Best Jours Poems
POTD 27 Sept 2023
~LOVE SAID ~
"Go find her, set her free."
In my search, I found an array of colourful petals,
An abundance of aromatic aromas.
Each one, I hydrated with my blood and tears,
But each one pricked me with their thorns.
Fatigued ~ pondering an end to my quest,
I prepared for a life without a petal of my own.
A voice whispered ~
"Look this way."
And there you were
Glimmering under twilight's delight,
So I planted you in my heart,
So you can blossom in an ocean of love...
by The Silent One
And Maria Williams
French Lyric translation
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
(When he takes me in his arms)
Il me parle de tout bas
(he speaks to me softly)
Je vois la vie en rose
(I see life in pink)
Every time you kiss me, Heaven sighs
Il me dit des mots d'amour
(he tells me words of love)
Don't know why
Des mots de tous les jours
(everyday words)
I close my eyes
Et ça m'fait quelque chose
(and it touches me)
If only you would
Give your heart and soul to me
And life will always be
La vie en rose
(The life in pink)
Some amazing talents come together here.
Thank you Silent One for your collaboration with me on this creative poem.
Ron Williams, for video direction and composition, which we put together.
And to David Luke for his excellent narration.
Attributions:
Lyrics by Edith Piaf
Music and vocal:
Michael Bublé & (feat. Cécile McLorin Salvant)
Album La vie en rose
Licenced by You tube
Categories:
jours, dedication, feelings, love, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
In the pale sunshine of a springtime morn,
As fresh as the dawn before it was born,
Such creamy clouds, grace a deep blue sky,
After the midnight of rain has passed by.
Plum purple blooms, leave scented traces,
As butterflies appear in unlikely places,
In hues of green, white, orange and gold,
As bees hum to the drummer in the marigold!
Baby bluebirds peep in tranquil treetops,
While the caress of breezes is felt nonstop.
Plump red strawberries and mulberries glisten,
And you can hear geese honk, if you listen,
As they swim away the hours on placid pond,
Framed by emerald rushes and trees beyond.
Pearly beads are scattered along the grass,
Where countless, fragrant snowdrops mass.
In the sunny days of innumerable births,
That cause gaiety everywhere upon the earth!
Categories:
jours, birth, flower, fruit, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Le soleil est notre ami
Car il nous donne de l’énergie
Laisse sa chaleur
Ouvrir ton cœur (x2)
I’m satisfied
When you smile
I’m happy
When you talk to me
Quand tu me regardes
On dirait que tu m’bombarde
Pleins de cœur rempli d’amour
Et c’est comme ça tous les jours (x2)
I beg you to love
Cause you are pretty
When your love will be mine
Your heart will shine (x2)
Mon corps est-il à ta taille
Ou manque-il un détail
Devant toi tout me stress
Et qu’il faut faire des prouesses
Pour que tu m’aimes (x2)
Please, Please Please
Don’t don’t
Cause I believe
In you and me
Parce que je crois
En toi et moi
Est-ce qu’il a une loi
A t’obliger de m’aimer
Est-ce que j’ai le droit
De contrôler tes choix
Pour que tu m’choisisses moi
Choisisses-moi
Categories:
jours, boyfriend, leaving, love,
Form:
Lyric
C’est ton heureux anniversaire
Mon amie, ma copine, ma commère
Il m’est impossible de t’envoyer des fleurs
Et je ne peux pas t’écrire de jolis poèmes
Cependant je peux te souhaiter du bonheur
Avec toute ma force et avec tout mon cœur.
Parfois, on ne peut pas vider tout le contenu
De la vase, comme on ne peut marcher tout nu
Dans les rues essaimées de charmantes femmes
Puisqu’on est limité et on a qu’une pauvre âme
On peut simplement mesurer ses vives émotions
Femme ! Oh ! Mémère, je me noie dans la passion.
C’est ton joyeux anniversaire
Mon amie, ma flamme, ma commère
Je te souhaite de tout mon cœur
Santé et des arcs-en-ciel de bonheur
Que la Providence te bénisse avec abondance
Et que la vie te soit des jours et nuits de vacances.
P.S. Translation ' It's Your Happy Birthday, Gorgeous Old Lady'.
