Best Choses Poems
Five thousand years before the sky was introduced with the sea
It was at that time, that God wrote your name adjacent to me
Even before the stars were chosen to give the Light
It was at that time, that God choses your face to make my day bright
In the journey of love, we were two souls, searching for one another
Fate was against us, time was our enemy,yet God was the writer of our tale
And one day I caught a glimpse of you, that lovely face hiding behind a veil
It was at that exact moment, that I became your secret lover
For it was the first time that I heard my heart beating
It was restless for you, and everyday for you I prayed
Permeating through the sunlight, gliding through shade
I met you in junction and the time stopped due to our meeting
Both of us were sitting on the station of fate
Totally unaware of our future and the hearts filled with dejected pains
we decided to alter our destiny by sitting on a mutual train
God is the witness that during the journey we fell in love and became desperate
For I was never a poet, neither was I ever good with words
It was the feeling of love that I started to notice the melody of the birds
It was your beauty which tempted me to write
Your angelic looking eyes and it were your hairs which kept me awake during nights
For In heaven, God made everyone perfect lovers
But we were lucky to find each other in this world
For Five thousand years before the sky was introduced with the sea
It was at that time that God wrote your name adjacent to me
22 December 2018
For the contest"Marathon Mile 2"
Sponsor" Mark Toney"
You think you know him
But you refuse to see
The artful way he abuses me
He captivates my mind
He traps my soul
He pins my arms to my side
When I tell him just to go
He uses knife like words
To slice me with his tongue
His eyes are like daggers
Causing me to come undone
Harsh fingers press against my face
Proving im a Doll
To play with as he choses
Or throw against the wall
He taunts with cruel intentions
To make my heart bleed
Playing Devils advocate
Once I cry myself to sleep
Soft and bitter sweet
In an instant he turns to stone
A heart as cold as ice
Mean down to the bone
But you refuse to see
You glance the other way
And listen to his words
You join in his game
Each word he says is now a jest
Each look is a mistake
And when he grips painfully
He just meant to play
Close your eyes to his work
It really is an art
But no matter how you spin it
Inside he is an abusive jerk
Deep in a pocket of light, well within the harsh night
of heat and longing, safe within the porch’s embrace
the down turned eyes .. the upturned face
the lovers pose.
In randy states of disarray, the couple choses to display
the haunting distance .. so delayed, so near,
the harsh black light.
Foreground, foregone, foray, reborn, torn, on display;
tomorrow will be another day ..
for now, Mother’s home.
*Edwood Hopper's / Summer Evening
**See About the poem please
Not
Long
I
Know
this
'lady'
This
lady
names
LINDA
On
this
amiable
platform
Calls
POETRYSOUP
Not
Long
I
started
to
write
On
this
platform
And
not
long
I
was
Recognised
as
one
of
the
distinguished
being.
On
whose
auspices
did
I
know
about
my
worth?
On
the
auspices
of
the
popular
Poet
Destroyer
A.
Though
I
didn't
know
LINDA
in
person
And
I
am
not
sure
she
knows
me
either
But
honestly
speaking
She
is
one
brilliant
POETESS
My
pen
owes
Tribute.
Let
me
start
from
her
poetry
The
one
I
have
found
so
amazing...
Full
of
art,
full
of
love,
full
of
zeal,
full
of
life,
Full
of
victory...
and
full
of
challenges.
And
talking
about
her
contest
Therein
I
have
found
neutrality.
That
is
why
I
am
not
afraid
When
my
pen
choses
her.
For
pen
about
her
commentaries
As
far
as
I
know
PD.
has
been
the
widest
'commentator'
I
have
ever
known
On
this
dignifying
arena.
Frankly
speaking
LINDA
alias
Poet
Destroyer
A
Worth
my
rose
and
wine
On
this
Drama
Free
Zone.
Dedicated
to:
LINDA,
Poet
Destroyer
A
The sun plunged
In the space of silence,
The summer has been extended
In a slow wandering ...
The orb has been drunk,
Gradually, by fringes.
> We did not hear anything,
From the fall of the angel ...
