L’hymne au printemps, Félix Leclerc

“Mes cabanes d’oiseaux sont vidées
Le vent pleure dans ma cheminée
Mais dans mon cœur je m’en vais composer
L’hymne au printemps pour celle qui m’a quitté”


" My huts of birds are emptied
The wind cries in my fireplace(chimney)
But in my heart I go away to compose
The hymn in spring for the one who left me "


- The hymn in spring, Félix Leclerc.

Love poem (Three word Wednesday)

Dear Sky,

Your suppleness clouds my novice thoughts

so much I become light in my own body

A heavy tar escapes from my grounded flesh.

As a way to give you a kiss of gratitude I must ignite, into ash 

billowing smoke signals. And when my gesture of affection 

rises softly and gently. I sear into my chest the words 

'With this distant eternal melancholic hearts 

I'll long for you.' Just as I kiss you on the cheek

Love,

Earth.

Rotation (Circle)

now is this jazz

sitting not on a

leather couch but the floor

with a slender black cat

poised on my lap.

Post-modernism,

Definitely with a sprinkle

of Harlem Renaissance   

We are all

sticky with ganja leaves.

As we pass, the beat

slides in between you and she 

than him and her

between or betwixt

no one is sure

But I tell you secret
no matter where the circle
is created
who is in it,

Left is always love
So make sure you are
my dear,
sitting next to me please

in the amnesia haze as we
fall into deep puddles
when our finger cross
and touch

I will pretend its
your hand in mine.
Because to take a
hold of another’s hand
is to break from living
individually Me.

It is to
momentarily entwine
your life with mines,
is to
promise, for a moment,
that you need
not face the
world alone

because once this circle
is broken.
no one is sure
between or betwixt

than him and her
slides in between
you and she
As we pass, the beat

We are all

sticky with ganja leaves.
Harlem Renaissance

Definitely with a sprinkle

of Post-modernism,

now is this jazz

sitting not on a

leather couch but the floor

with a slender black cat

poised on my lap.

Cafuné (Brazilian Portuguese):

The act of tenderly running your fingers through someone's hair.