Best Brest Poems
Hide this bottle from me,
That I could drink
This Chateauneuf du Pape
More tempting than the smile of a maid,
this Saint Emilion sneaky
Who has no saint but the name,
Hide this bottle from me,
This haut c$ote de Beaune,
Straight from the Middle Ages,
This rosé of Provence so sincere
Who would make pretty Bretons blush,
In a creperie of Brest.
Hide this bottle from me,
This Sauternes so sweet, so sweet
That makes high school girls naughty,
Hide me this bottle,
That I might well drink,
This wild little sauvignon,
Love is enough to make me drunk.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire
Ce Chateauneuf du Pape
Plus tentant que les fesses d’une pucelle,
ce Saint Emilion sournois
Qui n’a de saint que le nom,
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce haut côte de Beaune,
Venu tout droit du Moyen Age,
Ce rosé de Provence si sincère
Qui ferait rougir de jolies bretonnes,
Dans une crêperie brestoise.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce Sauternes si sucré, si doux
Qui rend les lycéennes coquines,
Cachez moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire,
Ce sauvignon peu sauvage,
L’amour suffit à m’enivrer.
I have heard "when YOUR dead, YOUR dead"
So why is Your memory still in my head
Why does my Heartbeat (still) with YOUR LOVE
It has been 42 years since YOU joined GOD above
My hands still caress YOU, my eyes Beauty sees
Each morning I speak to YOU from my kneeling knees
My nostrils inhale Your most Glorious scent
Will I ever go where YOU have already went
I speak to YOU daily of our LOVE in the past
And the years keep rolling on faster than fast
At night I feel you rubbing my chest
As I lean over to Worship YOUR Brest
I Whisper I Miss YOU and I Always will
Lenore my beloved Wife I'm LOVING YOU Still
The Title is the Words of "Mandy Tams ~The Golden Girl~"
Inspired by : Mandy Tams ~The Golden Girl~
Dedicated to Mandy Tams
Everyone must discover the truth,
Watching a small red cargo ship move away
From the port of Brest, slowly
By unmasking the young man who walks
Without fear of passing people,
Ignoring the baker in love with his wife
Without talent, ignoring his warm bread,
Everyone must discover what is behind
The devastated tropical forest,
Everyone must discover the truth, so difficult
Sitting on a bench facing the Atlantic Ocean,
By drinking without an ideal, wine from the slopes of Provence,
Everyone must discover the truth, by looking at the accident
From a car on the rainy road,
Everyone must discover the truth, so essential,
Opening the wardrobe of his old parents,
Crouching down to eat a mango
In an unhealthy port of Kenya,
Losing a game of poker with friends from childhood,
Everyone must discover the truth, looking at the desert caravans,
You can’t live without hiding your face, you can’t live
Face uncovered.
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité,
En regardant s’éloigner un petit cargo rouge
Du port de Brest, lentement
En démasquant le jeune homme qui marche
Sans rien craindre des passants,
En ignorant le boulanger amoureux de sa femme
Sans talent, de son pain chaud,
Chacun doit découvrir ce qui se cache derrière
La forêt tropicale dévastée,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si difficile
En s’asseyant sur un banc face à l’océan Atlantique,
En buvant sans idéal, le vin venu des coteaux de Provence,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant l’accident
D’une automobile sur la route pluvieuse,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, si essentielle,
En ouvrant l’armoire de ses vieux parents disparus,
En s’accroupissant pour manger une mangue
Dans un port insalubre du Kenya,
En perdant une partie de poker avec ses amis
D’enfance,
Chacun doit découvrir la vérité, en regardant les caravanes du désert,
On ne peut vivre sans cacher son visage, on ne peut vivre
À visage découvert.
Using the vast ocean,
I look deep at the ocean, to drown out the stupidity,
I look at the sea, to drown out the violence of young people,
The more I look at the sea, a thousand times, the more lucid my soul is,
I look at the sea, to drown out the arrogance of talking hyenas,
I look deep at the sea, to drown in the smells of suburbs,
I watch the sea a thousand times to drown my sleepless nights,
To drown out the toxic looks, take off, you capture the sky.
I look at the ocean, to live in my country by the new energy of the grand desert.
I look at the sea, to drown the arrogance of the great cities,
I look at the red sea, to drown out the Brest bitterness,
I look at the ocean; I’ll look at it a million times,
Forgetting my day, how bad, people can be.
Because forgetting the dark side of my planet
I looked at the ocean
To drown out people I met,
And thoughts they had.
