sun breeze,
Of purple sands, heathered highness.
In novae of your eyes was shipwreck,
Forlorn beacon chiding the weary lost
Of new worlds lumbered on the decks,
Seabirds caroled up wing, heavens' loft.
Skin, fleshy of netted eel, salt and foam,
Was hide for a brigand, lubbers sessions,
Sheered by sheen, blinding sky of gloam,
Stars runged on their draped processions.
My seal, now fate, cloak within jubilance;
Coral sea wave, slips under moon dance.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
I once caught you naked by the sea,
No one noticed, such noble shyness,
Invited to lands, aloof as sun breeze,
Of purple sands, heathered highness.
In novae of your eyes was shipwreck,
Forlorn beacon chiding the weary lost
Of new worlds lumbered on the decks,
Seabirds caroled up wing, heavens' loft.
Skin, fleshy of netted eel, salt and foam,
Was hide for a brigand, lubbers sessions,
Sheered by sheen, blinding sky of gloam,
Stars runged on their draped processions.
Corals, sea wave, slips under moon dance;
My seal, now fated, cloak within jubilance.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
Ah to ponder:
To consider potential which is doomed,
To survey cynically crafted success,
To observe, inanimate, lonely people, waiting to die
To see a man speak the truth at any cost
but be cast a misguided fool regardless
To witness a lugubriously mediocre brigand
pillage your coffers with a smile, and be hailed as an upstanding citizen
To see lies piled on top of lies,
until all but the most cynical men beg to be deceived,
Is to have a gun to your head,
and be unsure whether to ask for release or reprieve
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Aux petits incidents il faut s'habituer.
Hier on est venu chez moi pour me tuer.
Mon tort dans ce pays c'est de croire aux asiles.
On ne sait quel ramas de pauvres imbéciles
S'est rué tout à coup la nuit sur ma maison.
Les arbres de la place en eurent le frisson,
Mais pas un habitant ne bougea. L'escalade
Fut longue, ardente, horrible, et Jeanne était malade.
Je conviens que j'avais pour elle un peu d'effroi.
Mes deux petits-enfants, quatre femmes et moi,
C'était la garnison de cette forteresse.
Rien ne vint secourir la maison en détresse.
La police fut sourde ayant affaire ailleurs.
Un dur caillou tranchant effleura Jeanne en pleurs.
Attaque de chauffeurs en pleine Forêt-Noire.
Ils criaient : Une échelle ! une poutre ! victoire !
Fracas où se perdaient nos appels sans écho.
Deux hommes apportaient du quartier Pachéco
Une poutre enlevée à quelque échafaudage.
Le jour naissant gênait la bande. L'abordage
Cessait, puis reprenait. Ils hurlaient haletants.
La poutre par bonheur n'arriva pas à temps.
" Assassin ! - C'était moi. - Nous voulons que tu meures !
Brigand ! Bandit ! " Ceci dura deux bonnes heures.
George avait calmé Jeanne en lui prenant la main.
Noir tumulte. Les voix n'avaient plus rien d'humain ;
Pensif, je rassurais les femmes en prières,
Et ma fenêtre était trouée à coups de pierres.
Il manquait là des cris de vive l'empereur !
La porte résista battue avec fureur.
Cinquante hommes armés montrèrent ce courage.
Et mon nom revenait dans des clameurs de rage :
A la lanterne ! à mort ! qu'il meure ! il nous le faut !
Par moments, méditant quelque nouvel assaut,
Tout ce tas furieux semblait reprendre haleine ;
Court répit ; un silence obscur et plein de haine
Se faisait au milieu de ce sombre viol ;
Et j'entendais au **** chanter un rossignol.
601
_
coldest,yet
An ongoing black screen, then you came
colored coldd emminence at al times
around me, the birds,forrow
Here burning, Orange yello/blue brigand
In a lot, and
the cloud, the grasslands
to let me in, dollor man
a board, a bloom
Buddha, a simpleton
, slanted/ forever possibily
glistering/the ice cones,
gingivitis
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC
HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?"
Said I: "Your humble servant!"
Said He: "What business have you got?"
Said I: "I came to greet You!"
Said He: "How long are you to push?"
Said I: "Until You'll call me!"
Said He: "How long are you to boil?"
Said I: "Till resurrection!"
I claimed I was a lover true
and I took may oaths
That for the sake of love I lost
my kingdom and my wealth!
He said: "You make a claim - the judge
needs witness for your cause!"
Said I: "My witness is my tears,
my proof my yellow face!"
Said He: "The witness is corrupt,
your eye is wet and ill!"
Said I: "No, by Your eminence:
My eye is sinless clear!"
He said: "And what do you intend?"
Said I: "Just faithful friendships!"
Said He: "What do you want from me?"
Said I: "Your grace abundant!"
Said He: "Who travelled here with you?"
Said I: "Your dream and phantom!"
Said He: "And what led you to me?"
Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!"
Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?"
Said I: "The ruler's presence!"
Said He: "What did you see there, friend?"
Said I: "A hundred wonders!"
Said He: "Why is it empty now?"
Said I: "From fear of brigands!"
Said He: "The brigand, who is that?"
Said I: "IT is the blaming!"
Said He: "And where is safety then?"
Said: "In renunciation."
Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?"
Said I: "The path to safety!"
Said He: "And where is danger, then?"
Said I: "In Your love's quarters!"
Said He: "And how do you fare there?"
Said I: "Steadfast and happy."
I tested you and tested you,
but it availed to nothing -
Who tests the one who was once tried,
he will repent forever!
Be silent! If I'd utter here
the secrets fine he told me,
You would go out all of yourself,
no door nor roof could hold you!
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC
Un jour, maigre et sentant un royal appétit,
Un singe d'une peau de tigre se vêtit.
Le tigre avait été méchant ; lui, fut atroce.
Il avait endossé le droit d'être féroce.
Il se mit à grincer des dents, criant : Je suis
Le vainqueur des halliers, le roi sombre des nuits !
Il s'embusqua, brigand des bois, dans les épines
Il entassa l'horreur, le meurtre, les rapines,
Egorgea les passants, dévasta la forêt,
Fit tout ce qu'avait fait la peau qui le couvrait.
Il vivait dans un antre, entouré de carnage.
Chacun, voyant la peau, croyait au personnage.
Il s'écriait, poussant d'affreux rugissements :
Regardez, ma caverne est pleine d'ossements ;
Devant moi tout recule et frémit, tout émigre,
Tout tremble ; admirez-moi, voyez, je suis un tigre !
Les bêtes l'admiraient, et fuyaient à grands pas.
Un belluaire vint, le saisit dans ses bras,
Déchira cette peau comme on déchire un linge,
Mit à nu ce vainqueur, et dit : Tu n'es qu'un singe !
Jersey, le 6 novembre 1852.
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