To see shooting stars,
There must be two conditions,
Look at the night, the sky,
Believe in shooting stars,
I only saw the Big Dipper,
I saw in Greenland, one summer,
I saw some in Guatemala,
On the shores of Mozambique,
Last night, I didn’t see any,
A third condition is missing,
The most important of the three,
That someone loves you,
Darling, have we dreamed too much.
Pour voir des étoiles filantes,
Il faut bien deux conditions,
Regarder la nuit, le ciel,
Croire aux étoiles filantes,
Je n’ai vu que la Grande Ourse,
J’ai ai vu au Groenland, un été,
J’en ai vu au Guatemala,
Sur les rives du Mozambique,
Cette nuit, je n’en ai pas vu,
Il manque une troisième condition,
La plus importante des trois,
Que quelqu’un vous aime,
Chérie, avons nous trop rêvé.
Who the hell are you?
Mysterious stars,
Are you friends or enemies?
Do we know that?
Who are you?
You who shine
In the night
Wherever you go?
Who are you?
Mysterious stars,
The universe is a puzzle,
Where is still missing
A piece.
Qui êtes-vous ?
Mystérieuses étoiles,
Amies ou ennemies ?
Le savons-nous ?
Qui êtes-vous,
Vous qui brillez
Dans la nuit
Où bon vous semble ?
Qui êtes-vous
Mystérieuses étoiles,
L’univers est un puzzle,
Où manque toujours
Une pièce.
How rainbows covet lily bells
that chime the dulcet birth of May
with murmured notes in fay pastels.
How rainbows covet lily bells,
mellifluous in shaded dells,
to mime in tranquil bloom manque.
How rainbows covet lily bells
that chime the dulcet birth of May.
5/3/18
Celebrate May with a Triolet
Andrea Dietrich
La vie et la mort ont ete separes
Et ils ne pourront plus se cotoyer
ils crient de leur douleurs
sans pouvoir arreter leur pleurs
la vie lui envoie des ames qui quittent notre monde
pour lui montrer combien elle lui manque chaque seconde
la mort recoit ses cadeaux
et les range de sitot
la vie est remplie de folie
on y pleure souvent et on y rit
la mort est remplie de douleurs
ou ces ames errantes n'arrivent pas a secher leur pleurs
ils se sont separes
comme une riviere par un rocher
mais la fin du chemin
ils se rencontreront car c'est leur destin
Oh! What happened to my muse?
Taking a nap, no use.
Nothing comes up in my mind, its blank.
Fed up, feeling like a manque.
What is there to write now?
I really don't know
Should I write about the stars above?
or about the dog's love?
With mind full of chaos, I opened
this site, thought provoking
Messages, nice people,inspirational poems
uplifting writes and peerless poets
Made my day; I feel relaxed, inspired
loved and admired
date: Feb 15, 2017
Always the same little hash joint.
For lunch, the identical dish -
in Kremzer's, on Mott and Delancey,
potatoes and yiddisher fish.
His real name was Julius Henry,
but "Groucho" is how he was known.
His whim was to lunch in the corner,
unsmiling, unnoticed, alone.
So in comes a true-born impresser,
a back-slapping man about town.
He's towing some Princeton professor,
and eyeballs the vaudeville clown.
Finagling faux introductions,
the forte of showbusiness sharks:
he'll astonish the ecrivain manque ...
"I'll get you an entree with Marx!"
He gives it the big how's-it-going,
the Princeton prick shuffles his feet.
But Groucho, unseeing, unknowing,
uncaring, continues to eat.
"This man wrote 'The Vanderbilts', damn it!"
(incipient panic attack).
Without looking up, answers Groucho,
"The Vanderbilts - did they write back?"
Le soleil est notre ami
Car il nous donne de l’énergie
Laisse sa chaleur
Ouvrir ton cœur (x2)
I’m satisfied
When you smile
I’m happy
When you talk to me
Quand tu me regardes
On dirait que tu m’bombarde
Pleins de cœur rempli d’amour
Et c’est comme ça tous les jours (x2)
I beg you to love
Cause you are pretty
When your love will be mine
Your heart will shine (x2)
Mon corps est-il à ta taille
Ou manque-il un détail
Devant toi tout me stress
Et qu’il faut faire des prouesses
Pour que tu m’aimes (x2)
Please, Please Please
Don’t don’t
Cause I believe
In you and me
Parce que je crois
En toi et moi
Est-ce qu’il a une loi
A t’obliger de m’aimer
Est-ce que j’ai le droit
De contrôler tes choix
Pour que tu m’choisisses moi
Choisisses-moi
Postmodernism’s the fashion ne’er manque.
We must study Foucault and his scribes.
Get reason trapped and do not court delay.
You need to find your intellectual tribe.
Where is the goose which laid the golden egg..
Invented meta-talk and fairy tales?
Which narrative is balanced on a peg?
Which philosopher gets re-homed by a whale?
Where is the whole truth and the nothing but?
Whose ‘ the eye which sees reality?
Who ‘s the judge who makes the final cut?
Where is the God to whom we owed fealty?
Now nothing is what anyone can say.
I understand it’s meaningless to pray
AMETHYST
HEY MY AMETHYST,I'LL BE YOUR HERO.
YOU ARE MY BAIRN OF ME AND I AM
BAR-MITZVAH OF YOURS.
I WILL STAND IN SIRROCO OF YOUR LIFE.
I GO MANQUE TO SEE SMILE ON YOUR
RED LIPS.
THE BILLET-BOUX WE SHARED IS THE BEST
OF THINGS TO SHARE.
OH!BABY COME BY ME I'LL CREATE
ISLE OF OUR OWN.
TO KISS IS THE LONG DREAM OF ME.
AND YOU GIVE ME COUP DE GRACE
WITH THE IMPECCABLE LOOKS YOU HAVE
YOU ARE ANEMONE TO THE WORLD.
I'LL BE GLAD TO KEEP ANEMONE LIKE YOU
THE BELLERINA WAYS YOU MOVE.
AND YOU TAKE MY HEART TO YOU
ISABEL OF MY LIFE,I'LL KEEP YOU
LIKE ANGEL OF MY HEART.
YOU ARE AMETHYST TO ME.I'LL BE YOUR HERO
TO YOUR LIFE JOURN-O.
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