Copyright © Mars 2022, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
Categories:
jours, anniversary, birthday, emotions, funny
Form:
Rhyme
Adieu Ma Dear
Puisque tu es arrivée
trop tard dans cette vie
En trainant trop dans l’autre
dans l’oubli
Arrivée seulement
pour me dire adieu
L’innocence triste tremblant
dans tes yeux
Sur tes lèvres d’étudiante
tremblant
Tu me demandes
D’un air peiné autour
de ta coiffure
d’une déesse de Landes
J’eusse passé des jours
Sans trop troublantes
convenables
Comment puis-je te les dire
pour de vrai
Sans que tu ne passes tes jours
à mes côtés
Toujours et à jamais
Si tu es à moi
à moi
à moi
Toute seule
Les liens noués
dans les cieux
Je n’ai qu’attendre
Que tu me rejoignes
dans l’au-delà
Je t’attendrai
pas trop long
J’espère
dans l’autre vie
Tardes pas une seconde fois
Moi qui t’attendrai
d’arrache-pied
toujours seul
dans l’au-delà
Ne manque pas le coche
cette fois-ci
On n’a qu’une chance unique
A vrai dire
La deuxième n’est qu’un refoulement
Un déjà vu
La première n’est qu’un avertissement
Adieu Ma Dear
pour le moment
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
jours, destiny, fantasy, farewell, nostalgia,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Verbum Caro, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Verbum Caro by T. Wignesan
Glory to the resuscitated Lord
Incarnate cry of the Flesh becoming Verb
The body is not the place of death
Where the soul feels alright despite revulsion
He who holds his nose
While passing his house full of droppings
Whatever be said : My flesh my pigsty
It is he the tomb requiring cleansing
A body all armed comes out of me
From the invincible nakedness
Fomenting peace in the midst of war
He’s of an innocent cast of mind
As virile as the sun
His worth illuminating the earth
The world is set on his head
The man straightens up It is midday
(from Les Jours de la Passion, first published by the Abbaye de la Pierre-qui-Vire by the Editions diu Zodiaque, 1962)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
jours, religion,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I was my hands of it all, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Je m’en lave les mains by T. Wignesan
And what could we have done in his place
Who in this century would dare to judge him
he belongs to you and you are me-myself
A tiny cogwheel
An average individual
Someone responsible neither for evil nor for good
Who merely transmits
For others to execute
I am not to blame
Even if these things are not the makings of anyone in particular
they just happen
When such things happen I’m never around
It always takes place elsewhere
It’s not my fault I’m just a soldier
They’ll tell me Yes you’re not to blame
A command is a command
I am a soldier I obey orders I‘m given
I merely pass them down the ranks
It’s not my duty to be concerned I wash my hands of it all
All this then just drains through my fingers
There are other hands to own up to all this
Replete with a hangman who’s one of them
More cowardly than Ponce-Pilate
Who at least kept saying I wield power
Who did everything thought he could really do anything
Excepting the impossible and hence did nothing
To save him
And Jesus said You wouldn’t have had this authority
if it weren’t handed down from up on high
Everyone of us is a grain out of the stock
Each is stymied by all
One’s implacable spineless There’s nothing I can do, I’m helpless
This’s the unending wail rising from humanity
He who alone agrees to bear the burden
Of all the others which none can bear alone
Is capable of the impossible
(from Piere Emmanuel’s “Les Jours de la Passion”, July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 10, 2014
Categories:
jours, power, spiritual, , cute,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Seemed too shy-
To articulate
In flash,
She squealed
Beyond phoning:
The business between us-
Is agonizing,
Search for bona fide,
A suitable beloved-
"Pour tous les jours"
Hang around!
Do not kill the whole toy.
Regarding these words
I will answer:
“Long time ago,
I did not think of you.
Initiatory,
I disliked this affair”
Seemed too shy-
“Pour tous les jours”
I’m not the one,
Who dare to ran
After statues,
Asking or crying before –
“You are so precious”
Has been untold -
Where were you?
Falling worthlessness!
And wasting of energy
Seemed too shy -
“Pour tous les jours”
I suppose,
This is your temperament.
You do not have a heart.
Unaware of how passion
Looks like -
…
Few words
For consideration:
“I have never cared”
If you couldn’t dig up the point,
Keep knocking at my door,
I’m going to teach,
Having much time to play –
Toujours…
Holding over
What about the dead?
What about the alive?
What about the rebirth?
