Poeme XIII

LAND OF PIRATES I

This feeling hits me once again
and my road eyes wonder where i am.
A hotel room,
the garden of the hotel lit by bug dotted lamps
lighting the well-trimmed grass and the plastic chairs
and my sister tells a story
about a toothless guy
who wanted cigarettes.
Where am i again?
That was a bad nap.

Vacations.
Carribbeans.
I'm hungry.

Later, i am sitting on the same spot in front of the sea
with the only company of the stars and the moon.
The pages of the book have become thicker in my left hand.
I look up to see the horizon.
A cruise boat is gliding far away
in the inky night,
its side glimmering with rows of lights
and two big garlands hanging from the top to the deck.
A party night,
a jazz band playing, probably
and drinks and dresses.
I refuse to look at the stars
although i know they are beautiful.
A storied mind wandering in oblivion.

Where is the girl i love?

Un poeme ecrit en Decembre.

Bonsoir

Je vous promets que je mets un nouveau poeme demain matin et si vous etes sages une surprise apres...

bis

Tout ca c'est pour vous les jeunes

Bonsoir

Aujourd'hui j'ai commence l'impression et la copie du recueil de poesie et surement trouve un moyen de les relier, donc gardez un oeil ouvert pour savoir quand ils sont prets!

Today i started the printing and the copying of the poetry collection book so keep checking back to know when they're ready!

peace
stay gold

Poeme XII

UNTITLED

The sheets are warm,
the sun, not yet
as it penetrates through
the bare branches.
Birds were up early,
the greenest of all is the ivy.
The benches wait for somebody to come sit
like the rocking chair on the porch,
sorry but not until the spring.

I discover this place every new dawn,
time as stopped, it is the cold season,
the basketball hoop has been broken
long ago, the wind'll make it fall,
the garden shack needs some fixing,
but not until the sunny days.

At the end of the day,
when everything is said and done
the doors closed and the wars ended,
as the moon penetrates
through the bare branches,
i pull up my blanket,
in an empty bed,
enough said.

J'ai pas trouve de titre donc si quelqu'un veut proposer...
I didn't find a title for this one so if anybody has one to offer...

and this one goes out to Andy

Poeme XI

BELLE EPOQUE

What?
I can't believe you dumped it
It could have been fixed.

Belle Epoque was the name of this bicycle,
a green Dutch bicycle
purchased ten years ago.
At first my mother's then mine,
the reason i didn't need a driving licence.
I went down so many roads,
every morning to school
and every night downtown.
The handle bars too wide to pass the door to the yard,
the used tires,
the rubber handles marked by my fingers
and the rusted chain,
I hope nobody finds them.

Now the end of a Belle Epoque.


Un poeme tres récent, un histoire déchirante...nan sans rire j'adorais ce vélo
Sinon j'ai du effacer trois poemes et j'ai remis a jour le premier