Free Verse # 410 (my life)

My heart at dawn
soundlessly breaking;
in the forest
a swoosh of leaves,
and the song of a bird
that spent the night
searching for its nest.

~

In a blind world
I press my poem
to the wound of the sky

~

All the poetry I wrote
and you did not read
I’ll burn and blow,
fireflies in the night.

~

The sun has set;
of one cloth are weaved
my soul and the sky’s.

~

The sun,
blood red as it sinks;
my heart a coal
of untamed desire.

~

I live alone
at the edge of dawn
and no one
save a poem and a bird
comes to knock on my door.

~

Her and me –
the two wings of a bird gliding
in the silence of dawn.

~

I think of you the way silence spreads through the bosom of the night.

~

In the wave of his longing
she slept,
a leaf folded
in the silence of the sky.

~

My life,
little absences
converging
in the great heart
of the sea.

My life,
a great absence,
a thin ink line
of fading poetry.

~

J’ai beaucoup vie dans ton ombre. Je brille de ta lumière.

~

Trying to forget her whom I never met.

~

The aura of her light
enticing me to touch her
with the ray of poetry

~

Somewhere
in a secret place of her heart
I once loved,
I once lost.

Free Verse # 409 (the breath of a candle)

My touch in her skin…
the breath of a candle
whispering to the stars

~

Ce que la nuit étouffe, l’amour rallumera  – instinct du poète.

~

To touch her
with the heart of poetry ;
to touch her
and hear the poem
go silent,
pregnant
with the light of dawn.

~

Love is a state that wants to be secure in its vulnerability.

~

In the silence
I am painting you again,
brush dipped
in the tea breath,
pen in the ink
of a thousand kissing lovers.

~

In the fading light of dusk
as the fog trembled
like a blanket over the forest
a deer came and went swiftly
and my startled heart
found itself again
inside the poetry

~

La soie de sa peau,
le feu de mon encre –
promesse de poésie

~

The fingers of the night
strum her dark hair,
with each plucked string
the jasmine scent wafts
and goes everywhere, everywhere.

Free Verse # 408 (this music I heard)

My shadow softened
into her light,
a rose finally knowing
what it is to blossom.

~

She is not a body
but a constellation of stars
and each night, eyes closed,
with my breath I trace her,
trace her in my heart.

~

In my imagination
I work her body
the way the bee patiently builds
the intimate chambers of her honeycomb
using the fiery nectar of the flowers.

~

This music I heard
when I touched your heart
I do not want it to end

~

She is beautiful
the way dawn
caressing a rose
smiles in his white heart

~

In her touch
I want to burn and keep burning
until I am no more
than ash in the wind

~

Dans mon imagination
je travaille son corps
comme l’abeille patiemment
façonne les chambres de sa maison
avec le feu brulant des fleurs

~

In every poem I read
I search for the whiff
of her fragrance,
the secret intuition that led
the poet’s pure vision,
the hidden hand that guided
the fervent spill of his heart.