Too shy to talk about
***
~By M'hamed Kanour__Email: medkanour@gmail.com~
Categories:
jours, absence, future, love,
Form:
Free verse
Kiss of Judas, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Le Baiser de Judas by T. Wignesan
In our century where one sells father and mother
Husband his wife and wife her husband
And who doesn’t with ease dispose the only brother
Gives up yet two scorched by blade and fire
Of course breath comes hard to him who thus
Horribly heartless sacrifices his friend
But efforts turn to Nought before man comes of age
Who without remorse at first is forced to vomit
Disembowelled in one’s own mummified body
No one’s spared by the multitude
Which draws us into it all like an epidemic
Each is smothered in the crowd as in the prison cell
All become lambs : who’s to be betrayed first
Under constant surveillance yet others to victimise
Each spies within the circle surrounding him
His soul lives stuck to the peephole
And if while in their midst they catch him in the act
To punish him they give him up to the Law
Thus every man in the steps of an apostle
Seeking to be approved worships the Law
The great one-eyed lady
The arrogant goddess
Whoever stands for such justice demeans his spirit
And creates in us a vile and villainous heart
In the name of the men of law and the public force
All functionaries like you and I
In this Darkness where Emptiness reigns supreme
I mete justice out to Judas
What he did he did for me
So that I might in turn do the same
Kissing the forehead in good faith
To such as he all over the earth
Every day umpteen times I vow
The mecanical anger
Of the labourers of the Law
(from Pierre Emmanuel’s Les Jours de la Passion)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 11, 2014
Categories:
jours, jesus, judgement,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The Passing of the Lord, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s La Mort du Seigneur by T. Wignesan
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
I count the flogging blows I rain upon you
And despair at being exhausted trying
I re-open and again open the mortal wound
In order that I become the wound inflicted upon you
Here’s the opening where all mankind is bound
On their God who died to be reborn
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
I do repent me who in a while am going
To nail my brother on the same gallows
I’m going to let spill his blood right up to his heart
At the point where his suffering stifles my cruelty
Both of us slaking our thirst from the source of pains
Your saintly face and our identity
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
Yet I speak not the truth like water seeping through sand
I am nothing I have neither features nor substance
All the mud in me mounts up to my face
My blurred eyes bog down your pardon
Thus every man when he fathoms your grace
Avoids it to return to his silt
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
At such a moment when every man all of Man
Falls into mud you alone are reborn
At such a moment when God ceases to be man
Which leaves you bloodless and the Verb hollow
At such a moment the void overcomes you
And both man and God having abandoned you
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
You are my thirst me the mud which sucks
The bitter universe pressing upon your lips
Your cross in vain elevates my nature
It’s on my mud your lever finds a fulcrum
And when your body falls like a ripe fruit
My mud doesn’t change when everything’s accomplished
Lord ! I’m unable to think of your passing without crying
Your perfect affirmation underwrites all of history
Suffering to death without in any way being bothered
Yes, to the mud which mocks your victory
Where Man’s reborn though not having been changed
Yes, to this God who extends not his hands to receive
His only Son and total stranger
(from Les Jours de la Passion, pub. July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Categories:
jours, jesus, spiritual, universe,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Barabas, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Barabas by T. Wignesan
This insignia that Barabas be
Seditious and murderous
None so worthy as he can be
Bartered body for Jesus
Criminal right down to genes
To our father of all is he son
For assassinating crowd he stands
Which acquits and absolves him
Just as it should be the crime
Paid for by a price equal deem
Be that the blood of his victim
Serve Barabas to redeem
(from Pierre Emmanuel’s « Les Jours de la Passion », pub. July 2011)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 13, 2014)
Categories:
jours, bereavement, christian, innocence,
Form:
Quatrain
An ardent longing for the finer things ...
Vodka from eggs - bedrooms with wings.
Bugatti's and coffees topped with gold,
Armani, Brioni, and true absinthe, old.
Bottega Veneta or a Lanvin wool coat,
Yachts that are really just mansions that float.
Valets and limos and luxe high-rise suites,
Beds dressed in D. Porthault Jours de Paris sheets.
Bluefin sashimi, Kopi Luwak,
Yubari Melon, and real Dark To'ak.
Matsutake Mushrooms, Wagyu Beef,
South Devon Crab with fresh saffron leaf.
Almas Caviar, Bonnotte Potatoes,
White Alba Truffles, Canarian Tomatoes.
Heligan Pineapple, Densuke Black
Watermelon, sweet. In pocket, a stack.
Milan designed leather shoes and gloves -
Oh, I'm cursed, eternal, with such lavish loves!
So what is the claim, if extravagance deems?
I hope for tomorrow, and believe in my dreams.
For naught yet compares to my imaginings' wealth,
All the money on earth can't buy my good health.
So I dream, but I'm happy with all I've been blessed,
And MAYBE, in time ... fate will see to the rest.