The horizon has folded its wings around
Confusing the distants ...
Evening invades what remains of the day
In a jiffy.
Water reflections exchanges
The colors overrated,
With the sky full of oranges,
The trees are just silhouettes ...
The night the already marks yesterday
This is a timely opportunity,
Where piercing welcoming clouds
unfolds, shamelessly ,the moon ...
It will take an earth tour,
And plenty of patience,
For the solar triumph reappears
In its rebirth ,
As clarity rises
And progresses slowly
Until the most intense moment, at its solstice,
To the top of the firmament.
And the celestial body draws, now
All things , in gold drops ,
..... - And this is another day.
It drinks in his turn and evaporates it....
-
Le soleil a plongé
Dans l'espace du silence,
L'été s'est prolongé
Dans une lente errance...
L'astre a été bu,
Petit à petit, par franges.
> Nous n'avons rien entendu,
De la chute de l'ange...
L'horizon a replié ses ailes, autour
Confondant les lointains...
Le soir envahit ce qu'il reste de jour,
En un tournemain.
Les reflets des eaux échangent
Des couleurs surfaites ,
Avec le ciel tout en oranges,
Les arbres ne sont que silhouettes...
La nuit, marque déjà l'hier,
C'est l'occasion opportune,
Où, perçant des nuées hospitalières,
se dévoile, sans pudeur, la lune...
Il faudra un tour de terre,
Et beaucoup de patience,
Pour que réapparaisse le triomphe solaire,
Dans sa renaissance ,
Que la clarté se hisse
Et progresse lentement,
Jusqu'au plus intense, à son solstice,
Au sommet du firmament.
Et l'astre dessine maintenant ,
Toutes choses en gouttes d'or,
..... - Et c'est un autre jour.
Il le boit à son tour, puis l' évapore....
-
RC
I could stay for hours under the sun
to contemplate bouquets of primroses,
to listen to the buzzing of insects,
To contemplate their petals, the shape of hearts,
I could stay for hours if no one comes,
to absorb the happiness of such delicate flowers,
Ah, wasting your time is always winning it,
Wasting your time, it’s an art, it’s a work,
It takes the help of God and wild nature,
To understand the soul of things, symbols,
I could stay for hours in the sun.
Contemplating primrose bouquets.
Je pourrais rester des heures sous le soleil
à contempler des bouquets de primevères,
à écouter le bourdonnement des insectes,
à contempler leurs pétales en forme de cœur,
Je pourrais rester des heures si nul ne vient,
à absorber le bonheur des fleurs si délicates,
Ah, perdre son temps, c’est toujours le gagner,
Perdre son temps , c’est un art, c’est une œuvre,
Il faut l’aide de Dieu et de la nature sauvage,
Pour comprendre l’âme des choses, des symboles,
Je pourrais rester des heures sous le soleil.
À contempler des bouquets de primevères.
One spring day,
An angel plays,
A magical play...
She made me sit
On the back of a butterfly...
Huuuh huuuh huuuh
Oye yea yea!!!
Hmm hmm hmm...
I hum...
Hsss hsss hss,
The breeze sings
Hearing our songs
The flowers dance
O, those lovely moves,
dancing angels they are, proved
Put us into a trance
at the very first glance;
Enchanting event,
The angels' dance
Red, blue, orange, purple and yellow
The vibrant colours paint the plain meadow
When my butterfly choses a purple one
The one which is my favourite, I silently grin
Wow!!! Never seen the flowers this close
Oh oh!!! Heavenly hues on their clothes
Couldn't narrate their cherubic colors
"Queens of the earth", certainly they are
Savouring the nectar of the flowers
The Butterfly has got more power
Now she is ready to reach the towers
Hurray!!! The sky is now ours
My soul outreaches the sky
Looks alike, the lows and highs
When I see the Earth and beyond
My wavering mind lands on the ground
When our soul discerns the almighty
Our mind becomes very light
Purpose of life, it perceives
Contentented life it achieves
July -09- 2023
I do appreciate the sky
that is not flying high
the moon is so powerful
the yellow grey clouds protective of,
The light blue sky that turns Blue
Latter the white clouds,
Suddenly my memories travel Radical
The magic autobiographical moment that I want,
Turn nature in me,
Graphical
so using some magical mechanical artefact
that makes me rational
when my desire is being classical
To paint...
