Month: March 2007

Linguistic seduction

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There is no order to a poem
No demands made or met
Paper and ink come without shackles
And yet, language has power,
A verse may hold you captive, spellbound,
Words browbeat you, leaving you raw and crying
Lead you to change your opinion,
Mend your ways, even fall in love.
Naturally there is a word for this,
Allowing us to pass sentence on such a construct,
Both praising and damning a few lines,
Summing up the power of written thought
In three syllables, at a stroke.
One dirty, descriptive word:
Compelling.

A portrait of the artist from memory

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The langorous lids, drooping softly over his twinkling, tired eyes, and that mischievous grin, wryly twisting the lips as his tongue darts out to enter the silent debate.

How did I ever stand a chance? With one plaintive eyebrow I had lost the argument, all thoughts of resistance winging their way to hardier climes.

He looks up, and I feel my heart leap into my mouth, ready to fall at his feet. What a world I find in that face, one glance and I am forever undone.

Oh how I both bless and rue the day I ever laid eyes on you.

The working week

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Monday dawns despite our dread
Tuesday morning hurts our head
Wednesday’s interminable
Thursday’s boss is irritable
Friday afternoon goes slow
Knowing we have plans to go
Then Saturday we waste in shops
And Sundays fail to set our clocks.
Thus sleeping, shopping, steals “free” time
Without a reason, or a rhyme
Before we know, it’s gone and done
And once again, the week’s begun.

A Marriage of Convenience

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The unwilling coexistence of passengers.
Introduced with a nod, the proposal made
By the raising of an eyebrow;
The automatic courtesy shrug
Finalizing a contract of mutual misery
For several hundred miles to come.
A contract to ignore the insupportable,
With the unwritten clauses
Detailing petty irritations, annoying personal habits
And unwelcome elbows
Insinuating their way into the afternoon
As the fields and houses flash by.
A blanket of humanity, settled, staid.
Sliced-through by the rattling train
Travelling at breakneck speed.

Belonging

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Le déjeuner prêt dans ma tête
Je sors, l’éstomac toujours vide.
Le mémoire m’aide plus à m’en
Souvenir des choses dont j’ai été
béni de connaître pendant la vie.
Ce vie, ma vie.
J’ai perdu le fil, et d’un coup
Tout la toile s’etouffe.
Les ficelles étant autant confusés
Que tout l’histoire est ruiné.
Mon histoire en ruines!
Je ne sais plus comment y’en croire.
Il me manquent les preuves,
les petits aides-memoires
Où sont-les?  Je me sens seule.
Le monde m’entourne avec ses
Médecins, ses hôpitaux, ses maris,
Ses enfants, ses routines…
Et je le reconnais de moins en moins.
Chaque jour, à chaque pas,
Il est nouveau, le tout.
Et j’y appartiens plus.

Expulsé du Paradis

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Ce qu’on aurait appellé l’atout principal
de ce pèlerinage m’est perdu.
On a laissé mon coeur se distraire pendant
assez de temps.  Maintenant, il est cuit.
Et on n’a plus de voies, plus d’avenues,
plus de dépit, plus de tristesse.
On n’a plus de sentiments actuels, seule, nue.
Je devrais te quitter, aller explorer d’autres possibilités
de ce monde, dans ce monde,
puis qu’il existe de plusieurs possibilités.
Mais j’ai plus de volonté me jeter dans l’océan
Pour voir si j’ai du quoi flotter, ou si
Je me suis habillée avec aplomb en plomb.
Et les jours passent, sans que je m’en aperçoive…
La vieillesse m’atteint à l’âge d’un quart de siècle.
J’ai un regard fixé, tout droit, sans voir.
La lueur que j’avais trouvé dans vos yeux s’est éteint
Et je restes dans le noir.