Thursday, May 31, 2012
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.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Rotation (Circle)
now is this jazz
Post-modernism,
As we pass, the beat
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
leather couch but the floor
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
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.