"prise" poems
I don't know how to write happy poems
because I don't really believe in them.
I thought angst would die with adolescence,
but alas I can still feel its cold dint.
Perhaps like virginity this goes too;
no longer a creep standing idly by.
Plastic smiles taped to our cardboard faces
and yours alone I felt the need to prise.
That's okay, because the teenaged rosebud
that we claim to be so very unique
is beginning to wither, can't you see?
And now it's the thorns society seeks.
So look out over yonder cityscape.
Your mask shall be shed only by the moon.
Until then, a cartographer of love;
yours that is, we'll still pathetically swoon.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Say
He is desperate to settle down.
It's crystal a trick to lure her drown.
He thought
She was speaking with her heart all along,
But She was just singing along the song.
A little truth and lies,
A little tries and prise.
Building up a vivid paradise.
He seems patient,
Patient to get obsession.
Observation to his intention.
Kissing with passion,
Groping with no hesitation.
All nature mating season.
Scene like Adam and Eve,
Having fun in Eden with full incentive.
Both are full of deceptive.
Sharing juice of the forbidden fruit.
He drink without dispute,
Dying to see her attribute.
In his baffling blue eyes.
Reflection of a perfect goddess.
From the pools of lies,
Everything look fresh and nice.
There the Lilith in disguise,
But he is too drunk to realise.
Drunk from his own pride and prejudice.
And there is when the pleasure dies.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
On a sudden,
the sight.
Your look of light
stills all,
stills
all, The curd-pot
falls to the ground.
Parents and
brothers
all call a halt.
Prise out, they say,
this thing from your heart.
You've lost your path.
Says Meera:
Who but you
can see in the dark
of a heart?
2.7k
Voici que la saison décline,
L'ombre grandit, l'azur décroît,
Le vent fraîchit sur la colline,
L'oiseau frissonne, l'herbe a froid.
Août contre septembre lutte ;
L'océan n'a plus d'alcyon ;
Chaque jour perd une minute,
Chaque aurore pleure un rayon.
La mouche, comme prise au piège,
Est immobile à mon plafond ;
Et comme un blanc flocon de neige,
Petit à petit, l'été fond.
2.5k
_Acceptance that in this life
Blood and sinew define me
And yet my mind can fly,
Doesn’t come easily.
To find the pivot point,
The sweet spot where form and fancy
Co-exist in perfect balance,
Eludes me most of the time.
To lose myself in the dreck of daily life dulls my spirit;
To reject the limitations of my reality
Leaves me stranded in the in between spaces
Where discontent, longing and self-doubt flourish.
Engaging in this power struggle
Between my earth and my ether
Leads me to gainsay one half of my whole,
Either or, vice versa, within or without.
To find a ***** in my own armour,
To prise open the gap,
To embrace the paradox which is this person named “I”,
And walk the tightrope with panache...aha!_
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 7:02 PM UTC
The morning brings the moths
her cupboard bare,
she attempts to prise the day
what to wear?
snatching thoughts all is balance
nasturtiums or foxgloves,
crumbling trellis stakes
she wraps a blanket around herself
and sits in the garden , guarding motionless
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Nothing is certain anymore.
I used to know: I miss knowing.
I had decided he was the one.
Forever. For ever. Everlong. Everlast.
But it wasn’t everlasting.
And now?
I’ve lost the partner to my dream.
Begin again. Start once more. All over.
New introductions: new dynamics
It’s all different.
Unsettling.
Exciting – I’m thrown off balance.
Soo much to learn.
What’s beneath the ripply surface?
Open up, prise to sunlight; I must see.
Figure: are you the new ‘one’?
A replacement?
A new dream. A new adventure.
A thousand ways to see the world.
Perspective dominates so much.
I think we come from similar mind
- But unless you speak I cannot be certain.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Mmm… I don’t know”
It’s a gap
Between thought and mouth
- I’ve been there, I’ve felt it.
We need to build a bridge.
‘Put your trust in me, I’m not gonna die alone’
I don’t want to. Not alone.
I need someone to accompany me.
I want a family.
Who?
It feels like time to settle in.
Who?
I’m tired of this game
This uncertainty
Either let me be alone
- Impossible for me, I know:
I ***** too much up when I’m single.
Yet there should be growth there.
- Then let me be with the one.
I know there is no perfection.
But imperfections may compliment.
I know it takes work.
Communication.
Sacrifice.
Energy.
Time.
I know difference must be respected.
I know connection is of most importance
- Or perhaps a close second to support.
And love.
But love grows.
Even arranged marriages fall into love.
Why not choose?
