D'un apres-midi d'une marionette

Alors sous le toit de ma maisonette
je suis presque une petite midinette
chantant et revant d'une alouette
d'ailleurs je porte mes lunettes
me faire semblant comme une sonette
qui fait du bruit presque muet
mon poeme a un probleme d'une operette
fini - il vaut mieux entendre une musette!

Va- vient

Les fleurs simples
s'envolent dans les pres
et leurs ombres
au soleil brillant
me montrent
que je suis vivant - .
Car sur mon chemin
va-et-vient
chaque matin
les ombres des morts
me suivent encore
et leurs circles
en pierre sous des arbres
restent solide
tandis que
les chairs des hommes
subsistent un moment
mais cette evenement
est pour moi en marbre.

Monette

Monette retourna
dans son village
pour l'ascension
de La Vierge Marie
Cela fut longtemps
qu'elle etait revenue
la fete rompue
depuis des annees
un vrai dommage.
Une nuit d'ete etoilee -
la petite et son mari
passerent de l'eglise
- et les vieux
de l'endroit aime
l'avaient reconnue.

Monette retourna
dans son village ou
elle perdut sa mere
environs 2 ans de l'age.
Son pere avait
le cafe de l'endroit
ou tout le monde
se reconterait.
Les viellards la
redecouvraient
a cause de similarite
de sa belle genetrice
depuis des annees
comme le temps
n'etait pas passe.

Monette retourna
de son village natale
elle m'a racontee
cette nuit d'ete
incroyable et du beaute
Avec son enfance
dans le cafe parental
ou tout le monde
l'avait surveillee
et sa meme – malgre
la perte de sa mere
la vie continuait – bref
les cousins etaient
ses freres du jour
meme si elle etait
la mome de son pere
adore et endeuille.

La Monette retourna
de la vie de son village
elle savait qu'elle devait
recontrer sa mere adoree.
Car elle devenait pour
son pere - l'ame aimee
et il l'a laissee
faire jusqu'au l'age
de la majorite.
Il etait l'epoux jaloux
et gifla sa bien-aimee,
car elle voulait se liberer.
La femme qui l'avait recu
tout un coup – sa liberte
coupee – se heurta.

Monette retourna
a la vie de son village
disputa avec son pere
bien – aimee et
pendant dix annees
ne lui pardonnait pas
la gifle de jalousie.
Car pour lui peut-etre
elle etait elle et sa mere
dans un individu.
Mais avec la liberte
qu'elle avait senti
comme mome
n'etait pas perdu
pour son progeniture.

Monette retourna
du passe dans son village
ou elle etait la belle
vivante – et chantante.
Dans son ame
quand-meme
reste encore la perte.
Elle-meme avait survicu
la tuberculose
et n'avait pas eu
de cette cause
la chance de finir
la conservatoire
mais elle avait pris
la route de prof.


Monette retourna
de la vie apres son village
ou elle enseignait
l'anglais au francais (et francais aux francais)
en chantant les poemes
pour memoriser
les regles du passe.
Elle est la vie elle-meme
sans ses propres enfants
Car le choix etait pour elle
de ne pas en avoir.
Des milliers des lyceens
recevaient l'amour
la comprehension
elle est une vraie mama.

Monette retourna
a sa vie dans son village
une nuit d'etoillee
la – ou elle trouva
la beaute des gens du passee
mais comme realiste
elle a choisi – son epoux
sa vie – ses amis
des yeux ouverts
un peu triste d'un moment
car elle lui manque encore
le trou dans son ventre chantant
la mere adoree – et
ella vit tout sa vie passee
Le moment s'envola

5 minutes

I have five minutes
to compose an ode
I think my head
is going to explode
whatever I say here
is not worth a thing
but the words take over
and they go on a whim
to try and say somthing
real fancy and fun
well time is up
and I gotta run.

Pics from afar

Why I am on Facebook
because I am far away
from the people I love
my choice - astray.
Once in a blue moon
I receive a photo or two
from way down under
that makes me go goo!
Grandchildren of mine
I proudly will show
and they one day
maybe will know
that I love them much
the distance despite
When I meet them here
hugs galore of all my might.

Definitions?

The right to be right
is righteous
the wrong to be wrong
is capricious
the right to be wrong
is humongous
and the wrong to be right
is vagarious.

Poèmes pourquoi

Mes petits poèmes
sont au fond
les perles
de ma sueur
sans quoi je
ne suis rien
ils sont des blêmes
de mon peau
et au bout
ils restent
les larmes
je ne résolve
mes petits problèmes.

Religions beware!

How can anybody enslave another
whether it is foe or your mother
in the name of religion of any kind
I dare anyone to enslave a mind
it has been done long enough
and this has got to stop.

En moi - un ombre

Le loup-garou en moi
est comme le vent
il m'en veut quand
je ne le querre vois
Il reste endormant
jusqu'au bon moment
ou il saute vivemnt
mon ame est en desarroi.

Une histoire banale

Dans l'esprit de l'amitié
je reste dans mon coin
à l'office de tourisme
en attendant qu'un homme
s'en aille - mais il parle
et parle et parle
son petit chien me regarde
en se disant - quand il s'en va?
Il semble gentil - mais
il a le semblance du loup
et un jour il va sauter.