Thank you O sea,
For the untiring music of your waves,
For the rolling of your rollers,
Thank you O sea
for your music so refined,
This music softens the soul,
His sight soothes the poet
Console the painter ,
Thank you O sea
For your music,
For your mighty storms,
Merci Debussy
For your symphonic poem,
Thank youO sea
For your overflowing imagination,
For your writers, generous
Homer to Baudelaire, to Hugo,
Thank you O sea,
For all your colors,
For horizons surrounded by foam
For the sunny south of ancient Greece,
For your date palms,
Thank you O sea, for your example,
For the exemplary flight of seagulls,
For the frigate, white terns
For the quiet schooners,
Who anchor in the atolls
Thank you the sea,
For your illuminated ships
In the port of Brest,
For each oysters savored,
Thank you O sea, for your gifts
Your travels to America
You are the soul of the world
the source of my thoughts.
thug love letter
I only hope that you will drink these words i say to you, and be drunken by
my every emotion, as i hold the key to our childhood, while i testify for your
love as if u were given a life sentence for my crime. Thinking for these past 5 years
grow old,
while watching our people's lyfe suffer growing older than having to die withought thats
given thoght our question, why? Darkened by the shadows of my brest, like the two
smuthered
blackberries that we use to surive on. only surviving our last test.
pouring out are my emotions, my tears along with my past. Have I not Suffered phyiscally
and poetically.
are my words words yet enough to be cut deep by your tears while watching your ears
bleed, as you would be drunken by the last drop of my sexuality. While Our Days Began to
grow cold, and we too began to grow old so now our love has outgrown.
I too, am ready to be loved, and be drunken by your every emotion, tasteing the last drop
from your lips.
All Praise the Breast
When an infant’s hungry, frightened or injured
His mother places him upon her breasts,
Comfortable like pillows with nipples.
Nipples. Mmmm, good.
From the very beginning
The breast is a major source of comfort,
Which we forget during childhood
But discover again after puberty.
Breasts are satisfying,
No matter their shape or size,
They are full of promise,
For future generations depend on these.
Beyond all eroticism, the breast is good and comforting.
When a man holds his sweetheart’s breast while drifting off to sleep,
The woman cannot imagine
The comfort he derives from simply holding her breast.
This itself is enough to make a bad day good,
No alcohol required.
They are beautiful on all levels, to the senses, heart and mind.
How wonderful it is that women exist!
Thrive in water since nine months, now I must breathe
on my own and use my lungs
push my first cry to vibrate my tongue,
fluid filled my lungs.
Why, oh why does a baby cry?
I force myself out to face this world, now
break free from the dark, light filled my eyes.
All seems in black and white and shades of grey.
Watching smiling faces wondering what they say.
Why oh why does a baby cry?
I trace patterns with curved lines rather than straight
That's the way I studied human face.
Sleeps eat and cry that's how i spent my day.
Some believed that I see the world as a meaningless blur.
Why oh why does a baby cry?
Separated from my warm cocoon out of my mother's
womb, and being expulse into the unknown.
Being touched with the many unfamiliar hands, so confused,
i search my head to understand.
Why, oh why does a baby cry?
Pain already forgotten; now joy filled the air.
Such a tiny miracle fed upon my mother's brest, feel so special
Known that I'm precious from all the rest.
Why, oh why does a baby cry?
Life is filled with mysteries that no human being can understand.
Before I succeed, many times I fall,
With thoughts pondering over with amazement,
life has teaches me its lessons with joy and contentment.
Tell me why, oh why does a baby cry?
By kelleyana Junique.
Fable Five
Fable Five
IN THREE PARTS
Part One: The DOVE
eye picked up the dove now dead creature clasped him to my bosom brest
no sorrow feeling only life within my chest
eye enabled faith eye tossed the dove
upward into tree for landscaping seems to me a more decent burial rest
one word escaped my lipps eye just said JESUS
eye wish that eye could tell ewe that the dove it flew away
eye did not tempt the LORD this day
the bird went further on my throw
eye expected just to here the branches crashing at his fall
eye expected him to make a lot of noises there was none
no it did not fall
there is hope inside of mee still and yet that yes it flew
this dove to Heaven when it left.
Part Two: Dandylion
when the gardeners of the palace make the grass a certain size
they run the mowers side by side
to make the power gasses cut the grasses
every one of the now chopped to pieces dandelions gone
except mye one
in a state of childlike fate eye ran to edge of lawn and placed some of my
baggage down long enough to kick the dandelion down
a man my age just having certain fun
and smile remembering a childhood never found
Part Three: New Blue Jeans
the shortest part of fable five is this the three part not contrived
the jeans are long on legs so short and waisted wide to hide the layers eye
needed to survive a cold and cheerless night
eye tore the tags from pockets soon to hold my treasures of a man long old and
finding love in one dear place mye ewe she loves the way eye dress she loves
my look upon my face when eye just smile embrace
she must be smiling now at FABLE FIVE.
