Get Your Premium Membership

Interne Poems

Note: The forms for these poems were selected by the poet. Often poems are assigned the wrong form. Please confirm the accuracy of the poetic form before referencing the poem.



List of New Poems

PMPoem TitlePoetFormFormCategories  
It's too early in the gray sky - from french rene Chabriere Free verse Free verse interne, anger, car, dog, feelings,

About This Page

Above are examples of poems about interne. This list of poems is composed of the works of modern international poet members of PoetrySoup. Read short, long, best, famous, and modern examples of interne poetry. This list of works is an excellent resource for examples of these types of poems.

Interne Poem Example

It's too early in the gray sky - from french

No one in this morning
The road is deserted,
It's too early under the gray sky,

The veins of my hands,
Salient hands on the wheel
The look Elevated

The white line scrolls,
The colored houses, fled,
Since the curves crossed,

Creeks glimpsed,
The white studs punctuate
the road, pedal to the floor,,

Not any  possible gesture
Just those, tiny,
Extending the machine

According to the gray ribbon
Powered by the wheels

Swallowing the consistency,
of traffic signs,
blurred by speed,

The craft carried by his power,
Shares my drunkenness ...

Almost brought a strength,
Internal and autonomous

The motor flexibility
It shiny metal body,
Discreet comfort inside ...

And suddenly ,this is
At the end of the turn,
This dog,

As an immobile sphinx,
His unexpected question,

The deflected trajectory,
Gravel under the tires,

The crazy slide,
Nothing controls it

Falling universe 
A jump above the parapet,
A single flight without return

Net stopped by an heavy shock
Cons below ...

A brief moment, I remember ,
The covering  waves,
Ebbing, breaking,

Again and again,
Distributing its foam
On the rocks ...

No one in this morning
The road is still deserted
It's too early in the gray sky.


- 

Personne en ce matin,
La route est déserte,
Trop tôt sous le ciel gris,

Les veines de mes mains,
Saillantes,  mes mains sur le volant,
Le regard en plongée,

La ligne blanche qui défile,
Les maisons de couleur, enfuies,
Dès les courbes  franchies, 

Les criques entr'aperçues,
Les poteaux blancs rythment
le trajet, pédale au plancher,,

Plus de geste possible,
Que ceux, infimes,
Prolongeant la machine,

Suivant le ruban gris,
Propulsé sous les roues

Avalant la consistance,
des panneaux  de signalisation,
floutés par la vitesse,

L'engin porté par sa puissance,
Partageant l'ivresse...

Presque porté d'une force,
Interne et autonome,

Moteur en souplesse,
Carosserie brillante,
Confort intérieur discret ...

Et c'est  là soudain,
Au sortir du virage,
Qu'il y a ce chien,

Comme  un sphinx immobile,
Sa question imprévue,

La trajectoire  déviée,
Les gravillons sous les pneus,

La glissade folle,
Que rien ne contrôle,

L'univers qui bascule,
Le bond au-dessus  du parapet,
Un vol sans retour,

Stoppé net par le lourd choc,
En contre-bas...

Je revois un bref instant,
Les vagues les recouvrant,
Refluant, se brisant,

Encore et encore,
Distribuant son écume
Sur les rochers...

Personne en ce matin,
La route est encore déserte,
Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris.


-

RC - mai  2014

Poem Copyright ©