Best Apres Poems
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
Alone, aging actor alive after abuse.
Adult adept, adapt action above acute ankle.
Admit ached, agree affix aptly crepe.
Ashen apres, amigo angry apart afore.
Asked aloof aunty avoid awful baloo.
Alarm nurse ahead, agony alert.
Aggro afoot...adios amigo.
Rappelez-Vous
(English translation below original French)
Rappelez-vous les petits fils
Qui ecoutaient leurs grand-peres
Raconter des histoires d’ infanteries
Et de battailles de la premiere guerre.
Rappelez-vous des braves garcons
Qui s’imaginaient etre des soldats,
Qui plus tard servaient le drapeau American
En tant que veritables soldats.
Rappelez-vous des pauvres parents
Qui ont recu des telegrammes et des lettres,
Et qui apres ont place indefiniment
Des etoiles d’ors aux fenetres.
Rappelez-vous de chaque petite amie
Qui esperait un jour se marier
Avec son beau voisin-ami
Qui ne va jamais plus rentrer.
Rappelez-vous des nouvelles jeunes veuves,
Avec ses petits orphelins des peres,
Qui devaient subir les enormes epreuves
D’elever leurs enfants sans l’aide des peres.
N’oubliez pas les anciens jeunes garcons—
Les chanceux qui ont survecu
Et regardent souvent les horizons lointains
Cherchant leures ami-fantomes qui ne sont jamais revenues.
Remember
Remember the grandsons
Who listened to their grandfathers
Tell stories of infantries
And battles of the first war.
Remember brave boys
Who pretended to be soldiers
Who later served the American flag
As real soldiers
Remember the poor parents
Who received telegrams and letters
And who afterward indefinitely placed
Gold stars in their windows.
Remember each girlfriend
Who hoped to marry someday
Her handsome neighbor/friend
Who will never come back again.
Remember the new young widows,
With their little fatherless children
Who had to undergo the enormous ordeals
Of raising children without a father’s help.
Don’t forget the former young boys-
The lucky ones who survived,
And often look at the far horizons
For their phantom-friends that never returned.
The Beauty of the End, is, It's Beginning!
For Aspen never rise, till fire is still,
And all Endeavors, Loves, and Lives are Ash...
All that is product of the Human Will
Persists, till not a stone's upon a stone,
And every outbreath lifts the dust to motes,
Upon the Light that shows a Pilgrim Alone;
Gone far to see what's left -- dust chokes the throat...
So, Ancient Empires fall, but, 'apres le feu'*
The Aspens grow, and someday, gild the slope.
And Life and Death there dance a 'pas de deux',**
And Life gets the Applause, lets go Death's rope,
Death fades and bows and then... was never there...
And leaves a Scent of Morning on the Air...
*'apres le feu' - after the fire
**'pas de deux' - a duet dance in a ballet
Let’s go skiing ! Said my wife
It gives you such a thrill
So off we flew to Canada
To face the bitter chill
We took a bus from Calgary
To Banff’s National park
Found our hotel, went to bed
To get up with the lark
I brought a bright red jacket
My mate Stuart let me borrow
I thought at least I’ll look the part
When I hit the slopes tomorrow….
In the bright blue morning
I went to hire some skis
And boots that felt like concrete
I could hardly bend my knees
The minibus dropped us off
By a mud stained snowy drift
My wife said “ I’ll get the passes”
Just go meet me by the lift “
A group of red faced skiers
Were gathering in a throng
To sit on a revolving seat
That didn’t stop to let you on.
“I cannot get on that” I said
As I stared in disbelief
With slats of wood upon my feet
I knew I’d come to grief
“Come on Mike” my dear wife said,
You’ll be fine once you get on
So I stood as was directed
Then “whoosh” and I was gone
Hands gripped round the safety bar
As we rocked on metal ropes
Thinking “how will I get off this thing
When we reach the nursery slopes ? “
The chair in front began to slow
I heard their bar go “clunk”
They deftly skied away with ease
While I prepared to flunk
I ejected from my seat
To a ramp of icy snow
I soon was sliding on my back
With both legs akimbo.
