Best Des Poems
Die Scherben des Lebens lassen sich nicht kitten. (German)
The shards of the life cannot be cemented. (English)
Los fragmentos de la vida no se puede enmasillar. (Spanish)
Les éclats de vie ne peu pas être à nouveau ensemble. (French)
I frammenti di vita non può essere di nuovo insieme . (Italian)
Die skerwe van die lewe kan nie weer saam wees. (Afrikaans)
Ang mga tipak ng buhay ay hindi maaaring simentuhin. (Tagalog)
Cioburile vietii nu pot fi cimentat. (Romanian)
Categories:
des, philosophy
Form:
Monoku
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
Categories:
des, dark, death, gothic, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Des Nuits d'Amour
A fine tablecloth, Lenox china,
sterling dinner ware.
Tall, elegant candles in shiny
golden candelabras.
Un chantes, d' amour fill the
starry night that I can smell in your
heavenly hair.
The songs of Piaf and Aznavour
soften me, caught in this love-lair.
Massages and sultry kisses.
A sink full of unwashed dishes.
It's time we dance, mon trevor!
Blow out the candles and close the
doors!
So that, we can, in sweet silence,
become one with the stars.
Simply, gorgeous you and I!
In overwhelming desire,
to quench our insatiability.
Those glorious moments of fulfilling
our hearts' utmost desires.
05/01/2023
Categories:
des, love,
Form:
Rhyme
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field.
Fragmented timelines, intersecting by the call of the Barker.
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more.
Saturating, replicating, stands with insidiously sticky omens.
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos.
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise.
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth.
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl.
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by mustachioed men of game.
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
Categories:
des, analogy, dark, death, horror,
Form:
Rhyme
Dumpfer Trommelschlag
Der Balzruf des Auerhahns
Vom dichten Wald her
The muffled drumbeat
Mating call of the capercailzie
Across the thick woods
Golpe del tambor sordo
El celo del urogallo
Través del bosque denso
Categories:
des, animals
Form:
Haiku
L’octroi des droits à Jacky – Translation of Mudroroo Narogin’s « They Give Jacky Rights » by T. Wignesan
(Note : The first aboriginal writer to have achieved – according to Kevin Gilbert’s Inside Black Australia – international fame with his novel : Wild at Falling (1965) as runner-up for the Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize, in 1966, Colin Johnson who renounced his Christian names in 1988 for the aboriginal : Mudrooroo Narogin was born at Narogin in Western Australia in 1938. Educated at an orphanage, he was thereafter left to fend for himself on the streets of Melbourne. He has also travelled widely in Southeast Asia, Britain, the United States and India where he became a Buddhist monk for seven years. He is a published playwright, poet and novelist, and he co-authored : Before the Invasion : Aboriginal Life to 1788 (OUP, 1980) with Colin Bourke and Isobel White.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 13, 2016.
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky
Comme le serpent tigre des droits à son proie:
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky,
Comme le droit d’une victime d’être visée d’un viseur de fusil.
On l’octroie des droits à Jacky
Comme on les donne à un bébé pas encore né
Arraché de l’utérus par une mère insouciante.
On l’octroie à Jacky le droit de mourir,
Le droit de consentir qu’on fonde des mines sur sa terre.
On l’octroie à Jacky le droit de regarder
Comment sa terre sacrée du Rêve (Dreaming) devient un trou –
Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent;
Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent:
On l’octroie à Jacky son droit –
D’avoir un trou sous le sol ?
La Justice pour tous, Jacky s’agenouille et prie,
La Justice pour tous, ils font des trous dans sa terre ;
La Justice pour tous, on lui accorde ses droits :
Une cruche du vin de table pour calmer sa douleur,
Et sa femme devait se prostituer pour ce cadeau.
La Justice pour tous, on lui octroie ses droits –
Un trou sous le sol pour y cacher sa méfiance et sa peur.
Qu’est-ce que Jacky peut se faire sinon continuer à lutter :
Les esprits de son Dreaming* lui rendent fort ?
• Dreaming/Alcheringa : The creation of the universe, the time known to most people as the Dreamtime or the Dreaming. (Oodgeroo, My People, 1990.)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
Categories:
des, discrimination, freedom, political, race,
Form:
Free verse
Le Problème avec des Blancs – Translation of Jim Everett’s « The White Man Problem » by T. Wignesan
(Jim Everett, Mawbana Pleregannana, b. 1942 on Flinders Island, Tasmania, has had a chequered career and like almost all the aboriginal poets and writers in English of the first post-WWII generation, hardly made it over the primary school curricula. He’s a poet, playwright and essayist (short articles). Among the jobs he tried his hand at : telegram boy, factory hand, fisherman, merchant seaman, rigger, truck driver, public servant, aboriginal community worker and political activist. He was the national secretary of the National Aboriginal and Islander Writers Oral Literature and Dramatists Association.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 15, 2016
Des aborigènes ayant lutté ne cessent de perdre.