All French cakes are delicious, better
The “ Amandier” and its subtle nuts taste in the mouth,
The “Paris-Brest”, with its sweet praline cream,
Rum Baba, with its sweet taste of liqueur,
The “tarte aux fraises” and its sweet red fruits,
The “Saint Honoré” and his little “choux à la crème”
The “ Commisaire” and his subtle pistachio aroma,
All French cakes are delicious,
« L’éclair au chocolat ou l’éclair au café »
The “ tarte au citron” et son savoir faire ,
The “Pithiviers” and its awesome frangipane,
All French cakes are delicious, better
the “ Framboisier” and its light pastry cream,
The “ Forêt Noire” with its chocolate and sour cherries,
All French cakes are delicious,
My nice dad was a pastry chef, Sunday were brilliant….
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux, mieux
L’amandier et son goût subtil dans la bouche,
Le Paris-Brest, avec sa douce crème pralinée,
Le Baba au rhum, avec son gout sucré de liqueur,
La tarte aux fraises et ses fruits rouges sucrés,
Le Saint honoré et ses petits choux remplis de crème,
Le commissaire et son subtil arôme de pistache,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux,
L’éclair au chocolat ou l’éclair au café,
La tarte au citron acidulée de tendresse,
Le Pithiviers et sa frangipane de grande fête,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux, mieux
Le Framboisier et sa crème pâtissière légère,
La forêt noire avec son chocolat et ses cerises aigres,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux,
Mon gentil papa était pâtissier, brillait chaque dimanche….
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY,
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY WHEN WE FAIL TO TRY,
PLEASE CHILD I KNOW NOT OF TOMORROW,
BUT WALK WITH ME,
WALK WITH ME AND LET MAKE THIS TALK A REALITY.
A VISION SEEN BY THE HEART,
AND A MISSION WON BY THE MIND,
YOURS TEARS YOUR FEARS WHEN WE CRAWL,
DESPISE NO ONE AND TRUST NO ONE,
I MIGHT GET TIRED ON THE WAY,
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF AND MAKE A MOVE,
EVEN AS TIME GOES ON DON'T GET INTO CRIME,
DON'T LOOK BACK FLOW LIKE A RIVER,
AT THE END YOU WILL SHINE LIKE A SILVER.
IN MY OWN MOTHERLAND PEOPLE CRY TEARS OF HUNGER,
AS THEIR TONGUE FAILS TO TASTE AND RETIRE TO GRAVES,
I FED YOU ON BREST MILK TO MAKE YOU SEE THE SUNSET,
NOW I WILL BE GONE I HOPE MY WORDS WILL LEAD YOU,
CHILD PLEASE DON'T CRY
The most beautiful girls,
Are those we imagine to love,
The ones we would like to invite to the restaurant
To drink champagne and grands crus,
The most beautiful girls, I know some,
Are the ones we imagine loving you,
They jump in taxis in Manhattan
To go see romantic comedies,
The most beautiful girls, you see them,
Are the ones you expect in your dreams,
The ones you hug in kitchens
Between two quails with grapes and cheese,
The most beautiful girls, from Paris, or Medellin
Are those who dream of loving you,
Those who love forbidden fruits, melons,
The pineapples and fruits of ice sorbets,
The most beautiful girls, I know others,
Are those you will never understand,
They have all the qualities of sinners,
They sink body and soul, like beasts
In the libraries you choose.
The most beautiful girls, the more intelligent
Are those to whom you offer roses,
Who want them undressed on a train,
To arrive tomorrow in Strasbourg or Brest,
They love crossing France from coast to coast.
Les plus belles filles,
Sont celles qu’on imagine aimer,
Celles qu’on voudrait inviter au restaurant
Pour boire du champagne et des grands crus,
Les plus belles filles, j’en connais certaines,
Sont celles qu’on imagine vous aimer,
Elles sautent dans des taxis à Manhattan
Pour aller voir des comédies romantiques,
Les plus belles filles, vous les voyez,
Sont celles que vous attendez dans vos rêves,
Celles que vous étreignez dans des cuisines
Entre deux cailles aux raisins et le fromage,
Les plus belles filles, de Paris, ou Medellin
Sont celles qui rêvent de vous aimer,
Celles qui aiment les fruits défendus, les melons,
Les ananas et les fruits des sorbets glacés,
Les plus belles filles, j’en connais d’autres,
Sont celles que vous ne comprendrez jamais,
Elles ont toutes les qualités des pécheresses,
Elles sombrent corps et âmes, comme des bêtes
Dans les bibliothèques que vous choisissez.