Sailing down the green runs
My instructor in a strop
Kept telling me to slow down
But I didn’t know how to stop
I saw some awesome sights
I learnt the “pizza” wedge
I heard a muffled scream
When a friend slid of the edge
I lasted just three days
Till we skied toward lake Louise
I handed in my ski poles
When I couldn’t feel my knees
Time to sample “Apres Ski”
In my warm, hotel retreat
Dipping bread in fondue
Was much more up my street
While My wife “carved the powder”
Meandering with such skill,
I rubbed ointment on my kneecaps
And took a pain reducing pill.
I would not trade these memories
I will treasure them for life
I am not built to be a skier
But thank you my dear wife !
The
apres
dejeuner,
post-brandial-
choice
Sun,
Awakening,
Remembering, sex, sounds, Miles in the Sky,
Jaegermeister, O, bad, when, warm, why?
‘Tis apres ski! o me, o my, not for these hot antipodae.
No more, forever. Now, just, the
Surf
And I.
Thundering,
Thud-thudding,
Slow,
On the beach.
Serendip morning, perfect,
Palm-fronded, dawning, blue and silver, beige sand,
Sizzling, the sound, aroma!
Bacon and banana, coffee, toast,
Scrambled egg, red-hot chili, O ginger, garlic,
Tomatoes! Heal me!
Sometime, later, sorbet, maybe,
What? Champagne? Oh no, please, save me.
Then, leaning, her
Swimsuit, slipping,
Succulent, breast, almost, tipping, rudely, slow,
No. She flips it, back in, coolly…oh?
Beach. Hangover,
Burping, yawning, randy.
Sun, dazzling, the shades, cool, handy,
Oh yes, smile…the…(sleep?)
Razzling has made me lazy,
My poisoned brain, short-circuiting, crazy, I
Sip, hair of dog, ill-considered,
Breakfast, Bloody, Mary.
Surf, thuds, on. And my head,
Points, to the sea,
Swimming, turning, catching it,
Wanting cleaning, cleansing, clearing, body
Surfing? No, slowing, sucked back, rolling,
Sinuses swizzled, I,
Tumbled and twirled, am,
Dumped. By the first, little, shore-break, of the morning.
Then, slowly, recreated,
Finned, crawling and gasping like
The first air-breather, but
Back, on that vibrating beach,
I smile.
The boy was aged about eighteen,
Pale and pensive,
Weary and frail in appearance.
He could have been
Goethe's Werther,
Senancour's Obermann
Or Chateaubriand's melancholy hero,
Embraced by a generation,
And about whom Sainte-Beuve said:
"Rene, c'est moi."
Tortured by a new mal du siecle,
He sought refuge
In the Club Bouzingo.
Two young poets,
One dark, the other fair,
Drifted past. The first,
Whose black hair
Hung in ringlets over his shoulders,
Wore a small pointed beard,
Black velvet tails,
A white linen shirt
Loosely fastened at the neck
By a thin pink taffeta tie;
The second wore a tight coat
That opened onto a silk crimson waistcoat
And a lace jabot, white trousers
With blue seams,
And a wide-brimmed black hat, and
In one of his hands
He carried a long thin pink-coloured pipe.
They were soon joined
By some of their dandified companions.
The music had stopped playing, and
The poet-leader in cape and gloves,
Dark and pomaded
With a Theophile Gautier moustache,
Took to the stage,
Where he proceeded to declaim
Selections from his subversive verses
To delirious cheers,
As if sedition was imminent;
Only the boy-poet remained silent,
His pale cheeks
Soaked by the freshest tears.
"Apres nous, le deluge,"
He said under his breath,
"Our leader preaches revolution
But provides no solution
As to the fate of coming generations,
Should the infant be cast out
With the bath water that is so filthy
In his sight
That, intent on doing right,
Gives no thought to the future,
Nor to what might supplant
The society he claims to despise."