L’homme blanc est venu pour répandre son fléau,
Ils ont apporté leurs droits que nous n’avons pas choisis.
Nous ne pouvons pas contrôler cette chose qui nous étouffe,
Malgré cet obstacle nous devons nous faire avancer
Et nous devons aussi rester fidèle à nos croyances dans leurs
évolution,
Dans l’espoir que l’attitude des blancs va se diminuer.
Des hommes blancs ne s’intéressent pas à comprendre nos
traditions,
Ils pensent que leur technologie est la meilleure solution pour
l’homme.
Et ils persistent à nous faire renoncer à nos coutumes ancestrales
Et leur ‘civilisation’ continue à nous nous faire soumettre.
Ils ne voient pas à quel point ils ont tort,
Etant aveuglés par la gloire et le pouvoir.
Leur pouvoir les empêche à distinguer le vrai but de la vie,
Ainsi créant le problème des hommes blancs qui nous rende
amers.
Les problèmes des blancs s’avèrent être l’avarice et le viol,
Et leurs dix commandements qu’ils désobéissent à volonté.
Pour quelle raison ont-ils des telles lois s’ils ne peuvent pas les
suivre,
C’est toujours le cas des tous les blancs.
La réponse devrait se trouver dans le fait de leur pouvoir,
Exploitant d’autres pauvres blancs sans défense parmi eux.
L’histoire de l’homme blanc se résume à : chacun pour soi-même,
Que le problème de l’homme blanc n’est guère confiné à la
couleur de sa peau.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016.
Categories:
des, discrimination, power, prejudice, racism,
Form:
Quatrain
Translation below
Valse des morts
Je valse
Je valse, valse, valse
le journée, la nuit
Le long des rues
Le long de la rivière
Je valse jusqu'à ce que je ressens la douleur
partout, partout, sur moi
la pluie tombe sur ma douleur
Je murmure doucement
Tourner dans le vide
Je valse , mais pourquoi
Je ne peux danser
Je ne peux danser
mes jambes lourdes
Mon cœur dit non
Je ne peux danser
Donc, je valse
à ma mort
Translation
I waltz
I waltz, waltz waltz
All the day and all the night
Along the streets
By the river
I waltz until I feel the pain
All over, all over , allover
the rain falls on the pain
softly I whisper
I turn into the void
I waltz and you know why?
I can not dance
I can not dance
my legs are in irons
My heart says no
I can not dance
So I waltz
To my death
Categories:
des, art, depression, pain, river,
Form:
Lyric
Écoute bien. La musique t'invite,
Les mots fanent et le ciel se remplit d'étoiles,
Il dirige cette explosion de beauté instantanément, vite.
Et descend avec élégance,
Levant ces ailes et ces voiles.
Il te donne une chance.
Depuis des générations j'allume ces bougies,
Et depuis des générations les ombres m'encerclent.
Avec la lumière vient l’obscurité... l’agonie.
Mais maintenant j'embrasse une affinité,
Dans cette cellule maléfique j'ai trouvé un pinacle.
Et je danse passionnément pour l'infinité.
Alors, je t'implore,
Tu m'expulses et ça me fait mal.
Une fois encore,
Coincé dans une chambre de montres,
Je voudrais apprendre cette valse,
Instruis-moi La Valse Des Monstres
Pour que je puisse toujours
Danser dans la lumière !
Categories:
des, art, music, passion, time
Form:
Rhyme
Le courlis poussa des cris – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s « The Curlew Cried » by T. Wignesan
(Note d’Oodgeroo : Le courlis fut le frère d’aborigènes. Il venait trois nuits de suite pour pousser des cris près d’un campement afin d’annoncer la mort d’un entre eux. Ils croyaient que le courlis venait pour conduire les ombres des morts vers le monde Inconnu.)
Durant trois nuits on entendait le cri du courlis,
L’ancien avertissement tous savaient interpréter :
Le cri leurs rappelle quelqu’un va mourir cette nuit.
Tant frère qu’ami, il entre et sort
En dehors de la Terre des Ombres
La voix la plus insolite sur terre.