L'annee chez moi

Bonjour jour d'ete
ici le soleil brilliant
nourrit notre terre
et la brule aussi.
Bonjour nuit d'ete
embaumee d'une lune
pleine des mysteres
et des cauchemars.
Bonjour jour d'automne
des pluies enveloppent
des pres glottals
trop - vomissants.
Bonjour nuit d'automne
les brouillards englobent
des toits de tuile
vers les mysteres.
Bonjour jour d'hiver
separe par des flocons
des rues les perlents
et les grignotent.
Bonjour nuit d'hiver
hurlant des tourbillons
en agitant les gens
et creant de l'horreur.
Bonjour jour du printemps
les premiers fleurs
s'ouvrent lentement
en se ruisselant.
Bonjour nuit du printemps
infernale attente finie
et on danse dans l'espoir
de nouvelle Pierrette.

J'ai oublie - non

J'ai oublie qu'avec des chansons
on peut passer des belles nuits
des convivialite
simplement se prendre du bon temps
J'ai oublie qu'avec des chansons
on passe vite la vie - oui
J'ai oublie comment se debrouiller
avec des compagnon de chansons
mais une chose me reste
Je n'est pas oublie de collectionner
des amis - pour moi
c'est l'essentiel et etre
cela a l'inverse.

Regntanker - gruk

I mit lille hus
sidder jeg stille
og lytter til draaberne
som falder haardt
paa taget.

I mit lille hus
drypper vandet af mig
for det er varmt
under ryggens
droejde.

I mit lille hus
kan jeg sagtens faa
en sauna's varme
eller maaske et dampbad
og det er helt
gratis!

Soixante-huitarde

Je me promene dans les garriques
entre la mer et les montagnes
autour de moi - les fleurs de pre
je me chante - une troubadoritz
venant de si loin - mon chemin
m'a emmenee ici d'ailleurs
a l'aise pourtant sans rancune
la paix dans la peau - non
car a l'interieur je me sens
encore si jeune - vivante -
en permanance une soixante-huitarde
restee - figee - en esprit
quelle horreur de se sentir
si vivante sans pouvoir le faire.
Des fourmilles dans mon ventre
quand je rentre de mon promenade
c'est rarissisme - horror vacui
et pourtant je me sens de chez moi.

Attendre

Quand on attend son artisan
en serrant ses dents
il faut connaitre la patience
etre adulte - non enfant
car le boulot lui donne
des fois des surprises
et je dois comprendre
et me surmise.
Mais c'est bien irritant.

De chez moi

En rentrant d'un voyage
au pays nordique
j'ai un petit image
quand je me suis dit
la vie en tournage
est agreable et idyllique
mais de retour au village
de chez moi scenique.

Min soens far

Vi gik meget igennem du og jeg
og vi skiltes -
jeg baerer den byrde ikke
at lade ham se dig
for at beskytte ham.
Blev gift med en anden
og rejste UD
Fik boern med den anden
og var glad.
Vores barn faldt i vandet
og maatte sendes hjem
ikke til dig men andre
som holdt af ham
og gav ham stoette.

Det var det svaereste
at lade ham gaa -
men hvis ikke, tja ...?
Han moedtes i vort hjemland
med dig flere gange
og et er sket
og saa sluttede han selv legen.
Hvad der er sket
ved jeg ikke
men det var for ham for meget.
----
Aareene gaar og
han kom sig - min soen
rejste til en ny verdensdel
fik en liv der -
et godt et med kone og boern.
______

Mere tid rendte i saenk
og en anden person doede
hende der havde staaet min soen naer.
Jeg ryddede op og fandt billeder
og hun og du havde haft
lidt kontakt.
Jeg fandt dig og afleverede
billederaf to boerneboen til dig.
Du var allerede den gang
trist at se paa.

----
Endnu et par aar svandt og
igen en tur tilbage.
Et nyt barnebarn
og jeg syntes du skulle vide det.
Kunne ikke finde dig
og maatte gaa til forvaltningen.
Betalte for en oplyssning.
Fandt dit nye sted -
Et plejehjem paa Oesterbro
og jeg vidste at nu var det svaert.

Vi moedtes i dit vaerelse
du sad med ilt hele tiden
du begaar selvmord ved at drkke
dig ihjel.
Du faar ilt hele tiden -
En nyere veninde kommer og
forsyner dig: Vodkaekspressen.

Vi snakkede og jeg forstod
at du ikke har mod selv og alligevel
er du ved dine "fulde" fem.
En flaske om dagen uden ekstra
skal hurtigt faa kaal paa
en levende person - ved ikke
om du spiser - for det saa jeg ikke.
Asocial sidder du og venter.

Men alligevel har du bevaret
den soedme jeg trods alt faldt for.
Andre ogsaa, du har haft tre koner
og mig har du ikke vaeret gift med.
Dine smukke haender fra dengang
var intakte men skaerende tynde -
Din elegante udtale og stemmefoering
manglede i den grad charmens ungdom
men jeg erindrer den paa trods.

Vi snakkede fortid - nutid
men ej fremtfid - nyttesloes.
Du har svaert ved at trakke vejret
Du snakkede soegende
ikke efter ordnene men efter spyttet
i halsen, mon du har strubekraeft
- jeg spurgte ikke -

Dit maal er at blive 66 aar og
jeg ved ikke engang om du naar det
for der er kun ca 66 dage tilbage
Jeg sagde spoegende at det var djaelvens tal.