The boy was aged about eighteen
Pale and pensive
Weary and frail in appearance.
He could have been
Goethe's Werther,
Senancour's Obermann
Or Chateaubriand's melancholy hero,
Embraced by a generation,
And about whom Sainte-Beuve said:
"Rene, c'est moi."
Tortured by a new mal du siecle,
He sought refuge
From the Club Bouzingo.
(The origins of "Bouzingo: The Gathering of the Poets" lie in an unfinished tale, possibly dating from around 1979.)
Skiing Is…
Skiing is…
Alpine thrill ride on four inch boards
Boggy in the bumps – a schuss to the lodge
Carving a turn leaving icy rooster tails in the air
Drag lift to ride on thick moving ropes
Skiing is…
Extreme black diamond runs on endless terrain
Flat hills of green for bunny slopes
Googles of amber for blizzards or flat light
Hardpack and boiler-plate; blue ice and corn snow
Skiing is…
Into the heart of pure mountain splendor
Jet sticks on snowfields under blazing blue skies
Keeping upright avoiding face plants
Lift lines of frustration at chair lifts and gondolas
Skiing is…
Moguls that hide crafty snow snakes
Nordic dance of short swings in fresh powder
Outside skis with a mind of their own
Powder hounds piggin’ through aspen trees
Skiing is…
Quick turns called weidlin from Austrian lore
Runs of legend like K-2 and Exhibition, Wild Child, The Plunge
Sitzmarks the size of a lunar crater
Telemark turns on frosty cross-country trails
Skiing is…
Under the smile of the crystal solstice
Vertical drops into wide open bowls
Weighting unweighting parallel turns
Experts and bunnies apres ski with tall tales
Skiing is…
Yards sales of googles, poles, hats and lost skis
Zest for taking your life in your hands!
2-28-23
Tel un phoenix tu renais apres chaque deception
et tu fais pour trouver une solution
crois moi les vrai amis qui peuvent taider
sont beaucoup moins nombreux que tu peux imaginer
7 est leur nombre dans mon cas
ils ne font que amener de la bonne humeur et de la joie
qui sont-il je ne te le dirai pas
mais crois moi je ferai tout pour contribuer a leur joie
Unsung Heroines Sung
below in palace kitchen
over fire in wattle hut
during lunch breaks coffee chatter
or the health spa apres sweat
where ever women gather
when ever women are
comes a quiet time of voices
a calm time, feelings slowed
then silence……
for a moment gentle communion flows.
in this precious, timeless space
our bardic songs are sung.
the victories over loneliness
prejudice and fear
being out there on ones own
when no one can come near
of woman battles ever fought
and now some woman-won.
Je t'avoue , ton existence
Est bien devenue une indifference
Apres tout ce que tu as fais
Pourquoi suis-je en train encore de parler
Tu n'as plus de place dans mon coeur
Esperons que tu es partie voir ailleurs
Je ne peux plus te voir
Ni entendre chacune de ces histoires
Fais-moi plaisir s'il te plait
Pour toujours , disparais
Après le déluge
Après le déluge, moi
2 1/2 hours to work in my car
It’s part of the game
And I’m grateful
Driving in circles
I am faithful
To my calling
What have you become?
What have you set your mind to?
What aspect of reality
Are you turning your attention to?
Attention
Devotion
Study
Investment
Discovery
Dedication
Moving the conversation forward
Someone goes through a red light
Someone smokes pot while they are driving
The selfishness that starts at two
Remains with some for their whole lives
It’s a never-ending tantrum
In a sour-milk life
Nothing is quite right
So you always act out
Build on weakness?
Build on strength?
Walk through life as a toddler?
Distracting yourself from your pain?
Amen.