Il a en sa charge le bien-être de ceux
Dont chaque âme qu’il conduit à sa destination –
A quel monde mystérieux, à quel étrange Inconnu ?
Qui donc devait nous quitter cette nuit :
Le vieux aveugle ? L’enfant handicapé ?
Tout le campement sera au courant demain.
Le défunt malchanceux ne sera pas si effrayé,
Le frère de la tribu lui tiendra compagnie
Quand le voyage non voulu devrait être entamé.
‘Tiens bon, la mort ne pas une fin en soi-même,’
Il semblait dire. ’Bien que tu dois pleurer,
La Mort est bienveillante puisqu’elle est ton ami.’
Durant trois nuits le courlis poussa des cris. Une fois de plus
Il vient pour accompagner les morts timides –
Quelle macabre changement, quelle épouvantable rive ?
c) T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
des, best friend, death, heaven,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
La Tour Des Baleines
In Misses Halliday’s community,
A lighthouse steadily illuminates
That coastal location. Containerships
Can safely navigate. Supertankers
Can avoid incidents. Superliners
Can protect passengers unfailingly.
This noble edifice, designated,
(From francais translated): “Tower-Of-Whales”.
Mark Halliday
Contest: Lighthouse
19 September 2014
Categories:
des, boat, imagery, international, ocean,
Form:
Verse
DES MOTS D’AMOUR ( W0RDS OF LOVE )
Pour mon Mari, (For my husband)
Voues ettes, mon cheri, mon amour
Mon l’homme que Je t’aime et je t’adore!
You are my dear, my love
My man I love you and I adore you
Votre femme" means "your wife" in French
Jennifer
Categories:
des, husband, love, wife,
Form:
Prose
Des the donkey won't wear a "kiss me quick hat" - it makes an ass of him
Categories:
des, fun,
Form:
Monoku
The spirit of Robin is well in France
2023 his ethos advanced
The middle managenent break ranks
In suppirt of freedom for people in France
Free power supplied to homes and schools
Buisnesses hospitals spared daconian rules
The goverments farce is now under lambast
Reason has ignited in the mindset of France
Robin des bois, they play your game.'
People before profit thats purely sane
We can have both..' who says otherwise
Do we a want billions? And much genocide?
Many minds can figure, solutions and ways.'
Stand walk; march, improvise i hear France say.'
Categories:
des, appreciation, caregiving, change, community,
Form:
Rhyme
Schizophrenic tendencies
Stealing useless sh*t like a kleptomaniacal king
Laughing and tip toeing to the closet
While listening to the faucet drip
Freaking out my third eye blinking stunting your growth with a lean
Heavy petting in front of you
Sucks to think about you and actually think that I was thinking about letting you view
Drama setting developing characters steady sweating in a church corridor and sat down on the pew
Confessed a few horror stories and placed the priest in a matrix
Intelligently designed inside this hell's hatred
He cried and prayed as I snatched his soul and vaped it
There's no escapaping this
I'm being blamed framed about to get arrested in vain while they tape it
Look Mom I made it!
Walk a mile in my ASICS
Basic training
No negotiations
Guilt trippin on my laces
Remembered my cape and draped it over dead friends that became time wasted
Man I should've saved them
They always told me to go home
So I jumped off the deep end and waited
I'll eat you like a four course meal prepared and plated
I'm ing hungry
Spitting on you in front of me with a toxic venom developing a tongue disease
Better start to run from me
As I lunge with hands clung to a machete and swung at you hung from a tree
This sh*t is fun f*cking dumb b*tch punch you in the face and munched your c*nt for free
The f*ck you want from me?
Dan, drum roll please
Sum it up punch drunk stole your b*tch at the lunch truck five fingers linger the flavor of the week
Swinging at a country singer smiling inside my violent dream
Means my demons fire breathing heaving the heat
Call me the pretty b*tch leave your ass in the urn with burns from the third degree
Half cocked leaning against the wall throwing up queasy feelings mixed drinks 1,2, and 3
F*ck you and f*ck me then leave
Fall on your way out like that autumn leaf
Trippin on the broken sidewalk cracked under your feet
Deep sleep woke the weak dreams screaming for tweak
Leaped over your jeep and beat you with the meat cleaver stashed under the seat
Freaking the out inside an asylum for three weeks
Jeez it's freezing my body’s even seizing with heavy breathing strapped in a straight jacket teething
Lost in a controlled environment where everything that seems to be or seeming has no f*cking meaning
Categories:
des, abuse, addiction, anger, angst,
Form:
Rhyme