Les plus belles filles, les plus intelligentes
Sont celles auxquelles vous offrez des roses,
Qui veulent qu’on les déshabille dans un train,
Pour arriver demain à Strasbourg ou à Brest,
Elles aiment traverser la France de long en large.
Well, how to say, the story begins well, I go on a path (wide enough for a tractor), 20 meters long, which leads to a field (I had never had the curiosity to go there, but I pass in front every time I walk in Plougastel)There, surprise, a young doe crosses the field, for info a field of straw, with rectangular bales of hay, she stops calmly to graze, she looks in my direction, I think she sees me, but does not seem to fear my presence, I am half hidden behind low bushes; Begins a strange ballet, she eats for five seconds, raises her head, and repeats the process approaching less than twenty meters from me, I am excited, she is not afraid, and yet she goes back the other way, always skirting the embankment, quietly, grazing raising the head, even rubbing the pelvis at one moment, like a cat (forgive the lengths), and then moving away very slowly, grazing, raising the head, up to the East end of the field, I take my time, I am not in a hurry, the scene lasts twenty five minutes, when I decide to leave, well I took it, then I see less than a dozen meters a huge boar, (a beast what) walking in my direction, quietly, I hesitate for a moment, then I flee without panic, without aggressiveness towards the exit, the path wide enough for a tractor, I then turned my eyes, and find that the boar followed me, and even got closer (animal mimetism?), not reassuring, so I go on the asphalt road, what seems to be the frontier for him, after thirty meters, I turn around, I see that he does not follow me, then engages a process of retrospective fear, that I have not known since 1996 in Kentucky, when I was attacked at the entrance of a "discotheque" ('Girls Girls Girls') for those who know, I am going to my car and obviously, no question of continuing the walk, . I got back to Brest quite nervous I must say, I didn’t even notice people anymore.....
The biggest question of language in text book demands,
Primarily,
-Are you diaper trained?
Secondly,
-I do not care about your Brest fed strength.
DAMN!
And all I will show you that I can afford a display board
live and 24 hour befitting services
For sisterhood, for brotherhood,
Holy Garbage and trivial Garbage
Michelle with Muslim in –laws or
Hussein in with linked errors.
These kinds of stuffs.
O the taste of the first strawberry,
Wake up Marie Gaëlle, smile at me,
Your eye shines like a shooting star,
Pick the strawberry, crunch the strawberry,
Your tongue melts like ice,
Your tongue, suddenly is in love,
O Wake up, Marie Gaëlle,
Pick the rose, eat the strawberry,
Enjoy the first strawberry,
Makes the pleasure last,
Walk your tongue on the pink pulp,
O sun, you invent pleasure,
Wake up Jennifer, kiss me,
The first strawberry is the best,
It comes from Plougastel, from Brest so,
Pick the rose, eat the strawberry,
The juice flows on your exquisite lips,
Who are you young strawberry, a princess?
O the taste of the first strawberry,
Is like the taste of the first kiss,
Make it last, long minutes,
It invites the sun on exquisite lips,
What’s the point of lying? Once,
You’ll take a second,
O Wake up Marie Gaëlle,
Crunch the strawberry, the first strawberry,
This little moment of happiness.
O le goût de la première fraise,
Réveille-toi Marie Gaëlle, souris-moi,
Ton œil brille comme une étoile filante,
Cueille la fraise, croque la fraise,
Ta langue fond comme une glace,
Ta langue, soudain est amoureuse,
O Réveille-toi, Marie Gaëlle,
Cueille la rose, croque la fraise,
Profite de la première fraise,
Fait durer le plaisir,
Promène ta langue sur la pulpe rose,
O soleil, tu inventes le plaisir,
Réveille-toi Jennifer, embrasse-moi,
La première fraise est la meilleure,
Elle vient de Plougastel, de Brest donc,
Cueille la rose, croque la fraise,
Le jus coule sur tes lèvres exquises,
Qui es-tu jeune fraise, une princesse ?
O le goût de la première fraise,
Est comme le goût du premier baiser,
Fais le durer, de longues minutes,
Il invite le soleil sur les lèvres exquises,
À quoi sert de mentir ? Une fois,
Tu en prendras bien une seconde,
O Réveille-toi Marie Gaëlle,
Croque la fraise, la première fraise,
Ce petit moment de bonheur.