Maerkeligt nok, der var intet
vi to ikke kunne snakke om.
Et menneske som er far til min soen
men du har plantet en ny og staerkere
generation, dine gener fra vikingerne
lever videre i Australien;
din stolthed over din joededom
er intakt og du er stadig dig
paa baade ondt og godt.

Et menneske som har levet livet
paa sine praemisser men ogsaa
uskyldig fordi han engang blev praeget
af sin opvaekst og en mor der var svaer
men med en onkel i din fars sted.
Alt dette er indeholdt i den lille
aeske du gav mig til din soen.
Tak fordi du gav mig ham.

St Hans Aften anno 2013

Min hjemskovs sommerafen
under løvets lunenende skytte
på en lille skrænt
mellem ukendte mennesker
blev St Hans aftens bål tændt
Midsommervisen sunget
af kongelige sopraner fineste skrud
og heksens fart til syden
var betagende enkel.
Pierrots tændte bålet
et mysterium spejlede sig
i søens tavse flade.
Et fyrværkeris skudsmål
sendte den magiske dame af
med fyndig maner.
Men det var bålets skygge
der fulgte de to veninder
og vi var nattens svaner.

Et solminde

En stensætning langs vandet
en pige i drøm - en bedste i løn
hvordan kan jeg andet
end tænke på min - fortid
og dog at leve i et nu

Sommersol og bølgeskvulp
hvor banalt - rent pivgalt
men trods alt halvandet
af mit livsforløb - her
og dette lys mod nord

Let brise over min krop
kærtegnet og hærtegnet
alderens ungdom opmandet
en gave fra vejret idag
jeg nød det gevaldigt

Mon pays

Voyages pris vers le pays natal
c'est incroyable
car je n'y pense jamais mais
c'est inoubliable.
Mes racines sont forts
et j'aurai tort
de me le dire autrement.

Philo poeme 1

Les motards de ma rue
fait du bruit
le matin
et maintenant je sais
que je suis
pas - rien.

la ou on est

Mon village autour
de la vie
reste dans le coeur
comme un ami
sans se poser
la question
pourqoui cet endroit
et pas un autre
et peut-etre cela
sera si bien
de ne se pas demander
pourquoi ici
cela sera pour
les philosophes
la vie me pasesera.

Un noeud

Mon noeud
dans mon trou
au fond de mon ventre
reste avec moi toujours
sauf quand je creerai
de la sculpture.
La tension s'enleve
comme dans un reve
mais sans cette
fausse amie depuis
mon enfance
j'ai aucune esperance
de me le debarasser.
Mon noeud
dans mon trou
au fond de mon ventre
un ancre cher a mon ame
et pourtant
quand je le sens
cela me sert a rien
me dicte de faire
des betises sottes
et je n'arrive meme
pas a aimer moi-meme.
Respecter le soi
m'est impossible
a cause du noeud
dans mon trou
au fond de mon ventre.
Mon torse delaisse
est epuise et rate
mes pieds deformes
mes amours sans sens
comme un noeud
dans mon trou
au fond de mon ventre.

Viking's burn

Come every May and June awaits
somewhere in another place
the weird longing for "home"
of a special kind - a dome
childhood and light nights
surprising me with its might
I feel a need to fly away
from a heart's desire
to a yearning stray
somewhere in my quagmire
there is a viking's yearn
that somehow is biological
I must fly a swallow's turn
to quell the thirst's focal.
A medieval's daughter fires
the midsummer's dances
and her flight sires
the dreams she entrenches.

Un petit point

Des mots croises
des gens dans la rue
des poubelles
un chien qui se vide
un homme qui se gratte
dans ses cheveux
une vieille femme regarde
de sa fenetre des gens
en passage
la vie coule ici
et ailleurs - et
pourtant c'est pour
aujourd'hui mon existence.

Une salade

L'amitie un mot excellent
L'amour une phrase superbe
et les deux incomparables
l'aenometrie - l'enfance
de l'art jusqu'au bout
de rires et au serieux
chaque tempeture d'humanite
des confreres humaines
en vous saluant
un jour on ne serait pas la
mais pour le moment - on y est.

(a Francine et Max)

Falling tendencies?

what took you so long
you foolish lady
don't I deserve better?
humbly - I promise
to air and to care
for your walls and roof
of yesteryear
after all we share the
same fate
we all disintegrate
it just takes longer
for medieval walls
not for older females
The only thing is know
is that this building
will still stand
when I fall!

A spirit's house

My spiritual home awaits
my return
the living house says
adieu ajourn.
One day I hope to mix
them both to one
alas I fear the nix
of fate's shun.
Shall I then forever haunt
the future avaunt
from whence my soul's came
I can no one blame
but myself to the nth degree;
pride in that I was me.

Help spring

Noise from lawn movers
projects a beautiful green
tears and snot
is what I've got
every spring it's a scream
almost hit throwers.

A viking dada

Vikings and their Age
somehow escape my page
but I shall take revenge
and learn about the henge

from the Visigoth
via the Voelva
from Dyrendal to
the Gesta Danorum

The blod of the Norse
tells stories in Morse
dots and blots abound
events of history sound.

Out spot

Dissipated anger -
gone almost
frankly I nearly
do not give a damn.
Freedom to be
only me and none
of the usual
meticulously under
the microscope.
Lastly - I can
breathe freely
I can lovingly laugh
for my own foibles.

