water on the horizon

…… Watermelon season fast approaching how to get water without ripping veins open. Call me. Show me a sign Last week, we left you with the line “Watermelon season fast approaching” and it is watermelon season. We continue the verse with that line to give you a head starter.  À la semaine prochaine 🙂  or…

Rambling through

He is a rambling poet tangerine cat posing in the window across the street as he continues éloge in the quarry no tissues to spare for the farewell Mesdames et messieurs! Ladies and gentlemen! Our dear friend Maisy challenged us to a photo chase of three words. We did it and then we thought “why…

saison turbulente

Rangement du jour une musique de cacaphonie on se demande où…….. là? Là. Là-bas? Là-bas. La boîte est trop grande. On a vu un oiseau particulier sur l’eau…… ça y est! Attrapes! Attrapes ce poisson . .. comme on attrapes ce qui nous plaît …. Bienvenue en cette saison où tout nous turbule en turbulence…

the lists left around

There’s a list of emotions and questions laying around this place, which I am not sure how to approach, this tide of extremists in politics “Votez blanc” splashed across posters but we all know not to do exactly that, unless, of course, we wish to bury ourselves further down the landmine, or can someone help…

from an internal point of view.

Here, below, you will find  a poem I wrote a couple of days ago. It was inspired from a poetry prompt, which we will present below afterwards: Another coup de tête, prise de cornes, you never know when the screaming stops and when crying begins. you wish you knew, you’re not stuck no. it’s worse….

Wonderings

The mute cat once wondered is silence a virtue? or a curse? He could not, unfortunately, say it aloud. It just isn’t possible. Nevertheless, he wondered. Only to puff and huff and sense That his whiskers were off. Urgh… how dare they! Hi all! Good holiday wishes for you! We wait for spring to usher…

The carpet

I saw a man this morning on the side of the road. He was besides his car boot open. Rows and rows of carpets, oriental rugs rolled up, side by side, in the car.  He was standing in front of this treasure and I stopped to watch as he weaved in, weaved out heavy wool string…

Murmur home.

I see the rising tide beneath the setting sun but the waves do not come crashing, tumbling down, spears at the ready for battle. No, they simply call and murmurrepeatedly, slinking around my feet, snaking, not unlike the kettle’s whistle when it welcomes the warmth of coffee, tea leaves, or the bottom of the cup….

La grêle

De la grêle. Encore et encore et encore. Non mais ENCORE?! Les oiseaux disparaissent aussi soudainement. Même pas un foutu pigeon dans le scénario. Et ce pays qui crève. Ou qui va crever. Allez! On entre dans nos prisons, nos quatre murs ! “Faut pas sortir ma petite dame!” crie le poids lourds à la…

Words from yesterday

Yesterday, I tore up the map of NYC. It was staring me from the blank wall and it was too many thoughts. Past and present.  And the future is always an illusion. NYC is no place to go back to. I tore up the map into pieces, so small I cannot put the streets together….