(1)
ugly grey banister
language stung
all the
subtle Belgian
bursts of
grainy blue Gina's
Bengali grain
triangles
(2)
a high-
strung bus-
y arbiter is
bustling a-
round in
search of in-
tegral gris-
ly Istanbul
bytes and
guilt-free wry
rung climb-
ers of the
Liberty Tree
(3)
singularly rusty
syringes some-
how re-
main de-
void of dust
5
N’essayez pas de faire courir
L’âne gris ou le puissant zébu,
La girafe folle ou le poète,
Vous perdriez votre temps,
N’essayez pas de faire courir,
Chacun doit respecter l’autre,
Le cheval court, l’âne brait,
Comment cueillerons nous ces cerises ?
N’essayez pas de faire courir
La girafe folle ou le poète,
La lenteur les inspire plus,
De tout ils gardent raison,
N’essayez pas de faire courir.
Don’t try to make them run
The gray donkey or the powerful zebu,
The crazy giraffe or the poet,
You would waste your time,
Do not try to make them run,
Each one must respect the other,
The horse runs, the donkey brays,
How will we pick these cherries?
Don’t try to make them run
The crazy giraffe or the poet,
The slowness inspires them more,
Of all that keep reason,
Do not try to make them run.
Android, light a fire!
Melt down metal and stone.
Forge of these a wire.
O hateful, hold thy own!
Hordes of havoc, ride with fate!
Loose thy battle cry!
Warrior, thy will is hate!
Compel these to die!
Sigh, O waiting ladies?
Not readily, good sir.
Look up at the Pleiades!
Reality, just blur...
Automaton, black abyss!
Apocalypse; kiss.
Flock of pelican, fish. Grow, gris.
Serpent coiling, hiss.
Bile and blasphemy, break. Be.
All tomorrow, flee.
Beat of my heart, suddenly!
Vision means to see...
Cold confusion, coffee cake!
Help a brother out!
Vampire, do ye fear the stake?
Dragon, do ye doubt?
Flame eternal, burn within!
Blanch, O fire of Sin!
Scorching heat of oven? In!
What ye dream, begin!
Light of spark and intellect!
Brilliant is thy glow!
Raven of fate, how you pecked!
Necked and tossed below!
Chain unbroken, forge. Deep gorge.
Weathervane, point. Sight.
Unit twenty, thou art corge.
One it takes to fight...
With a hitch in my get-along
which set me wrong
my get-up-and-go
is sadly misplaced
it done got up and went
cannot be traced
it's really too tragic
my mojo is spent
I need someone who
versed in voodoo
will weave their magic
do some hoodoo
come through with the juju
who'll hand me an amulet
give me a charm
which won't go amiss
so I draw no harm
with a little gris-gris
to take up the slack
and make sure my moxie
is right back on track
I am stressed,
The grey heron is worried,
In turn it flies away,
Shriek.
The frogs are eating,
So there’s life
In the muddy, green pond.
Je suis stressé,
Le héron gris est inquiet,
à son tour il s’envole,
Pousse des cris rauques.
Les grenouilles croassent,
Il y a donc de la vie
Dans la mare boueuse et verte.
Juan Gris 'Bottle&Glass'*
a many faceted focus comes to pass
Esta habitación
tiene su color,
agrio y sucio
con olvido gris.
Tengo una lista,
lista de todo.
Cajas, papel,
tiza y pis.
Mi soledad
es eterna aqui.
Ni mis hermanos
bailan así.
Ni mamá,
ni papá,
solo arañas
y ratas hay.
¿Por qué?, ¿por qué?
Danzo bajo luz
de luciernagas
color azul.
¿Por qué? , ¿por qué
silencio hay?
En esta nube
sobre el mar.
Oh no, oh no,
mi cuerda apagó.
Oh no, oh no,
mi vestido
es rojo.
Rojo, rojo,
¿esto es miedo?
Rojo, rojo,
adiós al mundo.
Flor, flor, flor hay.
Espero volver,
y en tu mano
mi cuerda poner.