Tonight a change

A part of me died tonight
and freedom is in sight
realizing that siblings
can be cruel and egotistic
therefore I went ballistic
and sadly I wish I didn't
because I knew it all along
so I shall play my part
and for once I shall be
not myself but my mother
and there is the bother
the family I was born into
is a shitty embroidery
and I will have to unpick
the pieces - one by one
and get one that fits me
switch to knitting a sock
that is the real choc.
Part of me died tonight
not anything more or less
Sadly, that is my behest.

Lovely spring

The days of April
turn into hell
for pollen-counter agents
the numbers are big
the world looks great
alas, out of patience.

A queen's pageant

Beautiful people
showing of their stuff
we others could learn
ever so much.
Sequins and feathers -
jewelry bedeck'd
it's all about talent
self and respect.
Who holds the fire
against gay pride
should really look
deeply inside.
Celebrating life
is that a crime?
We are all different,
life is dearly sublime.

Lobbying is ...

Lobbying is bribery,
legalized, of course -
just buy the votes - no
registration enforced.
This system should be
abolished and out
the honest politician
alas has not clout.
What am I saying?
Honesty and politics
you will only have
conjuring tricks
of democracy or other
it is not the best
but it is by far
the less of the infest'.
Lobbying without
money or power
is like taking away
America's ivory tower.
And as for the honesty
an oxymoron at work
in Congress everywhere
I will show a smirk.

Last scheme of all

The hearty heroine
of so many stories through
rape, birth, healing and joy
was waning valiantly.
The Voelva Vigga was not
going to go silently
but would pick a fight
wholeheartedly.

Dear death will come
to everyone and the souls
flutter away accordingly.
Meanwhile - the time was now
and nobody could take that away.
Living and dying - two sides
of the proverbial coin
you have to give to
the well known ferryman
of Acheron would be most
beings' destiny - not all
because some die in uteri.

She was threading thoughtfully
along the beloved pathways
that she had journeyed
forever in her life and
also her grannies of the
outer Isles. Her mother
she mused had not been as
strong as she the sibyl.
The sight had bypassed
and gone straight to
her and her daughter .
Samuel the healer
with whom she went
north one sensuous summer
did not hinder the sight
To be passed down.

Her highborn sister
Sophia the Sage
did not inherit
the scopic seeing
but was solemnly wise.
The last day the Volva
reflected with reason
her memory's menanderings
took her from the time
she realized her gift
from her stone grannies
to the wealth of weeks
and behemoth's bygone
extraordinary experiences
that any soul has who
has embraced life's
golden granite throws.

She walked slowly
to memorize the path
so often taken behind
her humble hovel
in the woodsy - she was not quite
there sans everything
but she was getting closer.

She took a breath of life
and saw herself as a young child
near to proverbial brook
asking her one gracious granny
why she sometimes saw something
which she could not explain.
Her foremother declared
that it was the sure sight -
but she should not have gotten it
until the first moon blood.
and here the vigorous Vigga
was barely seven years -
and she could foresee the
future in her own way.
Vigga the Voelva had taken
the vision with the grain
of disbelief but as she matured
and her monthly flow came
the sight could no longer
be ignored no invalidated.

As she matured the fealty fate
of her views began to change
from a young girl of the woodlands
she became a wholesome healer
to her village - always bearing
in mind that one day
she would stand up and do
something that would become
her pride - her loving legacy.
But now looking back
there was only one -
her dearest daughter -

The valiant Voelva as everyone
else must come to embrace
that the deeds we do
leave very little but
passing on the generations
of genes - our only offering
to the pool of passions
will eventually become
the galactic gala of Gaea.
Whether or not the world's end
would be the fairy fate
of the melting pool of mankind
the Voelva Vigga wholeheartedly
knew that she on her last day
had done what she
by her foremothers' creed
had been fated to do
- nothing more -
nothing less - she had lived.
When you play genteel games
someone's has to win
others will have lose
it is all to her Lady's luck.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
(Shakespeare "As you like it")

I am the Change

Change of plans
change of fate
change of
change

"Charge of the life's brigade"

Taking charge
of one's own health
is a decision
of monumental
proportion.
About bloody time
some would say
but you can only
do a feat when
you wake up
to whatever you
needs are.
Ne'er before
nor since
and even though
it may be too late
it is what it is
But I will live
to my abilities' end.
Charging forward
and realizing
that now is truly
now.

Chandler's view

Masks mask your view
on gents and women
to the nth
alas, your sight died
your oevres live
all over the world
in Aussie your tree
blossoms as on
the day it was taken
two happenings
in the US , here there
Mick Jagger professes
his strength
An orange wall
in a small town
lightens a room.
Your pantomime
swirls derwishly.

a haiku on beethoven

A Russian trio
played Beethoven this eve
Panache of fun notes

Another year

Joel the Aussie guy
Of my youth
Your day is surely
Entangled
In my weird brain.
Such sweet a friend
Left too early
But when I see
The daffodils
It is Cambridge
And your letters
Of 33 years
I envision encore.
Happy swimming.