The one with the traits
The dynamic that is desired
Love will come
It always does in the end
So long as resentment does not dominate
The dynamic is soo important!
And the lifestyle
- What am I willing to give up?
What does he desire?
I’m over this dizzying romance game.
I’m throwing the towel in.
If not him, then someone else close by.
Because I’ve always had too many options.
And before that made me scared:
Given urge to ‘play the field’
Taste all within range.
Now, now, I am tired.
It’s nice to know someone’s intimacy
Exploring beneath the cloak:
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
I know it takes time
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
But trust me. Please?
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
Coz ****** I’m letting you in.
And ****** I want to show you my world.
And to see yours.
And when we escape this place,
Maybe just for a day or two,
But when we do,
It’s fricken beautiful
And we’re beautiful
And I know that.
Please. I want to fall into love.
Why not with him?
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
I never thought,or realized, that in speaking,your name, I would have tears in my eyes, you were the presidential first father, of south africia, but now, you, nelson mandela, sleep among, the giants of history, like George Washington, laid out the framework, conceived in liberty, a new nation, under God, injecting into the veins of your country, liberty without malice, for all peoples, all colors, who walked democracy's long road,to freedom, by your side, always refusing to let the scorning, heat, of racism, put out, the light, of your divine humanity, ever lifting up, a fist of victory, toward a new dawn, of opportunity, patience, love for all, while ever remaining , a risen hope, in the body of politics, refusing to bow , to the cruel headwinds,of hate, even after, breaking rocks, of harsh, prison punishment,for twenty- seven years, you went in, a prisoner, coming out, a president,no, the relentless, sun of hate, never blew you,off course, as a king, who walked, among us, in peace, with a freedom metal, nobel peace prise,one who kept, the common touch, with embraced humility, smiling, greeting, the known and unknown, the rich, the poor, the tired, the weary, nelson mandela, you were true,royality and grace, among us
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
If I confess you my sin,
would you finally let me in?
Your book say I'm sick,
but your words tell me I'm forgivable.
If I shout "Amen",
would I be a better women?
Your followers say you will send me to hell,
but your words say show compassion.
They say "Prise the Lord!",
but I don't know what for.
I'm still looking for my hallelujah,
maybe I can have faith in you again.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
A box junction,dysfunctional miscommunication,down by the station in one more of its type,a shattered crack pipe and a broken down motormouth man,spanning the distance between here,over there,swiping the air,pissing his pants,ranting at rainbows,begging from strangers,
he's just another of the night time ghost rangers,a shadow that falls off imagination and walled off behind solidified dried up and **** out hot dreams that appeared to be real,in the stealing of childhood in the big world bad wild hood,where the good don't die young but are used as the fate bait for just wait and see state, you get in,when you stick the pins in your veins,bleed drain fluid cleaner, how keen are you now?
How the mighty have risen to be crushed,cast aside on the mad ride to stardom in the Kingdoms of blinged up and blind men,
dazzle me, quick me,me brain's oh so sick me,
and sometimes I wonder
and sometimes I don't.
I won't make apologies to pygmy type minds who only find it within them to carp,criticise,and as I prise up the mountains to catch moles for my dinner,I ask of my god,just who is this winner that's wrote of on totems?
Poles apart
we start in the middle,fiddle the figures which figures not in the outcome and I come out fighting,
delightful in madness where the sad can't attack me,where the strait jacketed banality of life is finally flushed,where I'm not rushed in decisions,make insightful incisions with obscure ramifications and cut anyway,cut everything away and cast off.
A bit like knitting
but not with wool.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
tu es ravissant
merveilleux même
quand tu ris,
j'ai entendu des fleurs
en pleine floraison
dans ma tête
j'espère que tu
n’arrêtes jamais
de rire comme ça
ce jour-ci,
aux pays de la
Belle aux bois dormant,
je me sentais vivante,
électrique même
l'énergie que tu
dégages: énorme
je veux te rendre
la même chose,
me brancher
à ta prise
j'ai pas osé
regarder ta bouche
puisque
ta parole a été
vraiment trop belle
cette voix grave
et tes yeux clairs
ta joie de vivre
j'ai même pas pensé au sexe
l'autoroute de ton cerveau,
cet esprit affamé,
m’éblouissent
totalement
ne change absolument rien!
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Books are reliable folk,
They'll remain in your hand as you have a ****
The pages don't mind markings,
The bindings are okay with carvings,
The letters will always remain,
Even if, your holy grail is left out in the rain.
Their secret meaning can be read
in the solitary of your head.
Or your favourite piece, shout aloud!
Yell it to a crowd.
Weep as your character's love departs,
Flick through it with a careless heart.
