Promises

Promises...

they scare me, they inspire me, they make me happy...

they are hard work

(the picture was taken a few meters away from where this poem originated... so I thought I'd include it...)

‘till…

Silence lifted its weight,

Quietness prevailed…

In the distance,

Our footprints

Traces being blown away;

Our kisses,

Hushed tones,

Shaking more shadows

Than they should.

If promises were made,

Sturdy they’ll remain;

Like these walls,

Standing,

Proud and strong…

If promises were made,

They’ll blend beautifully

With the sound of the sea below our feet…

Wave by wave,

Caress by caress…

Our fingers touching…

Under the burning sun…

Right there on that bench,

That’s where my heart will be,

Humming…

Rocking…

Softly…

Gently…

Right there on that bench…

Till I see you again…

Joy

words bring me joy too...



























joy:

It’s a constant flow	You bring
That liquefies	My body
That takes over	My soul
Like a harmony veering,	Albeit not really
Towards complete…	Chaos, an eruption,
My senses,	And you, you take me
You take over,	And I, I feel
Yes…	Unashamedly, I feel
Joy…	Pure joy…

le flot (this one is in french :) )

i haven't written in french in a very long time...
yesterday i decided to give it a try because one sentence had been dancing in my brain for a while...
i wrote it at first and then let the rest of them flow...
then the sentence found its proper place...

A chaque fois…:

Mon cœur se promène

Sur des sentiers de je

A la Claire Fontaine

J’ai eu un creux

Sur des airs de je t’aime

J’y ai mis le feu

De mantra en rengaine

Naquirent ces vœux :

Danser,

Pieds nus

Sur du sable froid

Visiter,

Ce que fut

Des églises sans croix

Oter,

De ma vue

Les airs narquois

Et puis

Chanter,

A l’affut

Des insultes à quatre voix

Mon cœur te rédige

Dix milles poèmes sans mots

Générant un vertige

Qui se la joue paquebot

Dans ma tête s’érige

Un vacarme gros

Et voilà que je pige

‘Mon Dieu quel salaud’ :

Je serai…

Un lâche

Quoi que je casse

Ou si je fais

Une tache

Qui ira aliéner ta trace

Tu sais…

Je me fâche

Je boude, je fracasse…

Ou pis

Oui mais…

Je lâche

Encore mon cœur dans ton espace

Et voilà…

D’un sourire, d’un geste, de ta voix, de ton cœur

De ta main sur mon dos, de tes lèvres, de ton odeur

De ta présence immuable dans les tumultes de mes peurs

Tu le ramasses

Tu le ramasses

Tu le ramasses

A chaque fois…

Unexpected...

seven months ago i broke my knee,
nasty fall.
pain, surgery, pain, not walking normally, frustration, pain, surgery, pain, not walking properly, hope...
yet in all this, some things became clear... some people helped, unknowingly...

seven months ago something happened...
a parallel path
converging, finally...

Seven months and counting:

Seven months and counting

Yet it still feels fresh

I uncover my senses

And what unravels shocks me…

Did I just do that?

Did I just say that?

How did I feel that?

It’s been creeping up on me

What I am,

What I want to be:

A cat purring

A tree growing

Chocolate oozing

When squeezed gently…

Seven months and counting

And there has been

No predators

No perpetuators

No hunger

No poverty

Simple pleasures

Mutual agreements

And the slow reassurance

That in all this I am still free

Even more,

I’m flying

Through the magic of an elixir,

Secretly given to me

Both my feet are grounded

And my head is clear

Seven months and counting

This is… here…

My energy is enjoying

A seductive resurgence

And the will

And the knowledge

That when there’s silence

I’ll sing my chorus
And repeat, and repeat…

Butterflies

I get moths, I live on the 7th floor, so I get moths... lots of them...

But today, as I came home, turned on my computer, threw the latest downloaded music in the player and went on my balcony to water my plants, there was a butterfly on the edge of one pot...
A beautiful one, dark but with an array of colors.

It flapped its wings a bit as I approached, and then flew away, and went really high up...

So I remembered this tiny poem I had scribbled a while back. I pulled out the notebook that was safeguarding it and sat there smiling as I read words that described quite a few things that had just happened in my head, as I watched the butterfly take flight...

Then The Irrepressibles'  Not Mine (Northern Crush Mix) began playing...
and I dunno why it felt like a nice counter companion to the poem... I wasn't paying attention to the lyrics, but the repetitive beat/sequence/vocals in the music got me to rework the poem... I finished it as the song ended... took more or less 6 minutes...

voilà

oh and the very talented Hisham Assaad was inspired to create this beauty, using my gibberish...
i love it...
(poem below the art)

Butterflies:

Let’s draw butterflies again

And hang them on the wall

Let’s draw butterflies again

Cut them out and let them loose

Maybe they can go someplace real,

Higher

Let’s draw butterflies again

With beautiful beautiful colors

Let’s draw butterflies again

All over our faces

Wave our hands to guide our dances

Farther

Let’s dance again

Above the dangerous rocks

Let’s dance again

And have the wind in our eyes

Take us higher and higher

Where we can never get tired

in search of harmony...

i wrote some haikus,

and i still don't understand...
                            what is happening?...



be spontaneous
let go, don't try to control...
try, try, try harder


this has to stop now
it's not easy, it's not hard
mind over impulse


it is quite scary
and the memories are worse
scars that are still fresh




may i have more rain
cold and blizzards and no light...
may i go inside


do i have time for
warm fuzzy winter delights?
damn i'm late again




i'll try to evolve
              pretend i have not one care
bad calculations...

playing hangman with nausea...

Angry days spent in bed with a broken knee, angry thoughts that i have to take out and store away... this is one way...

Nausea:

There there, better out than in

When nausea prevails

When disturbance settles in

Take a breath I say

And work that momentum within

Just beware

No one needs formulaic prayers

Or a death on a balcony

Hide your dramatics in layers

As thin as your words should be

If you must be a purveyor

Of a harsh authenticity

Remember that

It’s the moon, not the winds,

That commands the tides slowly…

and this is how the original post was (but i had to put the text alone...)