Olefactoid

April Fool's Day
A google nose appears
To dream a Proustian memory
Of Athens forty years ago.
A coincidence unreal
lying on my night stand
"The perfume Lover"
Spins a smelly tale
Of recreating an
Andalusian night.
Noses abound in
Dr. Seuss' universe
Sniff out their special
Ambrosia for kids.
Rank mustiness of
fecal stench in
The back streets
Everywhere.
Mouthwatering
Flavors of mom's
Kitchen rest within
Most of us -
Except the unhappy
Anosmic animals
Who cannot get
A whiff of white lilies
Or their culture's
Wildly wantons' vittles.
The essential fumigator's
Byword in an olefactoid
Aphorizes the humor
On Buffoon's shoal
Of the bard's tale.
But one day science
Will just invent
By atomic transmorgrifation
The bit of nosetalgy.

Sunday morn in Central Park

New York enfolding
Central Park
on a Sunday morn
middle of March
cold wintry sun
dogs and owners
taking a stroll
playing ball
bare trees
with spring buds
watching the scene
runners thump
thump thump
the traffic's roar
remaining quiet
for now - only
the bustling
playground of paws
and shoes
embracing
a vivid memento.

Papal Limerick

The cardinals gather in Rome
next to St Peter's dome
ornate with their hats
ready for the great combat
to elect the heir to the throne.

On day two it was done
unprecedented - won
a successor of the crown
as Pope Francis he is known
he hit a home-run.

Alas, like many men of robe
He also had a slight slope
Hidden in his priestal past
He did not help the harassed
so he's like any other pope.

German 2

The German words
Der Gabel
Die Loffel
und das Messer
for fork, spoon
and knife
certainly an
opressor
of the English
logic to life.
Nobody in their
right mind
would say
that this was
rational
but whatever it is
you might name it
it is truly
transcendental.

German

I love the German language
In all its wunderbares curves
The clarity and its Gedankengefuhl
Motors your brainwaves
On the road to logic.
The English speech takes
Inroads -and out roads
With ideas floating freely
Not hampered by toxic grammar.
Twain's little epistle
On the Germanic sprache
Enthralls with all its wits.
But the ethos in the Logos
Of the germane grammar
Is non-plussed unsurpassed.

Conundrum

What to do with drunken word
sunken treasures of the blues?
Ill thoughts need to be buried
Under rosy-colored hues.
What if the reality hits
Too strongly along the road?
Do you hit back and be proud
Or cower just for show?

Did it somehow

A lost day to an infection
But not without introspection
Seeing that kids have grown
Makes me smile to the bone
Must have done it right
A mom's sure delight.

Snowquester

During the snowquester
It is too obvious
Dancing snow - just a jester
Of rain -I so distrust
Weathermen - a tester
Spring is now victorious.
Even Congress' molesters
Playing games so vicious
Let's all be requesters
Free of the oblivious
Of the towering sequester
Prediction can be devious.


Thanks to Joel Ashenbach of the Washington Post
For creating the term 'snowquester'

Epitome

Emptiness
Elaborates in
Everlasting
Examination
Only to
Exceed
When
Eviscerated
And then
To be
Equalized
With
Escapement
Eschewing
The embers
Of
Eclectic
Earnestness.
There are no
Easy
Endogenous
Explanations
Only echoes of
Entombing
Entre'actes.
Eve's
Evergreens
Still
Encounter
Egocentric
Ebbs
Of
Exasperation.

Wish for when I grow up

When I grow up
I want to walk in the sand
spreading my toes
feeling the gentle surf
sun frolicking
studying human nature
learning a new item
and keeping my mind alert.
If I could sometimes see
my kids and grand kids
that would be superb.

February haiku - the end?

February ends
springs out in the month of March
wills winter away

A sad observation

Shy sadness inveigles
a youngster
She sits across from me
saying very little
but her still silhouette
conveys deep scars
from too early sufferings.
Impotent rage screams
within my brains why?
Children needs to be
given sanctuary -
they do not need
all the crap adults fight.
Anger grabs hold
Wondering who did this
Should be punished.
Alas, if it were that simple.

Saturday pm - miffed

I do not have to write
every day
I do not have to oust
every say
accept what I cannot do
with reluctance
just know that this pm is
happenstance.

bored in burb

Bored stiff in suburbia
What is there to do
On a Monday night
But go shopping
In a local center?
Sadly vilely and
Not conducive to
Any brainy kind
Of comment on
The world's utter
Commercialism.
Noticing new colors
For spring as old
In my childhood
Seams up or down
Doesn't matter
Cause it is more
Of the repeating
Patterns of the year.
Wishing for something
New and exciting
A new event, a whim
Of some little spark.
Old battery needs
Recharging in the burbs.

More on mores

Chevalieresque behavior
of the Medieval troubadour
tends to be lauded as gentle
towards its defenseless females.
Raping the adored highborn
justified by she wanted it
A womanly singer's song
defies and mocks the "true" mores.

Is it spring?

February sun
warms asphalt, heats dirt
so tulips get the idea
it is time.
February nights
show the flowers the chill
the temporalis muscle
works in time.

Dog eat dog

Dog eats dog world
For no reason at all
Dog walks dog bites dog
It is just because
Randomness shown
By crazy animal
Life's a bitch.

While listening

Elisir d'amore
out over the ether
bella encore
opera for neither
the uppity
nor the downity
just appreciation
an amalgamation
of taste in music
c'est tout sic!