Spaniard Juan Gris
with an early death his cubism ceased
Many faceted a bit like Picasso
'Possibilities of Painting' his credo
Jean Gris the third cubist
gave it a different twist
Reinterpreted still life his thing
with a fragmented image he did bring
under this gray sky
to the name rose they gave sharp thorns
to the name nettles nothing to suggest the itch when touching them
maybe it's just fate and nothing but appearance
although
every sweet arrival is preceded by a steep path
and every profound evil is hidden to the world
only if whoever whatches has no heart to see
...........
sotto questo cielo grigio
al nome di rosa hanno dato affilate spine
al nome ortiche
niente che suggerisca il prurito al toccarle
forse è solo il destino e nient'altro che apparenza
eppure
ogni dolce arrivo è preceduto da un ripido sentiero
e ogni male profondo è nascosto agli occhi del mondo
solo se chi guarda non ha cuore per vedere
..........
bajo este cielo gris
al nombre rosa dieron espinas afiladas
al nombre ortigas
nada que sugiera la picazón al tocarlas
tal vez es solo el destino y nada más que apariencia
pero aún
cada dulce llegada es precedida por un camino empinado
y todo mal profundo está oculto a los ojos del mundo
solo si quien mira no tiene corazón para ver
Marco Bo
Perfecto
Es aquel en cual no se enojaba
Aunque de palabras se llenaba, jamás las hablaba
Es aquel que jamás temía
Aunque talves lo sentía, jamás se imponía
Y eso yo admiro
Bello
Es cuando lo de adentro es más grande
Y lo de afuera se convierte en algo abundante
Es cuando toca sin tocar
Donde con solo su mirada se logre comunicar
Y eso yo lo siento
Brillante
Porque sabe que con amor todo sabe mejor
aunque el mundo sea blanco o gris alrededor
Oh rojo y amarillo, caminaba sin importarle el color
Donde todo su ser, su antonimia y su alma tienen valor
Y eso no tiene precio
Perfecto, bello y brillante
Son las 3 francés más importantes
Donde tú ser es más interesante
Porque para mi, eres un diamante
One day while fishing on the bridge,
I hooked a gorgeous speckled trout,
Reeled it in and pulled it out,
Carried home, stored in my fridge.
The trout it was prepared next day,
Two large filets cooked and eaten,
Flavor intense could not be beaten
By any chef, no how, no way.
With spinach green, tomatoes red,
Sautéed perfection in olive oil,
Potatoes piping from the boil,
A perfect meal left us well fed.
A glass of wine, a Pinot Gris,
Washed down the food with complement,
The nose? Fresh flowers, a lovely scent,
Pure vintage, two thousand and three.
Relaxed, forgetting all our sorrow,
After such a sumptuous dish,
I long to catch another fish,
To the bridge again, perhaps tomorrow.
2/3/2019 - Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest - Emil Pinet
Dans une langue qui ne m'appartient pas
j'essaie d'y mettre la lune entière
son sourire à plein dents et sa lumière douce
les mots me semblent creux et pourtant
en chacun d'eux, une étoile filante
mes espoirs, tous gris, tracés, brulants
quittant ce corps courbaturé
un rêve s'échappe coincé
cherchant
un oreiller où se poser
celui de ton regard qui ne m'a jamais quitté
comment le retrouver
sans devoir fermer mes paupières
--TRANSLATION--
In a language that doesn't belong to me
I am trying to place the moon
It's full toothed smile and it's soft light
The words seem hollow and yet
in each of them is a shooting star
my hopes, all in grey, traced, burning
leaving this sore body
a dream escapes stuck
searching
for a pillow to rest upon
the one that is your gaze that never left me
How to find it again
without having to close my eyes?
In vertigo of night, in their riddled trance
Boldness of petals melt on washed-out shades,
As faces etch a quiet gloom in varied hues
Capturing splashed oil, neutral and bright
While I gaze longingly at a portrait…
Man and wife , as if holding a child almost
Unseen …hidden through a float of blue-white.
Through dimming pain, a view lights up for a time
Where orange of moonlight quietly slips
Amid this rosette outburst and aching gray,
With blossoms strewn along pale candlelight…
How languid colors begin to mold my thoughts
Drowning in a pang of loneliness… I ask
In silence..are the couple ,the babe dying?...dead?
And the fusion of tender, lonely motif allows me
To weep inside, captive in a gasping moan... the kind
Which shapes a tone between life and elegy.
---------
Frank Herrera's Contest: YOUR PERSONAL BEST of 2016
Written 5/09/2016 Re-submitted 10/18/2016
POTD Awardee
------------------
Inspiration from the painting, Les Amoureux en Gris
Artist: Expressionist, Marc Chagall ( illustration included)
quiero sentir tus caricias en esta tarde gris.
quiero sentir tu lujuria rosando mi ser.
anhelo el poder escuchar tu vos suspirando mi nombre'
tus dedos recorriendo mi cuerpo mientras la brisa me enchina la piel
Deseo hacerte saber como me siento sin el uso de palabra alguna.
una mirada profunda basta para que puedas llegar a mi corazon
y deleightarte con este gran sentimiento conocido como amor.
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