Long Les Poems
Long Les Poems. Below are the most popular long Les by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Les poems by poem length and keyword.
Les vieux poèmes sont comme de vieilles chaussures
Que nous refusons de jeter au fond des fissures
Comme les vieilles pensées que nous ne pouvons pas ignorer
Ou les vieilles routes que nous aimons naviguer.
Les vieux poèmes sont maintenant très renommés
Comme de vieilles pantoufles confortables
Des témoins de nombreuses histoires autour de la table
Où grand-mère s'est assise autrefois avec fougue et en beauté.
Les vieux poèmes sont comme un vin raffiné
Ils s'améliorent à mesure que l'âge et le temps s'entremêlent
Et nous rêvons du bon vieux temps passé.
Les vieilles chaussures sont conservées au sous-sol
Pas trop loin des deux cheminées
Où sont situés les signes à louer.
Copyright © Février 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poèmes.
This is a translation of the poem 'Old Poems Like Old Shoes' by Hebert Logerie
the sun begins to melt
from flaxen to canary~
from sangria to crimson
and blends into a warm kaleidoscope
that veils the serenity
in auburn delight
my heart hails to the prelude of
Les Colombes Du that fills the twilight air
as doves of Tenere take their flight
to search the soaring symphony
of a hundred angels humming
the melody of my heart
En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells,
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars
Would that we had the same
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget
A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.
We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to restrict crossing
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.
En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas
______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.
Les petites pépites de temps mènent à de GRANDS RÉSULTATS
je désirais accomplir une seule chose par jour
je croyais avoir perdu la tête
à la fin de chaque journée
je ne pouvais comprendre comment c’était possible
d’avoir encore réussi à ne pas accomplir
la seule chose que j’avais comme objectif.
jour après jour je n’avais pas réussi
à ramasser une toile et un pinceau.
qu’est-ce que j’avais fait toute la journée?
je voulais éclaircir cette énigme
donc j’ai pris en note ce que je faisais et
je maintenais la liste de ce que je devais faire.
une liste était beaucoup plus longue que l’autre.
éventuellement j’ai réalisé que
j’attendais les gros blocs de temps
et ils n’arrivaient jamais.
si je voulais peindre
il fallait que je me claire un coin
et que je ramasse le pinceau et commencer
même si ce n’était que pour
quelques minutes à la fois.
donc j’ai délibérément décidé de
répéter ceci pour me convaincre:
les petites pépites de temps
mènent à de GRANDS RÉSULTATS
je répétais mon nouveau mantra
je ne dis pas que je suis guérie
mais au moins…
je ne pense plus que j’ai perdu la tête
Translated from my poem LITTLE NUGGETS OF TIME LEAD TO BIG RESULTS
AP: 3rd place 2022
Je déteste les attaques ISIS vendredi,
Ils etaient ignoble, dégoûtant et le mal,
Au nom de Dieu pour la religion,
Avec les mentalities és dans l'oubli
nous devons justifier structures démocratiques,
En défense, en tuant tous les terroristes
Et la question de l'acceptation de Dieu,
Avec les valeurs humanistes personnes.
Il ya de tout dans la liberté,
De pensée, de parole et d'expression,
Et si vous ne pouvez pas accepter cela
Vous devez apprendre la leçon.
English translation:
I hate the ISIS Paris attacks on Friday
They were vile, disgusting and evil,
In the name of god for religion
With mindsets in oblivion
We must justify democratic structures
In defence, by killing all terrorists,
And question the acceptance of god,
With humanistic people values.
There is everything in freedom
Of thought, word and expression,
And if you can't accept that,
You need to learn the lesson.
About the ISIS attacks in Paris on Friday 13th November 2015
Here lies Les in his new dug grave
All dressed up like an atheist in suit and tie
With nowhere special to go at this time
A liar by trade when he was alive
On his tombstone are words he wrote
If you are reading this I must be dead
Don't step on the grass
It was freshly planted
Leave the same way you came
No one lives forever or so they say
So join me when you can
Here lies Les still not alive
So he must be dead already
No Les no more could be surmised
When you are dead and gone and buried
Authors note: At the beginning of one of the many remakes of the movie Tombstone, a headstone depicts a cute etching, "RIP...Here lies Les...Put here by a 44... No Les No More." Short and sweet in my estimation.