Keep it in your back pack,
Or glare at it on your iPad.
Your trusty friend 'book'
Is always willing for you to prise it open,
and take a long, hard look.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
A name, a name
What be in a name?
Forsooth, more than I had attended.
Montague hath borne me, yet unto Capulet tombs do I bestow myself.
This pestilence of a name, oh!
What sorrow has it brought Romeo!
Yet I do not beshrew my name this wicked Fate.
My Juliet, mine own love,
could Death have yet to claim thee?
Thine cheeks, rosy as summer
thine skin, warm as sunlight.
Could thee truly indeed be Death's paramour?
Would not it sur-prise me, for thine beauty is oft coveted.
'Twas not fault of mine nor fault of yours that hath led us to such accursed Fate;
'twas fault of our blood, flowing in hatred; marry for many a year.
Long did Montague carry coals from the lips of thine cousins, and Capulet from mine.
Alas, to reminisce does one no good.
I shall tarry not long, my love!
Bitter apothecary, thou bringeth me upward to St. Peter;
to the glimmering gates of the Promised Land where mine Juliet awaits!
...But behold how her eyes flutter; my heart stutters in reproach.
But fight can I not!
I succumb to the arms of Death.
Follow on my heels, dear Juliet.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
I never thought,or realized, that in speaking,your name, I would have tears in my eyes, you were the presidential first father, of south africia, but now, you, nelson mandela, sleep among, the giants of history, like George Washington, laid out the framework, conceived in liberty, a new nation, under God, injecting into the veins of your country, liberty without malice, for all peoples, all colors, who walked democracy's long road,to freedom, by your side, always refusing to let the scorning, heat, of racism, put out, the light, of your divine humanity, ever lifting up, a fist of victory, toward a new dawn, of opportunity, patience, love for all, while ever remaining , a risen hope, in the body of politics, refusing to bow , to the cruel headwinds,of hate, even after, breaking rocks, of harsh, prison punishment,for twenty- seven years, you went in, a prisoner, coming out, a president,no, the relentless, sun of hate, never blew you,off course, as a king, who walked, among us, in peace, with a freedom metal, nobel peace prise,one who kept, the common touch, with embraced humility, smiling, greeting, the known and unknown, the rich, the poor, the tired, the weary, nelson mandela, you were true,royality and grace, among us
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
I will wait here.
I will wait precisely in this cabinet,
Until you prise it open
In that delicate curiosity
That is lost in ‘today’.
My words are more patient than myself.
I know that now,
I think I always did.
It is why I love and
Why I love so patiently.
I will wait so gladly in my place,
Until poetry is fashion once more.
It is a sure case
In a sorry state.
Hearts that beat too fast
And breaths that are too frequently
Forsaken for a foolish enterprise
Of some invested individual
Sat watching behind a blast screen.
I will wait here and think back.
To remember the fuzzy nothing
Of my childhood mind. I recall little
But the polarities. The spaces of life
That intercede mere existence.
I bask in these doctored images of a past
That I never quite had. A fatherless summer
Forgotten instantly in garage top vigils,
Kicked footballs and years that were endless.
I wonder if my words will last longer
Than the etchings of your gravestone.
I wonder more so whether you would
Approve of them and how much I would
Have cared if you did not. A father is lost
And is abstract for me. Like God,
An ever-present utterance of nothing at all
Or perhaps everything that I am
Or could possibly ever be.
I wonder whether my love of words
Is nothing but a longing for permanence
In a world that has forever shown me
Futility. I have read of it in your name
Again and again through till now,
And thenceforth years to come. Your name,
How it needs to mean something,
Your voice, your ‘I’ through the ages,
For it envelops me within it - we are the same Mr.
It is within your void that I search for a father.
An ancestor to tell me who I am
And from where I have come. The plight of the
Ape-men that have been, their legacies
Wrought in blood-stained gold
But also in each yellowing poem
And from the hand prints on cave walls.
These are the will of my fathers,
The trinkets on my mantelpiece.
It is within you all that my words
Remain patient. It is within you all
That my will remains clear. For I know now
(Or perhaps I always did)
That there is a voice amongst us.
It may sleep through the noise of today,
All-talk and no communication. It may sleep
Right on through until we awake. Our eyes
Will burn for staring at the screens,
But our hearts will sing for their reprieve.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
Don't tell me that I'm overreacting,
you who, without a care,
do send me into the past.
You wouldn't know, you were not there.
Fine, in presence you were plenty,
but in comforting voice, you sure were rare,
you were present in my past
but that was when you chose to stare
away from your sins
Which you'd cast down upon my head,
through the way you'd made your bed.