To paint in silence
That is problematical
A great mental dilemma that demands mostly unfavourable opinions
from people with a million reasons
I loudly chant in my house
pretending Happiness ,
this is the place where I'm Happy
and I'm Happy
and from above Happy
and from hierarchy Happy!
I am Happy by all standards although flaming inside
because my sensibility is claiming
my assertion of right
my call of duty
that demands other space and property
that I have the right too
The undesirable consequences
and my sense of equality and respect for the other
so many times my worst enemy
threatening me
I hazard myself respecting whom living with me does not live like me
I am an outsider to a certain degree
Someone who choses Art,
Writing as your Shopping Cart
Still lives apart
People compliment you
but with no glue on your Do
Or on you going through
Try to subdue you
In how or should do ('s)
and into the news
That Is Your Profession
That you despise
Because you know about the supplies, The Large Supplies
For Commercial and Controversial use
And you Pray for your comrades
Knowing that faith is probably what makes you so far away from,
Because you wear the right outfit, have some skills some writing gift,
But you insist on being dismissed because of your unwillingness to work on something
that indisposes you,
Cynical?!
You are inclined to something contrary to your Uniform
You want a self-improvement into a better condition
That is your ambition, predisposition
because we are not standard made in with a serial-number,
But Limited Edition
And God Bless your antipodal
We are Made of opposition and juxtaposition
Quand le jour se levera, la lumiere eclaira
la bonte divine nous reviendra et l'amour s'eclatera dans nous
voila les chemins menant de partout
les passagers et les amis de la mort sont la
les gardiens de la volonte les guident.
Quand la terreur reignera, le jour deviendra tout noir
la paix prendra la fuite, la vie nous quittera
l'amour disparaitra sous nos yeux
moi voila que le corps de mon corps me quitte.
Je deteste ma vie, voila que je l'ai toujours fait
mon ame est en route de demenagement
j'ai toujours voulu connaitre mon existence
mais le temps m'a toujours empeche de le connaitre
pauvre moi, j'ai la foi et la volonte mais la force me manque.
J'ai la chaleur dans moi et la honte dans mon coeur
mon ame et mon corps me brillent
j'ai la sensation d'une petite etre, sur cette enorme terre
ma vie est en danger, je l'ai voulu et voila que je l'ai perdu
je l'ai manque et je suis dans le desespoir.
Mon coeur me lache, la vie me blesse, me deteste et m'humiliee
la terreur me guide, mes pieds sont devenus des bois et la terre du feu
ca me chauffe sans arret
je suis dans le noir, le tenebre qui m'entoure ne me donne pas pause
il me guide chaque jour et m'oblige a tout donne
je laisse tout et je pese sur coeur.
La meilleur facon de mes meilleurs moments, me faite et me creee la honte
parmis ceux qui etaient les mien
ca me chauffe, ca me fait mal
la honte me reclame
j'ai la jeunesse sous mes yeux mais je touche la vieillesse
je jaunie comme les bananes de mes enceintres
je reflechi mais ma memoire est deja si fatigue
mon coeur est fache contre moi, il me quitte sans pitie
je reste avec un trou enorme dans ma poitrine.
Le gout de mes levres est deja amer
j'ai la poesie au bout de ma langue et la justice sous mes levres
la colere des dieux me reclame, le pouvoir des mien est indesirable
je ne suis plus moi meme, lorsque je n'entend plus ce petit voix dans moi
qui m'indique le chemin et me montre le beau cote des choses.
La terreur des dieux est tout pres
ca fait honte de mandier celui que t'as neglige et blesse dura ton existence
mon coeur est en larme, c'est quoi d'abord vivre?
la puissance de la nuit nous tombe dessus, oui, toi et moi
nous allons pleures, cries et mourir de peur
le jour du jugement est la!