Les Miserable
I walked and walked down a steep ravine and came across
a village has forgotten by time by a road that evaded dwellings
A track not trodden among boulders and roofs made of canes.
skinny women with empty breasts sat on the bough of trees
waiting for someone to enter their loss of love
While telling their idiot children in the wet grass to shut up
Oh, crying stones free us from the untidy domestic wilderness
where dogs are too indifferent to muster barks.
Under flat stones, the men are hiding the emptiness of the
existence too much to bear now that the vines take no berry
On this day that has no time, but the endlessness of the gone
Cabbage patch, yellow chickens looking for worms before
the children do because they are hungry too.
Late,
the morning glories rise
passionate, royal, magenta blooms trumpeting,
helloes and goodbyes;
novice neophytes falling
into lavender blush dream states
succumbing to a mellowed change in weather
cooler days awakened by pale aging sunlight
soft, restless breezes
in the trees shedding leaves;
twilight for the foliage
a lurid golden year half-light dulcet dawns,
scarlet carmine sunsets, waning,
whispering not shouting
carnelian nights humming a lullaby,
serene, euphonious,
clouded eyes struggling to remain awake
buddings small and petite,
placid emollients of day;
shaded out of scathed hunter greens
falling to lemon camboge
limed colored oranges,
harvest time citrus afterbites
commencement to vermillion bleedings
September full blood moon phasings,
in crisp kaleidoscope etchings
of a well-painted palette
sepia rusettes, auburn,
ambered melancholia disturbances;
sanguine shortened days,
arboreal sleep, brittle and dry
les Feuilles Mortes.
Mystic Rose contest of Hello September
9/17/21
Marvelous glow of life, his heart weeps far from you.
Silence is silver, his pain is gold.
Your words are diamonds, carved to make every moment shine,
to allow him to be himself without vanity or arrogance.
You are his gentle pearl.
The day already fades, night carries him far from you.
As darkness comes, he finds your face again.
Your smile awakens his being, giving back the softness of a sunbeam.
Love — without her the words ring false,
and in his dreams flowers are born at his feet
from all the tears he sheds.
Far away, the sea covers the sound of his sobs.
His steps falter and he collapses on the sand.
His hand caresses the golden, tender grains,
a light breath of air licking his skin.
He feels what exists, even as raindrops run down his cheeks.
He still allows himself to believe in the sun of love.
Are life’s dreams not the walks of moments gone by?
Or are they the shooting stars of joys yet to come?
He wanders as evening falls,
the orange colors of the sun bursting on the horizon.
His gaze fixed, he softens the lights
and rediscovers a face of love.
Yours.
Joël Charvillat
I have such a miserable face,
Grimacing and frowning, a disgrace,
I am a disgrace to the human race
Who suffers by looking at this sad face.
Why do I always wear a frown?
What right have I to feel so down,
I am as fortunate as can be,
Living in a free country.
There are countries, far and wide,
Where they sadly have to hide,
The sorrow and the grief they feel
So they try hard to conceal,
And not to reveal
The anguish and fear inside
When all that they loved had died
And all have to count the cost
Of the peace and happiness lost,
Because of one man's greed
Who was so sure he would succeed,
In his worthless game of war,
Causing destruction, what for?
For the love of power and might
Is this a valid reason to fight?
If you think this is so
It's time PP for you to go,
Face up and be brave
Think of all the lives you'll save
Surrender and lay down your arms
I hear the sound of the alarm,
Bells ringing loud and clear,
Those heroic Ukrainians are getting near.
These stoic soldiers did not want war.
They want their country back,
The way it was before
PP, are you feeling lost.
Now you will have to count the cost.
Instead of finding fame
All in history will know your name,
For the evil character, you are
Your infamy won't take you far.