King Cake

I have a job to do
To bake a big goo
To find the recipe
Is far too easy
Cause there are so many
On the net's horn of plenty.
It is hard to pick the right one
Let's hope the job will be done
Whether well or not
I'll give it my utter shot
a king's cake - play the brass
in honor of mardi gras.

Procrastination

Walking needed
just didn't feel
up to it
so delegated the
dog walking job - .
I am the one to suffer
because I truly
need the exercise.

One day out and tomorrow
oh yes - another day
and maybe not,
odds are 50/50.
Living in the now
I have to follow
my sense of the body
and it said no.

My mind knows I should've
and could've and must've.
Alas the rope of lassez-faire
caught me empty-handed
and I let myself go.

Lucretia and Pietro

Lucretia:
Oh wild worshiper
of the female body
will thou have me again?
Not the husband of mine
but you - a holy man -
flame my Venus mount
only to count the interim
until our essences
bloom once more
as the strength of minds
split into a glow
from the ignition
willed to be for now
the splendor from
your staff - an osmosis
to smother my inner needs.

Pietro:
My dearest goddess
of love and war and truly
a blend of everything
known to man -
you knowest I desire
only you and your mind
cause with the mating
we blend our psyches
and that melange
is what makes you (and I)
a world apart from
the sordid belittling
people hating society
around us - I love
to enter your true self
tickle and tease you
to insane delight.

Lucretia:
You talk to much
about the world outside
about what we shouldn't do
instead of worshiping
what we have here.
Horsewhipping me
is what I need every time
and you are to do it
with your divine obelisk.
Please next time
I want the full treasure
of your articulation
to the degree of
sensuous delirium.

Pietro:
AH, you command me
mistress of my mind
to belt you with my cudgel
and my tongue,
I shall command
and you will obey my
every stroke of thought
every inch of desire
shall be known to you
you shall know thyself
to a visceral degree
that you one day may wish
you never would have achieved.
I shall exploit you
and your curvaceous
exciting scaffolding
while playing lute
to your wild fantasies.

On reading about the affair of Lucrezia Borgia
and Pietro Bembo. Unfortunately I have not
yet read their love letters, but this is my
modern rendition of what it could have been.

Bump in the head

A bump in the head
Will make you bleed
A rump in the bed
Will make you concede
That a rump is better
Than a bump and bleeding
Like a pig isn't conceiving.
So when you hit your knocker
And you go to the local ER
Say to yourself what the f**er
It could have been a saboteur.

Wasting food is a crime
Too many go hungry
So my kind of cooking
Is weird, sometimes funky
I will not throw out
Day-old chicken country
But transform it into
A pie- a bit chunky.
My mother was adamant
Saving food humbly.
So next time you cook
Think various and sundry.

Sappho - a poet

Sensual Sappho
of Lesbos Isle
daring dame
of yesteryear
your potent poems
sexually smell
of deep desires
in husky humans.
Unafraid unfathomable
of earthlings' esprit
our secluded senses
harebrainedly hidden
away from it all
in a sealed sanctuary.
For lovers' lust
of any sex you saved
the muse most alive.
You earned your fame
in all an awesome fate
if only one could....

bright haiku

Citrony tulips
brighten the dreary gray morn
on a sunless day.

Speed it up

Oh wide berth of time
you would be sublime
to run a little faster - please
so I can be on the plane
instead of in the slow lane.
I can then dance the javanese
in the village of my choice
to me: it is my rolls royce.

La javanaise is a song by Serge Gainbourg

Photo talk

Fervent participants in an
Anti-abortion's rally
In front of the Supreme Court
Raised their right hands
In what could be seen as
A Nazi salute -
For this poetress
A hidden rebuke
In this front page image.

Ta platre pensee

Ma petite artiste
avec son pied sur terre
sculptural-cerebral
exercera sa magie
au lieu de danser
avec les dieux
d'opus incertum
creant une forme feconde
qui surement reste
la sienne du riflard.

Dearth of icicles?

Bleak sunshine
awaits
where windswept
wintry
blossoms meet
its iciness.

Creepy coldness
presents
its own birth
of blooms
only to shade
the shadows.

Dearth of death
hazards
healing beauty
and branches
of diamond drops
on panes.

School trauma of a different kind

Sometime in the sixties
a young girl of good family
tried several times to commit
what some would say
the ultimate sin
Nevermore said the Raven.

She succeeded one day
jumping from the highest floor
before that she had changed
schools and friends
she must have been
For Evermore sadly uneven.

One day in November
our dour and strict Headmaster
came into the room to tell
the terrible news
he half blamed us for the deed
Nevermore was by him read.

Rumors went flying high
why she took her young life
was it of a love unrequited
Our stern master took out
a young man after the reading
Nevermore is my Name.

Whenever Poe's name is heard
I think only of a tender soul
who only blossomed for an inch
of a life in a sad person
what could have been
a fantastic flying Raven.

I think of a time 25
years plus at a school reunion
a chat with the accused man
He never forgave our authority
danced on his grave
saying I didn't Nevermore.

Stark remembrances from
way back in our youth
sadly it is the most prevalent
memory of my school years
they should hold so much
the Raven stands out evermore.

B - a word

Wonderful boredom
getting nuts creates
a vacuum in my belly
hunger for excitement
Makes me wanna scream
Start something -but what
For now -go take a shower
The hot water sizzling
The cold dark gray day.