Form:
Words are the tools of my trade
a carpenter choses to use wood
with which great things he makes
my choice will always be words
Just like an artist, a picture I make
instead of using paint, just like
a bricklayer lays bricks in line
I make lines by using only words
Words are the tools of my trade
an engineer works making an engine
each part he adds as he builds it up
yet with words I tell how its done
words are so powerful in what they convey
they cover such a range held back only by our
imaginations, that, which inspires our pens
to write and to hopefully enthrall the reader
L’Intégration – Oui! Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “Integration – Yes!” by T. Wignesan
Nous apprenons de vous avec gratitude,
La race qui nous devance,
Vous qui incarnent des siècles des usages et coutumes,
Nous sommes des Australiens long temps avant
Votre arrivé lequel ne date que d’hier,
Que nous devons être disposer de changer,
Apprendre à vouloir des choses que nous ne voulons pas du
tout,
Des nouvelles contraintes que nous n’avons jamais subis,
La rançon de notre survivance.
Une bonne partie de ce que nous aimons a disparue et devait
disparaître,
Mais ne pas les fondements profonds de notre être.
Le passé fait toujours partie de ce que nous sommes,
Il se trouve toujours autour de nous, toujours en dedans de
nous même.
Nous sentons les plus heureux
Quand nous sommes parmi notre propre peuple. Nous
aimerions pratiquer
Nos propres coutumes vivantes, nos vieilles
Danses et chansons, nos arts et nos corroborées..
Pour quelle raison devons nous échanger nos mythes sacrés
pour les vôtres !
Non, pas d’assimilation, mais l’intégration,
Pas de domination mais de notre essor,
Afin que les noirs et les blancs pourraient s’avancer main
dans la main
En paix et la fraternité.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Goodnight to our Rome with all your garrisons
and your streets that have become
as loveless as empty barracks.
For you I will never weep.
After all,
your Senators
Who made the deals
To keep the last
Last
And the first bored
and lost in ennui,
govern the burning ruins
of the human city which evicted the cobbler
and used the electorate as a weapon
With unforgiving recoil
Which guarantees
that
the bottom will stay at the bottom
and dance to the music of the
midnight carousel.
2
Now that the middleman has been cast
To the prairie grass
With his own middle cut away
His fate was decided over lunch
The legal apparatus has fallen from its hinge
Leaving only the greatest felony
Unnamed.
And who are our neighbors
When we’re sentenced to the
Four year winter hotel?
Will they be the nameless ghosts
Evicted from their bodies by those
Who are afforded the right to escape the tombs
With kept wives in cheap furs
And Upper eastside penthouses.
And in all those apartments
All the beautiful people
Wash down oxycodone with fine wine
While bitching about the junkie below.
“Send the cops to clean up the drug
Problem,” they cry.
“All addictions should come with a ‘scrip.”
It takes a truly trained country
with few alternatives
to put a knife to its own throat
or hand it over
to an orange buffoon
with a poor hair cut
in a loveless room.
He always
lines up his bets
on what con will turn the American heart
into just another dead
theater
where it was all the show of shows.
And when the decision is made
The worst one is chosen.
The decision has certainly been made.
For what other country
Choses a landlord so crooked
All self-respecting cons
Walk past him
Never stopping at all
For fear he will pick their pockets clean
For he is the biggest con of all,
Who now has to do a sometimes honest man’s job.
Those he loved the least
Ignored all the papers
Who for once
Didn’t celebrate
The game of chance
But cried out
With the urgency of a siren
During an air raid
to pick the other.
While he spoke as one of the mob
His heart was that of a landlord
Looking to evict
All his useful idiots
From their lots.
For now he can expect nothing in the end
But to stand on the stairs
Or escalator
When all your Senators approach
smiling
with drawn knives.
“Et tu Sessions?”
-
Soon
the moon is black,
she is in mourning of the evening
Over the garden’s stones
Shadows are getting longer
from tomorrow
The confusion of the sky
The seedling of comets
The pulse of the planets
Will do nothing with the future
Just the scent of roses
Newly hatched
Seized of fear
In the sweetness of things
Back already.