Categories:
jours, appreciation, boat, car, dream,
Form:
Couplet
I see on a canvas, this face
The distant look, as detached from the world,
Behind me ,trying to decipher shadows
The unstable condition of the wind, and the ignored face of the days ...
Or maybe just,
A look that does not see,
But who is to rebuild,
The web of dreams:
Other places focused on the face of clear nights,
Where we cross moments
So far, of the body weight,
We could see
Amid the black light,
Color bursts,
Caused by the smell of an earth
That sits of the tiredness of the day,
And let a memory,
Freed from its shackles.
It is a flight to other countries;
Explore them ,is done easily.
There are no limits,
And no border holds it prisoner
--------
Je revois sur une toile , ce visage
Le regard lointain, comme détaché du monde,
Essayant derrière moi, de déchiffrer les ombres,
Les équilibres instables du vent, et la face ignorée des jours...
Ou peut-être simplement,
Un regard qui ne voit pas,
Mais qui en est , à reconstruire,
L'écheveau des rêves :
L'ailleurs porté sur la face claire des nuits,
Où on traverse des instants
Si loin , du poids du corps ,
Qu'on pourrait apercevoir
Au milieu de la lumière noire,
Des éclats de couleur ,
Engendrés par les effluves d'une terre
Qui se repose de la fatigue du jour,
Et laisse une mémoire ,
Libérée de son carcan .
C'est un envol vers d'autres contrées ;
Les explorer se fait sans peine .
Il n'y a pas de limites,
Et aucune frontière ne la retient prisonnière .
-
RC - déc 2014
Categories:
jours, dream, earth, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Free verse
(La ballade de) La femme Woor – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s “The Woor Woman” by T. Wignesan
Le chasseur Bhoori demandit de la colline,
Puisque le ciel à l’ouest était de rouge,
Et le monde entier devenait triste et calme
Les arbres chuchotait quand-t-il passa là-bas,
Il n’y avait eu personne non plus. Il entendit
Le chant poussé de crake et aussi celui du pluvier.
Il s’était arrêté et regarda autour de lui. Là-bas dans la verdure
Une étrange femme debout lui fixa des yeux,
La plus belle qu’il n’avait jamais vu.
Elle changea de position et courrait un peu,
Puis elle s’arrêta et tourna son regard vers lui.
‘Suis-moi, suis-moi’ dite-elle, semblait-il.
‘Si, je dois la suivre,’ dit-il.
‘Elle hantera mes rêves dorenavant
Si je la laisse fuir loin de moi.’
Une fois de plus elle s’éloigna, puis elle s’arrêta,
Et continuait ainsi de la lui faire suivre
Tantôt animé, tantôt un peu éffrayé.
Jusqu’à qu’ils arrivèrent là où il y avait d’ eaux,
Le marais silencieux de la Femme Woor
Où personne n’osait aventurer ni de nuit ni de jour.
Au-delà il voyait des eaux qui brillaient .
‘Suis-moi, suis-moi,’ elle semblait dire.
Bhoori continua de la suivre comme dans un rêve.
Soudain sur les eaux devenues moins claires
Elle courrait ses pas legèrs et y resta debout,
Et là elle restait ses yeux fixés sur lui.
‘Je vois l’apparition, maintenant je le sais,
Elle fait partie du Peuple des hombres.’
Et comme l’accueil chaleureux et confortant
Des feux du campement de sa tribu,
Son peuple lui recevait en l’appelant par son nom.
Mais Bhoori paraissait comme un homme envoûté,
Son peuple à lui maintenant devenu des étrangers,
Aucun visage lui fut familier.
Son histoire on écoutait avec des yeux écarquilles
Et tandis que certains souriyait, les vieux
Témoignaient de la pitié et murmuraient entre eux.
‘C’est le signe de la vieillesse,’ disaient-ils.
‘Bhoori a vu la Femme Woor.
Ici trois jours, il n’y sera plus.’
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
jours, adventure, death, fairy, fantasy,
Form:
Ballad
Il revient toujour
il ne reveint pas aujourd'hui
c'est lui qui donne le bijou
comme le cadeau depuis
l'horloge lui meme
n s'arretes que l'homme
il fait comme il faut
mias, il donne des cadeaux
ses cadeaux c'est pour
l'homme de tous les jours
qui fait comme il faut
l/horloge conduit
demain donne le bataeu
et, l'homme s'assieds
Categories:
jours, care, character, corruption, discrimination,
Form:
Pastoral