PART I The Experiment
A person who makes bad decisions
Is it a secret motivation
True naive flexing a muscle only known as misery
I can't find an approach
I can't see the thoughts like doctor sleep
What is a true sacrifice
Does it not know comfort
Does it marry purpose
Ignore common and regular
Who feels like part of a bad decision
And still they sit
Idle in their comfort
To be discarded
labelled bad for my environment
PART II
A powerful shadow
Too at thought
Too ill of peace
I see you my dear hiding in your hell
There was no poison
My sweet love of perceptual chaos
When nothing plus nothing equals something
I will sit under the whispering willow tree
Waiting for substance waiting for the sun
Because it will be the only one left
We can not defeat
Done like dinner
But never defeated
my muse is
beautiful in
my eyes but
not perhaps
for everybody
but every body
has its own
appeal so
as i need
not peel
my fruit to taste
and take lingu
istic pleasure
i cunningly
among us
listen to her
dangling
parti
ciples
and
wait for it
to come
to its
own
fru
ition but've often
wondered why
when women
write say
she sup
posing to be their
muse why not
a he who
breathes
breath
with a lock
ed lip inspir
ational kiss
which may
make
a poem
of love
and
or of
death
A French party primary vote cast doubt
On whether the organisers could count.
Shares of the vote were shown
Before the turn-out was known,
Which is proof of a mathematical rout.
And of that not a shadow of doubt !
(No fake news here. Refers to the presidential primary, first round, by France’s Parti Socialist on January 20. Run off on Jan. 27)
La Tombe d’arbre – Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal’s « Tree Grave » by T. Wignesan
Quand-t-il s’était parti, notre défunt,
Au-delà pour le Monde des Ombres,
Pendant que nous poussions des gémissements,
Nous lui avons enrobé dans d’écorce d’arbres,
Et nous lui avons porté, en récitant
Notre chante de mort lugubre,
Vers sa tombe dans un arbre isolé
Au bord de la Longue Lagune.
Même quand nous sommes bien éloignés
De nos feux de campements éparpillés
Nous ne l’oublions jamais
Ni de jour ni de nuit
En faisant face à l’endroit où il sommeil
Sous la lumière d’une lune blanche,
Au bord des eaux scintillantes
De la lagune silencieuse.
Sont déjà oublié ses exploits de chasse
Et les chansons qu’il avait composées ;
Le pauvre gars tout seul,
Il aura surement de la peur
Quand les vents de la nuit chuchotaient
Leurs aires d’épouvantes
Parmi les chênes marécageux hantés
Au bord de la Longue Lagune.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
"Rapture"
I want you to capture... me
Caught in your Rapture... see
Upon this eternal bliss
Recieve my one true love"s kiss
Unleash my aperture...key
Never turn the light out...see
Do you know it's just you and me
Ever gonna let it be
Recieve my love honestly
Caring for you little miss
Get over your parti pris
Venture in with me
Infinitely
Rapture of you and me
Eternally
MamaD
If we are a breed of beings,
Species of like doings-
In the Milky Way
Why not be that today?
Have I turn a bat
Lost my light of the frat
Or a Braconid
To my kind?
Why the abrupt repellency
To the unfolding literacy
How will I feed my stance
Upon the extinct of other hands?
Why the weighed loathsome
The infinite gruesome
Of my phylum-
Within my kingdom?
What's with the conscription,
The circumscprition-
Of liberty
Stamping it in entirety?
What's with the thirst of a fuehrer,
The ***** conceit of the other-
To weightily parti pris
And indulge in an hostility spree?
Can I not be mindful of the Scythrops,
Make of their trait crops,
That will acculturate
Rather than berate?
Can I not be for the domain,
My essence extended to the terrain,
Express compassion without pain
And adore for no gain?
Instead, I lushed
To hike mass agitative state,
That deludes the mind
Of my kind-
To prey on their own.
translation below
Vive le CANADA Libre
Toujours merveilleux
Toujours grand
Toujours libre
Terre de libertés
PKP, PKP, jamais ne volé mon pays
PKP, PKP, jamais ne volé mon pays
plus d'informations
PKP est le surnom d'un fameux séparatiste qui veut se présenter à la direction du parti québécois. Même s'ils se proclament séparatistes, ce sont en réalité tous des traitres.
un mot plus juste..
À ne pas confondre avec le grand joueur de hockey, PK Suban!
Translation
Long Live Canada
Always beautiful
Always grand
Always free
Land of liberty
PKP, PKP, never steal my Country
PKP, PKP, never steal my Country
PKP is the nickname for Pierre Karl Peladeau, a Quebec seperatist
Each time you call my name I seek
the feeling of your gentle kiss,
I hear your voice, it makes me weak.
In love's embrace yet still I miss
the caress from an angel's lips,
my mind needs more than parti pris
to lose my heart to love's eclipse.
You touch my heart beneath moon gleams,
to woo my mind and win my soul
with whispered thoughts, you feed my dreams.
Sweet-talk my heart, with words cajole
my feelings, with a push and shove
you show me how in you I'm whole
and dance me to the world of love.
Blink
When you blink,
do you think,
that you might be,
altering the very face of your mind?
Look at this,
Parti pris;
the world has gone and
tipped the scale on bliss and misaligned.
Hear me stutter,
the answers to these questions lie within;
feel me utter,
the key into your heart is cast from chagrin.
Look inside,
you will find,
that your beginnings
hold great significance to all that is.
Be naive,
misconceive,
because you see,
the only light you need shines far amiss.
Hear me stutter,
the answer to all questions lie within;
feel me utter,
the key unto your heart is cast from chagrin.