With him
Surely he was your greatest sin
Why did you need to cast your lot,
with that ham ****** emotionally unstable
clot of a man.
Did you choose him "because I can."
or because you really were such a fool,
as not to listen to your offspring, who
could already sense his chill.
"You'll regret this, mum."
But you didn't,
so we did instead.
This blame of yours fell upon
our heads.
You kept him for me,
my brother
and every other whom you
could muster up.
But, in reality: yourself.
You just couldn't bear to be left
on the shelf.
You allowed a viper into eden,
a snake into the nest.
You took all words of positivity,
and you ignored the rest.
I suppose a part of you wanted to test
my limits.
It turned out: none.
You watched, unseeing, as he
wormed his way in.
You watched as my affection
he won.
You watched him glow brighter
than the sun, in my eyes.
You watched him scheme, and hurt, and prise
away my shell of protection.
You watched as he turned me into
a projection, of his tainted reflection.
You watched as love, turned to rejection.
You watched as he lost control.
You watched as I shattered, and was
pushed by him to fall.
You watched him cruel.
You watched, yet somehow recall
me as forever being glad.
Never recalling all the bad,
and the sad, which
you forced me see and hear.
No wonder I don't remember you,
as ever being near.
The striking times I heard your
voice
you were crying or in deep pain,
at times and places
where I had no choice
but to hear you.
Unlike with him, I could never fear you.
Sad, lonely figure.
Desperate for a love
which no ******* from
above
ever chose to give you.
I hope that you know
that I forgive you.
Oh Mother, I will always love you.
Even if it somehow has to be in spite,
of you being one of the causes of my
eternal fight.
I'll always somehow need you
Whether or not you're wrong or right.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
As every day begins
My heart beats with anticipation
With every call I make
There is a spring in my step
However, all good things come to an end
As the day wears on
The white clouds fade away
And are replaced
By monstrous, jet black clouds
With every call I make
My shoulders droop
My eyes lose their lustre
My hands begin to shake
My voice begins to falter
As the rain of despair begins
My mind loses its focus
I lose all sense of direction
The pile of work on my desk
Grows taller and taller
Until it outgrows Mount Everest
Just when I begin to think
That things can't get any worse
My boss cranks up the pressure
To such a level
That my heart beats faster and faster
I begin to splutter and choke
My mouth begins to foam
My face starts turning blue
With a rapidly shaking hand
I stagger towards my water bottle
Tripping and almost falling on the way
Eventually, with a supreme effort
I manage to prise the bottle cap loose
As I take a gulp of water
I spill a few drops on the floor
Very slowly and steadily
My breathing begins to return to normal
But not before my heart is filled
With a deep desire
To hear the three magic words
"You are fired"
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 10:46 AM UTC
We are the fine cut...line cut..
..potatoe face on Irish lace.
We are the here..we are the place.
And just in case
You fail to understand.
We have become the wall art..the new start..
..the baby grand has grown.
We are the music you've never known but you know it now.
The anyway we can be anyhow.
This is the step that walks out on the street
Get out and meet it...it's something you cannot ignore
Not something you buy in a la de da store
But the free in your ears and the world in your eyes.
Prise yourself away from the dusty thoughts of yesterday and look
This is today and a new kind of book has evolved.
That talks as it turns and revolves as it burns and the ash of the script..
..strips layers off your skin..and should you want to dive in..
..Go ahead.
The start of a thread of whatever you've ever read disappears
And the years drip away.
This here is the place and today it's your face on the pack
Get up on the stage and attack..
Lay them flat on their back with a salvo of sound
Bring it down to the ground.
A penny buys a pound..we'll be outlawed
They'll call us flawed characters..
..embarrassing chapters.
But let's capture that thought..write stuff and not like you've been taught..
..but be brazen and ***** to the 'Man' who tells you.."OH NO"
He just ain't got the rollocks to be in the show.
Let it go and you're lost
You'll be reading shinola that you bought at cost from the stall in the mall.
Be a pal..break the mould..don't do as you're told but do as you do
Look inside of the you..and bang it out..put it down on a sheet
Spill out your words to those people you meet..you've got one chance..
..which is no chance if you don't take it.
