Best Bruit Poems

 

Outside my window lives a chickadee,
he loves snowy green pine,
and has a family of about twenty-three;
he loves the snow and falling snowflakes divine,
and each morning the whole family sing for me.

Sometimes they scatter on clamous whirling wings,
off to a park nearby,
my heart is sad...

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Blank pages stare back at me 
waiting for my mind to pour 
its' heart out. 

I grab my pen, throw on my 
headphones wait, wait for my 
mind to give my heart words 
that need to be written. 

I make my mark, withdraw my hand,...

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*Image of Many Meanings by KWC.

Likeness ssenekiL: Part 1

(HOMONYMS: Homophones & Homographs)

He'll heal his heel.
They sow so they sew.
His aide aid with an ade.
You saw a ewe eat a yew.
I ate on the ait eight times.
The fare at the fair was fair.
He sees the seas...

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I sit on a chair
The chair is by the table
The table is against the wall
On the wall is a clock
The clock goes tic toc
As surely as time passes
I, do not move
The chair does not move
The table does not move
The wall just stands there holding up...

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Autumn Leaves/Les feuilles mortes de Jacques PREVERT (1900-77) 
Translated by T. Wignesan 

(Note: As far as I can make out, this poem is at the heart of all versions of « The Autumn Leaves " - 
Sung by Edith Piaf, Juliette Gréco, Yves Montand, Nat...

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Mama – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Mum » by T. Wignesan

Kevin Gilbert (July 10, 1933 – April 1, 1993) - father of Irish-English ancestry, mother an aboriginal from New South Wales - was orphaned at seven. His elder sisters looked after him until he...

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Claquée j’ai quitté mon lit douillé 
J’ai peur de sombrer dans ma tête souillée 
Dans mes rêves je suis toujours exilée 
Je n’ai jamais trouvé le sommeil espéré  
J’ai savouré le mal qui me trépassait 
Le mal que personne ne pourra déchiffrer 
Je mourrais...

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Klacatoo – Translation of Kevin Gilbert ‘s « Klacatoo » by T. Wignesan

On nous avait coincé sur la rive de Lachlan
un endroit qui s’appelle Klacatoo
là où nous rassemblions au coucher du soleil
quand nous entendions le cri de la Mort du courlis
les femmes appelaient leurs enfants...

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Animals in top hats,
Ride bicycles en road,
Spoked wheels and pedaled spats,
Round about, in ornamental spode. 

Animals in monocles,
Spectate in obeisance,
Cuffed by inked chronicle:
Renascence-linked complacence.

Animals in Model Ts,
Toot along en route,
To queue below burlesque marquee,
Bloating bruit by gloat and brute. 

Animals in suits,
Sustained by entree manner,
Tasting...

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New Year


Will there be a new solution
Or old problems’ dissolution
With New Year’s resolution
When to all that we loath
Including hearken to the froth
Bow and take the rebut oath? 	

Have we learned to jump
Where our toe hit the stump
And unravelled our rump
When, while at flight,
With blazing wanton...

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I am archaic and forgotten these are my  dusty tomes
The perennial deipnosophist verbally alone

With flowing ink my guide, the page my diligent doxy
I capriciously choose my  diction and propose my proxy

A peccant periapt around thy neck, I’ll drag thee
Along the hyperborean, yet sullen,...

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I went to heaven





Cherishing an opulent living in world,
anticipating a front seat in heaven,
I was made to believe that Yamraj will send 
a white chariot taking best of souls up above, 

Where Dharamraj with scroll of our work
will give a final verdict on ranking,
And pronounce...

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Un bruit si plaisant

venez de la petite fontaine,

Je regarde dehors au-dessus du côté du balcon, 

cinq histoires du sable mou ci-dessous,

au-dessus de la courbe douce de l'horizon,

au delà de ce que mon oeil peut voir,

un écoulement doux,

plinking et éclabousser,

vers le bas de la fontaine,

allumé avec...

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La guerre folingue a largué des bombes sur un cimetière
Les morts,trop absorbés à savonner leurs péchés d'hier,
Ont d'abord pris le bruit pour un tonitruant tonnerre
Nonchalants,ils ont campé dans leurs tanières

Ont eu une pensée pour ceux la haut sur terre
Qui jouillissant de tous arrivent à se...

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La Paix et le Désert – Translation of Kevin Gilbert’s « Peace and the Desert » by T. Wignesan

Pendant que la braise du campement de feu scintille
J’entendis l’appel
du courlis annonçant la naissance
ou la mort de quelques uns
le vent du désert calmait durant la nuit
et dans...

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