Let sleeping dog lie

Dog growls after her morn walk
Outside sleeping son's room
She does not stop
Until I open door.
Up she jumps.

Oh tempora!

Does it matter
what a poet writes?
No, it is just words
But with thoughts
Anyone can change
Her or his world,
It just takes time
Precision arguments
And persuasion.
Anyone can become
A truthsayer for
A moment in time.
Alas, few will follow
This trekking trouveur.

Off

Off days starts with off
something you spill or drop
then you know inside your belly
this day hence written off.

A conversation

A very grown-up lady
wants her mom's approval
seeking it desperately
trained early and hard
into being the "dutiful daughter"
Mom is in her eighties
will not acknowledge the incest
daughter suffered from
the biological husband,
for years when even a teen.
Consequence: an addiction.

Still to this day:


Mom - love me for me
Mom - don't talk nonsense
Mom - love me for me
Mom - don't talk
Mom - love the me
Mom - just don't
Mom - love me
Mom - be the daughter
Mom - I am
Mom - then don't talk nonsense
Mom - love me for myself
Mom - so how is the weather?

An enigma

A friend's lack of response
After more than twenty years
Puzzles
Should I call one more time
A choice to become
Muzzled?
Can we ever know what
Makes our fellow traveler
Guzzle?

Infringement

Undo the automatic
Updates
Users' conundrum.
So mayhap I shall
Unhook my Nook.
The automata update
Erased my library
So all I have now
Is loads of ads
For books I wouldn't
Nook in years.
Starking behavior
Of a company.
Infringement.
---
Oi

(I was a little premature
The sd card came loose
But at least did
Unwified my Nook
And now I know
That the company can
Undo if they so choose)

L'ame pourri

Pour un monde meilleur
Comme disait le poete.
Helas rien est change
Sur notre petite planete
Les guerres en soi
Restent ici, ma foi,
Et l'ame de l'homme
Pourrait bien utiliser
Un vide-pomme.

A normal day

War, molested women
Kids either on drugs
Or youth soldiers
For war lords or fanatics
Cheats, fracking,
Spies on industry
Ensnaring cons
What a great day.

Spam or not

A post in my inbox
Open or not
The addressee
Known or not
First placed in
Spam box
Thought again
Should I or not
Looked in
Spam box
Said what the
Beep or not
Opened the
Email up
A meeting of
Minds we got
Four months
Hence -pure luck
I decided to open
My email box
A chance for
A consoeur or such.

no impression

Hungry color-deprived sun-up
On a bleak wintry morn
Meeting the stark branches.

La poetesse proclame

Un poeme spontane
d'un Orphee
Dit lyriquement
La verite
Du moment.

A thousand and one tales

Scheherazade, a queen
Told stories of sex and debauchery
Of fun and of serene
Women clad in colors of strawberry
Of men who were deem'd
To be cuckolded - or of merry
A sultan and an odalisque
Who lived according to their beliefs.
Arabian tales of fantasy
A library of pseudo-reality
Yet, a treasure of the mind
No fantatic can ever it bind.

Why, Sherlock?

Sherlock Holmes and Co.
At least 100 years plus
Still fascinates today
Because evil will always
Have enthusiasts
And solving or guessing
The reason for crime
Will drive detectives
As well as ordinary people
As to why committing
Whatever deed
Is deemed against the laws
Up the garden wall
As to motives when
The reason might
Just be because ....
Ach, due to humanity's
Inconsistency and frailty
Or just because you could?

Newspaper Haiku

The Washington Post
Is a small town newspaper
Against "Le Monde".

World's view ends

With murders and mayhem
No good news feed
From Timbuktu to Bethlehem
A rare philantrophic deed
The older I get
In disillusion sets
Is it a surprise
That we direct
And surely justify
With heads erect
Facebook and friends
To combat fatigue
With the world's miens
This is major league.
Alas, no answer in vogue
Our ethos gone rogue.

A woman I knew

Everything happens
for a reason - sometimes -
but this time it was
to hear about somebody's death
at a Christmas party.

A neighbor who loved
her husband, her children,
life and people,
was generous and fun-loving
as well as a good cook
and taught my kids
to accept opera
when they came to her house.

Lillian - so many times
we have been to your home
you were our "second" grandma
and then you moved away
slowly being stalked by
Alzheimer's - staying
with your beloved daughter.

Tonight neighbors invited me
into your home - your kitchen
which you fought for
your lovely red ceiling
brightened it up - you said.
You were so vivid there
next to me - that I had
to seek solitude and quiet.

Wonderful delectable meals
you made for us and others -
you would have loved it tonight
kids all over - the home decked out
yet I remember Tom too.
You were completely devastated
when he died so (I think)
you planned to be with him
as soon as you could.

Thanks for lovely times
thank you for being you
with Pavarotti in the background
and Tony Bennets Christmas songs
I still picture you with
a spoon in the one hand
and a bonmots in the other
cheering life as it should be.

