Rene

Big moon,
Haloed and egg-shaped,
Behind Around Big
Spider on a tiny web;
Just finished spinning
The twitching grasshopper;
The yellow stripes on his back,
Like egg yolk moon
Beams in a Paradise garden.
I watch from the lavender milk bath
My friend has drawn
Under a persimmon tree;
She has sprinkled the cloudy water
With fresh rosemary branches,
The blurry moon is doubly blemished;
By submerged eyes.
The echoes of laughter only barely audible,
I hum a simple meditation to the moon,
And let the smells take me.

Québec

Pyramids of Snow, from the wind drifts, you know;
Dunes of latticed, frozen water, from the undertow.
These temples to the ice age, go as fast as come;
And leave tomorrow full of grass, that the reapers had to sew.
The wind becomes a warmer gust,
The sun spins golden brown;
The birds fly back to take their nests,
In the trees throughout the town;
With the comets’ pattern overhead,
Our beards grow longer every moon;
With the summer solstice on its way,
The Sirens hum their melting tune.
Pyramids of Sand, from the summers arid, desert land;
Dunes of diamond, onyx glass, so golden brown & tanned.
These temples to the breath of Ra, weave and wander still;
And tumble through the hourglass, that Chaos keeps in hand.

Un début au bout (see translation below)
 
Ô ma belle,
Frêle comme un souffle;
Fort comme granit nacreux,
Qui me parle en langue par signes.
Bête télépathique et passionnée,
Un porc-épic à peaux soyeux;
De cœur copieux qui fait des méandres,
Comme lave améthyste séduisant.
Alliage du berceuse et sucette,
Lame de rasoir;
Aussi fin qu’une éternité,
Dormant aussi silencieuse qu’un troupeau.
Balayée au vent,
Fluorescente et éclairât,
Je la trouve à la réflexion de la neige.
Frêle comme un souffle,
Fort comme granit nacreux;
Chauffée au rouge brûlante,
Il faut l’aimer.
La vie ne m’a jamais demandée.
Le magnétisme d’amour m’a contraindu,
Sans la moindre difficulté.
Comme Un Poème au page;
    Un souffle aux ouragans;
      Un début au bout.
 

A Beginning To An End. (translation by author of Un début au bout)

Oh my Beauty,
Fragile as a breath; 
Strong as pearled granite,
Who speaks to me in language by signs.
Telepathic and impassioned animal,
a porcupine with silky skins;
Of copious meandering heart,
Alluring amethyst lava.
Alloy of the lullaby and lollipop,
Razor blade;
As fine as an eternity, 
Dormant as a charging herd.
Swept with the wind,
Fluorescent and Flashing,
I find you with the reflection of snow.
Frail as a breath,
Strong as pearled granite;
Heated by molten reds,
You must be loved.
Life never asked me.
Forced by the magnets of love ,
Without the least bit resistance.
Like a Poem to the page;
   A breath to the hurricanes;
      A beginning to an end.

Blessing II.
 
May the rains wash seaward your sorrow tears,
Nourishing crops to feed you in every rivulet;
May a breath of kindness quell passive tender fears,
That music alone washeth over you in slumber.
 
 
One Day

Naked and certainly unashamed,
Concentrically circular wavelets
Emanate outward from her every motion;
Onlooking senses, Usually 5 in number,
Liquefy into a singular feeling of awe;
Occupying but a moment,
Stretched to infinity,
And draped around the rim of time;
Which begins to boil, swell, and evaporate.
That one sense is then-
     Squared--
           Cubed---
                Exponentiated...
Into a still greater sensibility;
Singular in nature,
As the echoless heartbeat;
Across the glassy lake.
There are songs for this, and sonnets more;
But none so correct as her, Actually in the wind;
Craving affection, Hoarding beauty;
Kneeing in a meadow, and crying;
She is not holy, nor unholy;
Sacred, nor unvigiled;
She is wholly and completely occupied,
By forces that do not understand her.
Avatar of every Mind's
Child-like, Ineffable fervor;
Beacon for the transmigration of souls,
Epicenter and Periphery;
Flame and Frost,
Icicle, and the Dawn light through it.
Ophelia, Floating on her hair;
Juliet's blue lips, Moistened
By the candlelit tears of her star-crossed lover;
Annabelle Lee, With Poe crouching
By her tomb by the side of the sea.
The locks of hair that dried the tear-washed feet
Of Mary Magdalene's beloved.
The rivers that cleanse all lands;
And the Great, hurling Oceans,
That receive and embrace them;
The memory of all that lent meaning to the abyss,
The memory of all men and the histories of their Love,
The imperishable memory of a perishable heart,
Lent pulse for a flashing moment,
By a Mind that remembered to conjure it.