--
–( own translation from : "éclipse et deuil du soir )
-
Bientôt,
la lune est noire,
elle porte le deuil du soir
Sur les pierres du jardin
S’allongent les ombres
de demain
La confusion du ciel
Le semis des comètes
Le pouls des planètes
Ne fera rien de l’avenir
Que le parfum des roses
A peine écloses
Saisies de peur
Dans la douceur des choses
Déjà de retour.
RC – 26 Mai 2012
Tu n'as pas toujours ce que tu veux
Tu dois apprendre a abandonner
Meme les choses les plus cheres a tes yeux
Tu ne peux pas tous les garder
Tu te demande si le probleme vient de toi
Es-tu un obstacle pour ton propre bonheur
Qu'as tu fais de faux dis moi
Seche tes larmes et tes pleurs
Certaines choses nous sont innacessibles
Nous devons les oublier
Parce que battre l'impossible
Ca n'est jamais arrivé
Tu me dis que tu peux le faire
Et que tu es different
Es-tu vraiment sincere
Es-tu vraiment conscient
Tu es plonge dans une periode de desarroi
Tu sais qu tu n'arriveras a rien
Dans ce monde tu ne peux pas etre le roi
Tu dois tracer ton propre chemin
Crois tu vraiment a la joie?
Crois tu vraiment au destin?
Personne ne sait ce que te cache ton futur
Seras-tu plonge dans l'euphorie ou dans le dur?
Ne gache pas ta vie a cause d'un evenement
Profite de chaque moment tant qu il est encore temps
C'est vrai que je te dis ca
Mais moi meme je ne l'applique pas
Non je ne me moque ps de toi
C'est la verite crois moi
L'humain est le meilleur
Pour donner une opinion
Quand il faut passer a lacte
Il oublie meme sa propre solution
C'est le probleme entre le coeur et la raison
Je ne sens pas quoi te dire
Je suis la si tu veux parler
Fais moi entrer dans ton coeur
Je ne te dirai que la vérité
La Civilisation – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “Civilization” by T. Wignesan
Nous qui sont arrivés en retard à la civilisation,
Une lacune des siècles que nous ait laissé tomber,
Lors de votre arrivé à nos terres nous vous admirions émerveillés
Mais nous ne nous sentions pas effrayer.
A l’époque nous n’avions rien d’autre que le don d’être heureux,
Chaque jour un jour férié
Car nous étions des humains avant d’être des citoyens,
Avant d’être redevables aux impôts sur le revenu,
Et locataires, consommateurs, employés, paroissiens.
De quelle façon pourrions-nous comprendre
Les stratifications de l’homme blanc, toutes rigides et sans appel,
Vos totems sacrés, de Seigneurs et Dames,
Altesse et Sainteté, Eminence, Majesté.
Nous ne pourrions pas comprendre
Votre étrange culte de l’uniformité,
Cette adhérence totale à la ponctualité, discipline comme à programmer le travail.
Confus, nous nous doutions
De l’importance pour vous de l’urgence et de la signifiance
Des cravates et des gants, de cirage, de l’uniforme.
Des prisons et des orphelinats étant des nouveautés pour nous,
Des locations et des impôts, des banques et des hypothèques.
Nous qui possédons quasiment rien hormis les choses essentielles,
Nous n’avions pas des policiers, des avocats, des revendeurs intermédiaires,
Des courtiers, des financiers, des millionnaires.
Ainsi ces choses-là, tous ces merveilles nous avaient rendu abasourdis
Valeurs mobilières, le marché d’immobiliers,
L’intérêt composé, des ventes et des investissements.
Si nous avions pu nous en profiter et de nous faire élevés
Avec des telles connaissances nouvelles peut-être un nouveau monde aurait pu nous accueillir.
Absorbés de jour au lendemain dans de façon à vivre de l’homme blanc
Nous voilà acceptions avec résignation tout avec joie et reconnaissance,
Puisque c’est la voie de l’inévitable.
Mais souvenez-vous, Homme Blanc, si par contre la vie est faite pour atteindre la joie de vivre
Ne vous aussi nul doute éprouveriez grand besoin de changer.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016