La Vulve d'une Voelva

Volva Vigga rememorait paisiblement
des vielles histoires sur son village.
Vers des merveilles montagnes et de la mer
ses yeux bleus/verts se debordaient
la vue impressionante et ancienne.
Elle reflechissait profondement
sur l'existence essentielle surtout
entre les hommes inpaisibles impatients
et les fatalitees feminines de l'autre.
Comment puisse-t-on avoir des etres
qui ne connaisse pas leur propre espece
Est-ce-que voila la difference
devait-elle a l'age qu'elle avait encore
une fois reeduquer de quoi il s'agirait?
Elle secoua sa tete de rousse
et cria vivement en ravalant sa colere
et ses frustrations feroces et femelles.


La Volva reconnait le besoin de la sexualite
elle n'etait pas encore morte dans son corps.
D'ailleurs elle aurait la patience patriote
de montrer aux etres ce qu'il faillait faire
avec le corps concubin – helas
elle etait adolescente et amoureuse.
Or elle se rapellait qu'elle etait instruite
d'un amant aimable et infiniment infatigable
meme s'il pouvait presque etre son grand-pere.

D'ores et deja c'etait inutile et infame
la non- connaisance de l'anatomie archaique
meme les femmes non instruites non plus
etaient les menageres meres – avec un but
de satisfaire seulement leur mari mortel
Ou est-ce-que les epoux exigeants etaient
tellement des egoistes egrillards et ejacules
qu'ils ne pensaient jamais qu'a soi-meme.

La vieille Volva qui porte le nom Vigga,
ne se vauqait pas volontairement
au vieux vaurien vaniteux – meme
s'il la semblait sincere et solide.
Elle avait un ami franc et faineant
qui lui avait choquee, car il l'avait dit
qu'il faillait penser a son chair a soi.

Vigga, elle avait qu'une vie et le droit

Ode to the Children of Sandy Hook Elementary School

I will not have Christmas
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never see my mom
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never see my dad
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never see my brother
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never see my sister
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I never will play again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never read again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never watch TV again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will not join the little league
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never play piano again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never sing again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never enjoy a picnic
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never learn anything new
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never run in the snow
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never walk to the store
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never laugh again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never cry again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never meet new friends
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never draw pictures
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

I will never see the sun again
this year or any other year
because you came
to our school
and killed me.
Why?

Flash-flash back

In the car driving
out of the radio
comes the overture
Wagner's Flying Dutchman
and no longer

in suburbia -
saw with true, trusty
mind molecules
to Melbourne's in urbi
a day in August

In the wintry tide
I saw a friend
for the last time
sensing something
strangely finished.

I went that night
hearing among others
The ship of doom
His demise - the Danish
bitch could not bail out.

In the car driving
out of the radio
came forever tied
in my mind's morsels
The Aussie apparition.

Blank

I am blank
I am zero
I am no one

I am blank
I am sad
I am no hero

i am blank
i am nil
I am

Une perte inapercue

La perte de ma vie villageoise
Me tire au coeur
Pas une haute femme bourgeoise
Le vrai malheur
Ma tendre tension se leve
Surtout -partout
Quand l'endroit de mon reve
Est si loin - c'est fou
On ne choisit pas de sentir
Et pour de pas me mentir
Des fois la vie surement te jette
Un ennemi qui me guette
C'est dans mon ame amoureuse
La douleur reste tenebreuse.

Un aurevoir

Le dernier jour de me promener
ici dans mon village
le dernier temps pour prendre
un verre du cepage
de voir la lumiere belle
le paysage d'eclarage
un dernier moment pour dire
merci aux villageois
car ils ne me disent jamis
que tu ne sois pas chez toi
Par contre l'eau coule
et l'hiver sera longue
pour le temps qu'il vient
surtout je n'y songe
ce-la va passer tres vite
et tellement vif
le village a moi me verra
au moi du mai - siffle!

Another granny story

A grandmother's voice
of yesteryear
came out of the phone
into my ear
I listened, myself,
a grandmother too,
a rehash of our lives
turned red and blue;
red for joy of kids
and their progeny;
blue naturally for
our mutual odyssey -
travels and marriages
lost loves - yearnings -
the call ended with hope
and a lust for learning
more about ourselves
and the thing called life
mourning the world and
politics of strife.
But above all through
the wire came the reminder
of friendship with you,
Sandra, my world is kinder.

Bravo Philippe

Des mots de m. Le Maire
hier soir a la reunion
la derniere cette annee
etaient naturellement pour plaire
aux villageois du quartier.
Sagement il a laisse parler
un monsieur quinquagenaire
posant des questions monetaire
du village et du budget
ses confreres de la mairie
n'aimaient cette idiotie tumulaire
mais encore m.le Maire
etait poli et factuel
et parlait du financement clair
alors qu'un enfant pourrait
le comprendre que la condition cazouline
soit saine et spectaculaire
surtout en ce qui concerne
l'arrestations des chiens et des chattes
notre localite est surtout humanitaire.

Huh??

An experiment in 'fun'
turns out to be cumbersome
I feel like saying done
with a cummerbund
free to try some new
even though you can't chew
all the things in the world
fates to be swirled.

Happening?

A stroll along a country road
just like always in poems
in stories - something happens...
not - yesterday - the walk
was just a stroll.

Beach philo

On the beach the tide was out
but the clouds came over - fast
rain poured - not a soul
on the sand to be seen -
of course beneath
life goes on as usual.

Mes poutres grises

Mes poutres dans la maison francaise
sont grises, claires et epaises
de l'histoire medievale
et je regne ici presque infernale
car je les ai peint pour posteriorite
et la petite n'est pas de la mediocrite.