Best Vive Poems
False winter—deceitful—fuels the unrest.
Paris preyed upon; men’s anger coalesced;
guns frame the debate.
Pride and despair fan the unholy flame.
The dispossessed grab weapons and take aim,
do words or actions desecrate?
Twelve dead in Paris—and a free press denied,
mourn for the loss, when faith and guns collide.
To men with no life, there’s only death.
Fathers and mothers, daughters and sons cry;
the workings of men leave no time for goodbye.
Shout, “Vive la liberté” with each breath.
False warmth stirs a hornet’s nest, of dispossessed
on Boulevard Richard le Noir, hate crests.
Guns frame the debate.
Words are warriors, oh there’s might in the pen
what do men die for—ideas council men.
Loss, want, and hate dictate.
With bombs, knives, and guns Europe-wide
strike concern where complacence was decried:
no homes, no jobs, unrest,
societal problems in oversupply.
Your eyes, open your eyes, the dead cry.
There must be more than death.
First Published in here/there magazine UK 2015
Vive La France - visual #4
Weeping
half staff – full heart
stiffened - resilient
proudly applauding freedoms voice
she speaks.
1/14/2015
For Andrea Dietrich – An American Beauty Poetry contest
translation below
Vive le CANADA Libre
Toujours merveilleux
Toujours grand
Toujours libre
Terre de libertés
PKP, PKP, jamais ne volé mon pays
PKP, PKP, jamais ne volé mon pays
plus d'informations
PKP est le surnom d'un fameux séparatiste qui veut se présenter à la direction du parti québécois. Même s'ils se proclament séparatistes, ce sont en réalité tous des traitres.
un mot plus juste..
À ne pas confondre avec le grand joueur de hockey, PK Suban!
Translation
Long Live Canada
Always beautiful
Always grand
Always free
Land of liberty
PKP, PKP, never steal my Country
PKP, PKP, never steal my Country
PKP is the nickname for Pierre Karl Peladeau, a Quebec seperatist
on merciless concrete
there's a body
don't clean up this blood
shot in the face
and run over as an inssurance
he'll never again put the blue ski mask on
don't clean up this blood
camouflaging a direct shot as ricocheted
did it even came to mind
was he still alive
when those tires
crossed over
don't clean up this blood
he was someone's son
do you have sons
what does the conscience say
does it claim a father
does that father merit someone calls him father
do your sons know
what you just did
don't clean up this blood
who are you behind that shields
who are you behind that badges
who are you behind that spokesman
who's pressing that switch to inhuman
don't clean up this blood
how does it feel when those who you pledged to protect are scared of you
does it make you feel like gods
or obedient dogs
outraged dogs
trying to silent the oppressed
who throws at you those bones from the top of Olympus
don't clean up this blood
just don't
freedom answers to the name of blood
*In memory of Carlo Giuliani (14 March 1978 - 20 July 2001)
With
power
our weakness
is fulfilled in
Him.
I join in spirit; the public of France.'
Who young and older in romance
Entwined desire, with freedoms fire'
In peaceful protest; contrast the ire '
Of devious governments desires'
They do not reckon, or balance out
For sustainable living people shout.'
Take them from the billions spent
Squeezed in utiltys and soaring rent
It' was spent on war, the mood is sore!
Ecological damage, way up the score
Animals trees parks and farms
Is this saving the planet.?
Or egregious harm.?
They keep me awake all night
So I sleep all day
Then they blame me
And take my life away
That is how my life is
In this awful game
So rejected am I
A life of constant pain
I say please reverse this
Let them feel the same
Let them know what it’s like
To live Eternal shame.
The reasons they reject me for
I conquer everyday
But they just ignore it
So evil is their way.
Those who hurt me
just don't see
That they are being used
By the powers that be
Those who mastermind this
Are working to a plan
It is entrapment
A great big scam.
My world would be full of love
Where no-one was rejected
For no matter what you think
We all should be protected.
It’s alright to be different
For if it was not
Greatness would not exist
Then what have we got?
CANCER-VIVE
Trapped inside a living cell
Multiplying thoughts in mine’s a hell
This body is where my soul lives
Dread and illness is all it now gives
Swirling mind, makes out unreal
Hard to grasp it’s all surreal
Petrified at this diagnosis
Uncertain, of course, my future prognosis
God help me I’m scared you know
Images go flashing: a destructive torpido
All looks low, lonely and lost
Not certain now what life will cost
Re-vive!
My spirit vibrates eternally alive
Stronger than anything. I will survive!
Surrounded by colourful- sincere relation
Information bounds healing inspiration
My heart cries out to you all
Brave angels who will never fall
Valiantly I face an inner foe
I cancer-vive, and freely grow
-Rickus Viljoen
@Facebook: Mr Writes
A
haiga
talking point-
forever in
glass
verreries parlante Emile Galle
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89mile_Gall%C3%A9
"GaIIé" techniques include the engraving or application of romantic verse onto glass vessels.
Such wares are termed verrerie parlante (talking glassware)
Flights of angels surely led her to her rest
Of all our monarchs, she has proved the best
Her example ,there for all to see and her heir to follow
As we reflect upon her reign in this sad time of sorrow
Right to the end publicly she fought to do her duty
In private her witty mimicry was a thing of beauty
Her Christian faith burned brightly throughout her life
To keep her composed in the darker days of strife
Her love for her corgis, horses and offspring saw her sane
And that necessary balance helped to prolong her reign
Where others might well have cracked and lost the place
She rose serenely above all troubles with majestic grace
And now that she has gone to her just reward
Let our memories of her be the last word
Vive sem horas
Na vida e nos negócios
Sempre,
esqueça o momento.
Não conte o tempo,
Quanto mede pesa,
E quanto pensas mede
e nada é medida certa.
Na vida e nos negócios
Não tenhas nada nas mãos
Nem uma memória na alma,
Que as horas não voltam!
Construa no espaço
Que figura futuro,
E prometa o Amanhã
Cumpre hoje,
não esperando
um tempo...
AH!
Vive sem horas;
Colhe as flores
mas larga-as,
mal as olhe!
Na vida e nos negócios
Sempre,
Tenha as mãos vazias
Ao abrirem-te as mãos
Nada te cairá.
Too hard to like
Too easy to love
Once she touches you
No turning back
Too hard to believe
Too easy to deceive
Once she kisses you
No turning back
Too hard to forget
Too easy to remember
Once she loves you
No turning back
Too hard to understand
Too easy to forgive
Once she hurts you
No turning back
Too hard to hold
Too easy to lose
Once she leaves you
No turning back
In France, a woman’s right to choose
Is guaranteed by law,
A freedom one will never lose
And no one can withdraw.
The message rings out loud and clear:
Our bodies are our own.
No courts or judge can interfere;
The choice is ours alone.
The Constitution plainly states,
Unlike the U.S.A.’s,
That there will be no more debates
Or government delays.
Unfortunately, here at home,
We haven’t won this fight
And it will take more than a poem
Or march to make things right.
Salut! How are you
See not the sky, see the tower of love
Steel that tickles the belly of heaven
Stairs that reach for the skie
Say hello to France
State of love is always welcomed
Seven even eight can come
Art lives on the streets
Colors beautify the side walks
The city herself talks
Paris offers peace in art
Writters come from the far ends of the globe to witness
Beauty herself lives in her
France, my love
Will you ever pardon me for leaving
I shall return, to you
Vive La France
All the best to France, may her people stay strong
Egalat'e and joi.' I wish you all the best
From here out and on.'