Thank you O sea,
For the untiring music of your waves,
For the rolling of your rollers,
Thank you O sea
for your music so refined,
This music softens the soul,
His sight soothes the poet
Console the painter ,
Thank you O sea
For your music,
For your mighty storms,
Merci Debussy
For your symphonic poem,
Thank youO sea
For your overflowing imagination,
For your writers, generous
Homer to Baudelaire, to Hugo,
Thank you O sea,
For all your colors,
For horizons surrounded by foam
For the sunny south of ancient Greece,
For your date palms,
Thank you O sea, for your example,
For the exemplary flight of seagulls,
For the frigate, white terns
For the quiet schooners,
Who anchor in the atolls
Thank you the sea,
For your illuminated ships
In the port of Brest,
For each oysters savored,
Thank you O sea, for your gifts
Your travels to America
You are the soul of the world
the source of my thoughts.
Hide this bottle from me,
That I could drink
This Chateauneuf du Pape
More tempting than the smile of a maid,
this Saint Emilion sneaky
Who has no saint but the name,
Hide this bottle from me,
This haut c$ote de Beaune,
Straight from the Middle Ages,
This rosé of Provence so sincere
Who would make pretty Bretons blush,
In a creperie of Brest.
Hide this bottle from me,
This Sauternes so sweet, so sweet
That makes high school girls naughty,
Hide me this bottle,
That I might well drink,
This wild little sauvignon,
Love is enough to make me drunk.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire
Ce Chateauneuf du Pape
Plus tentant que les fesses d’une pucelle,
ce Saint Emilion sournois
Qui n’a de saint que le nom,
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce haut côte de Beaune,
Venu tout droit du Moyen Age,
Ce rosé de Provence si sincère
Qui ferait rougir de jolies bretonnes,
Dans une crêperie brestoise.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce Sauternes si sucré, si doux
Qui rend les lycéennes coquines,
Cachez moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire,
Ce sauvignon peu sauvage,
L’amour suffit à m’enivrer.
17
I know, that there are no answers in cognac or armagnac
In the wine or sacred prayer,
No answers in geometry or trigonometry,
No response in Toronto, or Chicago,
That’s why we write this,
I know that there are no answers in the middle-class,
In the castles of the Loire, or in Pigalle,
In bars or shops, in the shopping crowd
That’s why we go to cinemas
In museums or exhibitions in Landerneau,
I know there is no answer from our neighbors,
No answers from intellectuals,
New Yorkers, or champions,
That’s why we read the poets, That we admire
Rodin or the sunflowers of Van Gogh,
I know that there is no answer in the Brest,
No answer in drugs or diamonds,
That’s why we seek silence,
No answer in solitude or enjoyment,
That’s why we protect bees,
That we travel.
When you see a white sail in the harbor of Brest,
A sail under a burning sun,
It’s a nagging sail,
She has not the tranquility of a sail on the Nile,
Her mind is not at peace, her conscience torments her,
This sail flees life; it does not enjoy life,
So are most of the things we like
In This country.
Quand vous voyez une voile blanche dans la rade de Brest,
Une voile sous un soleil ardent,
C’est une voile agaçante,
Elle n’a pas la tranquillité d’une voile sur le Nil,
Son esprit n’est pas en paix, sa conscience la tourmente,
Cette voile fuit la vie, elle n’en profite pas,
Il en est ainsi de la plupart des choses que nous aimons
En ce pays.
Using the vast ocean,
I look deep at the ocean, to drown out the stupidity,
I look at the sea, to drown out the violence of young people,
The more I look at the sea, a thousand times, the more lucid my soul is,
I look at the sea, to drown out the arrogance of talking hyenas,
I look deep at the sea, to drown in the smells of suburbs,
I watch the sea a thousand times to drown my sleepless nights,
To drown out the toxic looks, take off, you capture the sky.
I look at the ocean, to live in my country by the new energy of the grand desert.
I look at the sea, to drown the arrogance of the great cities,
I look at the red sea, to drown out the Brest bitterness,
I look at the ocean; I’ll look at it a million times,
Forgetting my day, how bad, people can be.
Because forgetting the dark side of my planet
I looked at the ocean
To drown out people I met,
And thoughts they had.
The biggest question of language in text book demands,
Primarily,
-Are you diaper trained?
Secondly,
-I do not care about your Brest fed strength.
DAMN!
And all I will show you that I can afford a display board
live and 24 hour befitting services
For sisterhood, for brotherhood,
Holy Garbage and trivial Garbage
Michelle with Muslim in –laws or
Hussein in with linked errors.