Get out there and
Make it
Happen.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
*My love my love Mon amour mon amour
You leave me blind Vous me quittez aveugle
Kept in the dark Gardé dans l'obscurité
Where light doesn’t shine Où la lumière ne brille pas
My love my love Mon amour mon amour
I am restless Je suis agité
You hold me so tight Vous me tenez si serré
I am left breathless On me quitte essoufflé
My love my love Mon amour mon amour
You are cruel Vous êtes cruels
You paint such sweet lies Vous peignez de tels mensonges doux
Taking me for a fool La prise de moi pour un imbécile
My love my love Mon amour mon amour
You leave me bereft Vous me quittez privé
Of dignity and hate De la dignité et de la haine
There is nothing left Il n'y a rien
My love my love Mon amour mon amour
You will leave me to die Vous me quitterez pour mourir
We cannot go together Nous ne pouvons pas aller ensemble
So I will say goodbye Donc je dirai au revoir
My love my love Mon amour mon amour
You gave such sweet thoughts Vous avez donné de telles pensées douces
Nothing was ever wanting Rien ne voulait jamais
In you whom I sought Dans vous que j'ai cherchés*
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 5:13 PM UTC
what are lies
do they hold the truth somewhere
do they hide the truth
are they the key to saving a mans sanity
dont lie to me
dont lie to the eastern winds
dont lie to the face in the mirror
you cant hide the truth forever
why do we tell lies
do we hate each other that much
are we common enemies
what the hell is wrong with us
lies bring devastation
they bring exctinction
our death written in the sands
unwritten by the truth
we tell lies as we walk the earth
no man is honest
he walks with a mask on
he tells false stories
he captivates
then erradicates
making you wish you never existed
lies bringing on the shadows
earth is the prise
inherited by demons
hells wrath known to mankind
nothing to save us but the truth
tell more lies
let the truth in this world be unknon
savage and ruthless beings
your blood on thier hands
makes you sick dont it
knowing you got no time
to tell the truth
thats what lies are
realization that your dead either way!
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
Under your skin, I will rest, elevated
on ribbed, rigid cages of ribs containing
that one muscle confounding all;
here I will perch and observe
such a beautiful rhythm, concept of
constant contractions as my fingers will to
wrap around the chaos of capillaries, each
vacuous vein and every attesting artery
screaming as I squeeze, nails painted
ebony as rivulets exercise against my sins.
Your body is my rapture, yes every manoeuvre
fascinates these prying eyes, I will prise apart
the seams of your internal markers and search
secrets stashed in genetic poetry, discover
paltry physical proofs, truths of what went so
badly wrong that your mind drowned so readily
that you chose to diminish, turned off all navigation
headed steadfast, sure and glorious towards rocks
everybody warned you about; I must vivisect
this paradox, venture deep within the places you
refuse to look; inside your claustrophobic body
covert are the ***** secrets of sea sickness, of why
you chose to sink in love with me.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
I sat, gripped
as my tears fought to tear free
from her vice-like stare
and her mother-strong hold,
each knuckle white with intent
and scabbed with rage.
I tried to prise her grip away
scared by the strength of her frail frame
but she bore down all the same
and her nails inscribed one indelible plea
for me
to stay.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 8:13 PM UTC
Bien **** quand il se sent l'estomac écoeuré,
Le frère Milotus, un oeil à la lucarne
D'où le soleil, clair comme un chaudron récuré,
Lui darde une migraine et fait son regard darne,
Déplace dans les draps son ventre de curé.
Il se démène sous sa couverture grise
Et descend, ses genoux à son ventre tremblant,
Effaré comme un vieux qui mangerait sa prise,
Car il lui faut, le poing à l'anse d'un *** blanc,
À ses reins largement retrousser sa chemise !
Or il s'est accroupi, frileux, les doigts de pied
Repliés, grelottant au clair soleil qui plaque
Des jaunes de brioche aux vitres de papier ;
Et le nez du bonhomme où s'allume la laque
Renifle aux rayons, tel qu'un charnel polypier
Le bonhomme mijote au feu, bras tordus, lippe
Au ventre : il sent glisser ses cuisses dans le feu,
Et ses chausses roussir, et s'éteindre sa pipe ;
Quelque chose comme un oiseau remue un peu
À son ventre serein comme un monceau de tripe !
Autour dort un fouillis de meubles abrutis
Dans des haillons de crasse et sur de sales ventres ;
Des escabeaux, crapauds étranges, sont blottis
Aux coins noirs : des buffets ont des gueules de chantres
Qu'entrouvre un sommeil plein d'horribles appétits.
L'écoeurante chaleur gorge la chambre étroite ;
Le cerveau du bonhomme est bourré de chiffons.
Il écoute les poils pousser dans sa peau moite,
Et parfois, en hoquets fort gravement bouffons
S'échappe, secouant son escabeau qui boite...
Et le soir aux rayons de lune, qui lui font
Aux contours du cul des bavures de lumière,
Une ombre avec détails s'accroupit, sur un fond
De neige rose ainsi qu'une rose trémière...
Fantasque, un nez poursuit Vénus au ciel profond.
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