Huitres à 11

Huitres à 11 heures

les samedis matins

une belle tradition

surtout en plein d'été 

la cave du village

il y a des tables 

du vin et de vie

au soleil nuageux

les coquillages jolis

vendus avec du citron

simples et si beaux

le senteur de la bleue

Un ami biterrois

Cher ami d'un village biterrois

on se ne voit que quelquefois

mais notre lien est fort et vivant

et je vais te dire en chantant

que j'adore nos conversations

notre monde tourne en rond

de tous les sujets possibles

qui peuvent être sensibles

ou seulement pour le plaisir

de se voir et  vraiment sentir

qu'il existe un ami absolu

bien en partie un peu farfelu.

À Jacques

The castle afar

Staying somewhere else

glazing with sleepy eyes

on the morrow of mist

there it is a castle -  

Longish surrounded by

verdant voluptuous trees

greyish skies looping hills

there is a castle -

Someone must have designed

delved in the memoirs 

launched its beginnings

there is a castle

Who lived there - who loved

and who laughed there

and died - families

there is a castle

Voelva"s secret garden

Somehow - the Voelva mused mysteriously

smiling and sensing what she really felt.

Her reddish-gray mane of locks was loosely

flowing down her back - but no one saw it

- only in her little hut - she lithely stretched 

her long legs and her arms  while feeling free

and seemingly young again although her age

was anything but a fountain of youthful skin.

She didn't care - she felt alive for probably

the last time of her life - an affair that had

begun about seven years ago - a fearless fling

of matching not souls - surely only bodies

craving a bit of fun - a hard run - buns raving

and he flaying about like youngish stripling

and she a vessel owning the jocular bottom

to meet in a joyful but thoughtless coupling

without a care or even a thought of future

- because there was not - mayhap that was why

it was just one of those things - like the bard

of the twentieth century had written -  not

anything serious - only to pleasure one self

in the company of another - doppelgängers

a duality of bodies needing stroking and sex.

That was the secret garden of Vigga the Voelva

and she cherished it without crude culpability

standing -looking out of her window after

the storm flowing over her hok - streaming

rain and wild winds roaring after he had gone.

And she turned the lights out and went to bed.