CHEMIN FAISANT
With every season I strove to stay on the lit path.
I tried the best I could, expectantly; at least I thought so.
Synclines and anticlines, chemin faisant, the Prize forefront.
I knew He went before, to light up the Way.
With smiles, groans modulating the smiles, I did follow.
The secrets of the Saints I wished I knew, for reassurance.
Some gains, loss at their heels; yet pressing on, quite determined.
I knew that by His grace I’d keep to His Way.
Swerving from pesky promptings,
I chose ma Verite´ et mon Chemin, la Vie pour moi.
The lit path, His very Way;
Net forward trudge along the perfect highway.
Le Prix; chemin faisant, el premio es el Sen~or.
He’s Love; He doesn’t fail; ecce *****who shows me the Way.
His arms outstretched for me; welcoming me with holy embrace.
Lucid invitation, nudge to embrace Grace.
Car nul ne vient la? que par Lui; gaping gate on Easter morn.
Slowed by the plod, yet heart pounding, and empowered by His Grace;
Gleefully, I made it there by following His Way.
The Perfection Way.
I could stay for hours under the sun
to contemplate bouquets of primroses,
to listen to the buzzing of insects,
To contemplate their petals, the shape of hearts,
I could stay for hours if no one comes,
to absorb the happiness of such delicate flowers,
Ah, wasting your time is always winning it,
Wasting your time, it’s an art, it’s a work,
It takes the help of God and wild nature,
To understand the soul of things, symbols,
I could stay for hours in the sun.
Contemplating primrose bouquets.
Je pourrais rester des heures sous le soleil
à contempler des bouquets de primevères,
à écouter le bourdonnement des insectes,
à contempler leurs pétales en forme de cœur,
Je pourrais rester des heures si nul ne vient,
à absorber le bonheur des fleurs si délicates,
Ah, perdre son temps, c’est toujours le gagner,
Perdre son temps , c’est un art, c’est une œuvre,
Il faut l’aide de Dieu et de la nature sauvage,
Pour comprendre l’âme des choses, des symboles,
Je pourrais rester des heures sous le soleil.
À contempler des bouquets de primevères.
Of the people we hated,
We end up loving them,
I’m talking about movie actors
That I wouldn’t quote,
By Jacky Berroyer too,
I certainly don’t speak
Murderers, rapists,
I certainly don’t talk about it,
Thieves, dictators,
Bad guys, pedophiles,
No one likes them.
Of the people we loved,
We end up hating them,
I’m talking about some friends,
I’m talking about some actresses
Like Alice Taglioni,
May God forgive me!
PS Alice Taglioni and Jacky Berroyer are minor French actors
Des gens qu’on a haïs,
On finit par les aimer,
Je parle des acteurs de cinéma
Que je ne citerais pas,
De Jacky Berroyer aussi,
Je ne parle pas certes
Des assassins, des violeurs,
Je n’en parle pas certes,
Des voleurs, des dictateurs,
Des malfrats, des pédophiles,
Nul ne les aime..
Des gens qu’on a aimés,
On finit par les haïr,
Je parle de certains amis,
Je parle de certaines actrices
Comme Alice Taglioni,
Que Dieu me pardonne !
Verlore tegniek
Waar is die dae, toe ek nog kon soen?
Wie het geweet wat die storie sou kos?
Hoeveelste doelwit het ek weer gemis?
Hoekom het ek dan maar altyd verloor?
Waar is my roem en my rykdom dan heen?
Wie was die dief in die nag wat my roof?
Liefde se ore is nou vir my doof!
Waar is die dae toe ek “Ek kan” kon sê
Nou is dit net “Ek kon” wat ek nog kan sê
Besef hoe my skematiese lewensstyl
‘n stylvolle lewe - maar soekend - verspul
My dae was getel, en vir altyd verkul
Geen iets van niks, het meer waarde as nul
Sal ek van vooraf moet se “Ek kan weer”?
Het al die “Kan nie’s" my dalk iets geleer?
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