Out of my body
Out of my mind
Outside of my identity
I do not seek, but I find
Stripping down to truth
Fully embracing my queerest fears
Dressing without labels
Accepting what appears
You catch the now
You miss the now
You see a moment
But you don’t know how
It just happens
And you live off the embers
Warming your hands on a memory
That you strain to remember
Yesterday's flowers
In eternity‘s vase
Living is dying
But to do so with grace
Is everything
A graffito says, “Curb Your Ego”
A sign on top of a cab says,
“Don’t Read This”
There’s someone letting their dog
Piss on my building
He’s on the wrong end of the leash
Two guys walking down the sidewalk
Like broken-in rodeo dudes
Bowlegged and pigeon toed
And cross-eyed, too
Après le déluge
Plus ça change
© 2021 JohnnyArt Pavlou
JE VAIS APRÈS TOI French Verse-
I’m Coming After You-
Par tes yeux je vois la teinte de ton cœur ;
Votre esprit s'élève au-dessus de tout ce qui ne l'est pas ;
La beauté de ton sourire, tes lèvres dévouées ;
Votre esprit est en pleine pensée spirituelle ;
Et je viens après toi...
Comme un vent de tornade soufflant sur les arbres, tu es fait pour moi ;
Et je viens après toi comme une brise printanière Je ne rêve que de toi et moi;
Et je viens après toi comme de l'eau sur un feu brûlant ;
Mon amour pour toi, tu ne connais pas mon cœur-esprit si terrible ;
Je suis après toi mais pas comme un stockeur ;
Je choisis de n'être qu'un patient témoin ;
Ceci, j'insiste pour que vous soyez ma nouvelle (Mme) Mme ;
J'ai craqué pour toi, c'est vrai ;
Je ne suis pas parfait mais je serais juste pour toi ;
Je ne te partagerai avec personne d'autre que Dieu ;
chérie je t'aime
et je viens après toi...
Comme une épingle de lumière dans l'obscurité
je viens après toi
Comme un lever de soleil matinal ;
je viens après toi
Maintenant, pendant que nous sommes encore en vie ;
je viens après toi;
Parce que je veux être ton homme ;
Je suis après toi mais pas comme un stockeur ;
Je choisis de n'être qu'un patient témoin ;
Ceci, j'insiste pour que vous soyez ma nouvelle (Mme) Mme ;
J'ai craqué pour toi, c'est vrai ;
Je ne suis pas parfait mais je serais juste pour toi ;
Je ne te partagerai avec personne d'autre que Dieu ;
chérie je t'aime
Et je viens après toi...
Comme un vent de tornade soufflant sur les arbres, tu es fait pour moi ;
Et je viens après toi comme une brise printanière Je ne rêve que de toi et moi;
Et je viens après toi comme de l'eau sur un feu brûlant ;
Mon amour pour toi, tu ne connais pas mon cœur-esprit si terrible ;
12/15/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
It’s the Great British Bake Off
And I’ve got to week six
But I think it’s all over since
They’ve dissed my bread mix.
They said it was rubbish
When I baked my plum duff
And Mary said my cake
Was sandy, coarse and rough.
There’s a slinky little blonde
Who’s giving Paul the eye
And I think it must be working
Cos she’s more than getting by.
Her bagels were quite dodgy
Her bottom soggy and wet
Yet he said they were delicious
Definitely teacher’s pet
They’re going to push me out
Deep down this I know
But I’ll take the b’s with me
If and when I go
I’ve planned my revenge
With my Kamikaze pudding dish
With TNT and dynamite
And petrol, just a splish.
I’ve made my own shrapnel
With glass and tacks and nails
To ensure there’s a back up
If my pudding mixture fails,
So, when they tell me that
It’s time that I went
I’ll push the detonator
And blow up the bloody tent.
There’ll be weeping and wailing
And lots and lots of tears
But that’s one Bake off episode
They’ll not forget for years.
I’m the Kamikaze chef
Divine Wind of the Aga Range
Apres Moi le deluge
After me things will change