Two pseudo-Tanka for what’s matter

How did we move from a pandemic
To riots and looting in the streets ?
Is it instigated by the Orange Boogaloo ?

You cannot fight hatred with violence
How can we come back from all this ?


* * *

Yes, express your outrage
For the black Floyd’s
Despicable and unnecessary murder

But be careful of the manipulators
Propagating death and deepening chasm

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Courts Poèmes

De l’ether

Et devant l’air sec qui brûle l’âme
J’implorai d’artifices embruns
Et mon esprit, porté par ses rames
Rêva d’eden hors du communs…

Le rêveur gris

*  *  *

Tendre hyménée d’un soir d’été

Nous nous sommes retrouvé dans la nuit torride
Pour partager nos voeux et nos corps splendides
Nous avons chacun goûté à la passion de nos fruits
Puis tu as bu de mon eau et ton lotus s’est épanouis
Ah qu’il est bon, ma belle, d’être aimé…


*  *  *

Balade sur eau-forte

L’amour est une grande porte
Qui ailleurs nous transporte
Sa serrure, douce et chaude au touché
Sur moi, j’en porte toujours la clef
Mais seulement toi peux l’actionner


Note: On retrouve ici un fragment oublié (un quatrain avec une structure de rimes en abab provenant du carnet ID-10) ainsi que deux minuscules poèmes (des cinquains style tanka, avec une structure de rimes en aabbc et aabbb) un peu osés et grivois (sinon ringards!)… Comme toujours des vers hétérométriques qui ne respectent aucune forme. Voilà, je crois bien avoir gratter le fonds de tout mes tiroirs proverbiaux. À partir de maintenant, le poète du dimanche va devoir être un peu plus créatif…

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Fragments III


The storm is coming for good
The weather again match my mood
My karma stand within the cyclone
With few thoughts on what should be done

I feel a strange power rising
The wind blows strongly like passion
The trees are mimicking my soul
Their leafs upside-down, torn apart

In this season everything is falling
Leafs, moral, empires and even dimensions
All is so beautiful, but I’m not a fool
I know that deception can also be an art

But even if I fear the shipwreck of my heart
Even if I feel that this will end in the dark
I must tame the voices of the night, this bane
Who shake my soul, incredible destroyer

For there must be something beyond the pain
As winter is always followed by the summer
This power who bring death also do miracle
And I would be fragments without this full circle


Notes: Here is the conclusion of this thirty year-old series of poetic fragments from my notebooks (See part I and part II). Five quatrains, heterometric but somewhat rhyming (poorly and without a specific scheme). It’s not great art, but I like it.

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Fragments II


I eat the beauty of the night
The warmth of the wind is my drink
I stare over the city, with a sigh
Lost in the loveliness of the stars
Yes, they are unreachable, too far
But I can’t quit looking, without a blink
And I hope, even if I deeply know
That no help from there will ever come
This rejected salvation is the thorn
Which pierce my heart with sorrow
My love is a mirror without reflection
Broken picture of a dying soul in dereliction


Notes: More fragments from the Sunday’s Poet thirty year-old notebooks. No form and some poor rhymes…

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Fragments I


Luckily, I’ll ride that trail
If not it will be hell
It matters little what I’ll find
The return is what I really mind

Each step will increase the weight
Of this life I hate without escape
I fear any radical change
And death seems out of range

No oblivion in immortality
No perfection in misery
I must journey on this despicable path
And to destiny spare my wrath



On your ship you’re the only master
And alone responsible for its disaster



My dreams are my bane
Each night they make me insane
A voice shout: “Leave him alone”
And when I woke up all hope was gone


Note: A few more thirty year-old fragments from my notebooks, scattered verses that never made it into poetry. No real form, but at least it rhymes. Maybe one day, if inspired, I’ll take the time to recycle them into proper poetry… [ Traduire ]

Poésie du dimanche

Si parfois la vie est pleine d’embûche
Que t’en arrache et que ça fait scier
T’as p’être pas été dans bonne branche

Rappel-toi que t’es un citoyen de souche
Que c’est dans ton sang, dans tes racines

•  •  •


Iron flower
Out of the asphalt
Yup! It’s spring !


Note: essai de pseudo-tanka (tanka-toy?) et photo-haïku. le pouète du dimanche, quand y trouve ça pas easy, y se réfugie dans l’humour. (Essaye donc de traduire ça gougle!) ごめんなさい!

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