These kinds of stuffs.
Your Cheap red dress that is ripped.
A night out on the town it is humid and cheap.
Sexy to cheap so it's tight.
Pushed up your brest held by the cup that is he.
Torn into shreds like a cheap master card let it be.
My deep back for the straps let them show.
I am he that some one may know.
I have history,
That speaks to no one but me, I am here.
Underneath the red dress that you show.
You are mine as your eyes open and glow.
Walking up in and out so I study your ways.
Once you were his now your are mine turned out,
To expensive too be a whore.
Whom ever keeps the money green coming in.
The other's will do as their told.
Life is to short and the river is wide and far is the shore,
This from they I was told.
Council is wise I grow wear you grow old.
We will walk as they say and the Judges,
like they we live to be bold.
Wildlife 17
There once was a young tit from Brest,
Who was snuggled up warm in her nest,
She did not mind the weather,
But was short of a feather,
So she wore a bright blue thermal vest!
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY,
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY WHEN WE FAIL TO TRY,
PLEASE CHILD I KNOW NOT OF TOMORROW,
BUT WALK WITH ME,
WALK WITH ME AND LET MAKE THIS TALK A REALITY.
A VISION SEEN BY THE HEART,
AND A MISSION WON BY THE MIND,
YOURS TEARS YOUR FEARS WHEN WE CRAWL,
DESPISE NO ONE AND TRUST NO ONE,
I MIGHT GET TIRED ON THE WAY,
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF AND MAKE A MOVE,
EVEN AS TIME GOES ON DON'T GET INTO CRIME,
DON'T LOOK BACK FLOW LIKE A RIVER,
AT THE END YOU WILL SHINE LIKE A SILVER.
IN MY OWN MOTHERLAND PEOPLE CRY TEARS OF HUNGER,
AS THEIR TONGUE FAILS TO TASTE AND RETIRE TO GRAVES,
I FED YOU ON BREST MILK TO MAKE YOU SEE THE SUNSET,
NOW I WILL BE GONE I HOPE MY WORDS WILL LEAD YOU,
CHILD PLEASE DON'T CRY
All Praise the Breast
When an infant’s hungry, frightened or injured
His mother places him upon her breasts,
Comfortable like pillows with nipples.
Nipples. Mmmm, good.
From the very beginning
The breast is a major source of comfort,
Which we forget during childhood
But discover again after puberty.
Breasts are satisfying,
No matter their shape or size,
They are full of promise,
For future generations depend on these.
Beyond all eroticism, the breast is good and comforting.
When a man holds his sweetheart’s breast while drifting off to sleep,
The woman cannot imagine
The comfort he derives from simply holding her breast.
This itself is enough to make a bad day good,
No alcohol required.
They are beautiful on all levels, to the senses, heart and mind.
How wonderful it is that women exist!
I have heard "when YOUR dead, YOUR dead"
So why is Your memory still in my head
Why does my Heartbeat (still) with YOUR LOVE
It has been 42 years since YOU joined GOD above
My hands still caress YOU, my eyes Beauty sees
Each morning I speak to YOU from my kneeling knees
My nostrils inhale Your most Glorious scent
Will I ever go where YOU have already went
I speak to YOU daily of our LOVE in the past
And the years keep rolling on faster than fast
At night I feel you rubbing my chest
As I lean over to Worship YOUR Brest
I Whisper I Miss YOU and I Always will
Lenore my beloved Wife I'm LOVING YOU Still
The Title is the Words of "Mandy Tams ~The Golden Girl~"
Inspired by : Mandy Tams ~The Golden Girl~
Dedicated to Mandy Tams
thug love letter
I only hope that you will drink these words i say to you, and be drunken by
my every emotion, as i hold the key to our childhood, while i testify for your
love as if u were given a life sentence for my crime. Thinking for these past 5 years
grow old,
while watching our people's lyfe suffer growing older than having to die withought thats
given thoght our question, why? Darkened by the shadows of my brest, like the two
smuthered
blackberries that we use to surive on. only surviving our last test.
pouring out are my emotions, my tears along with my past. Have I not Suffered phyiscally
and poetically.
are my words words yet enough to be cut deep by your tears while watching your ears
bleed, as you would be drunken by the last drop of my sexuality. While Our Days Began to
grow cold, and we too began to grow old so now our love has outgrown.
I too, am ready to be loved, and be drunken by your every emotion, tasteing the last drop
from your lips.