Moira or felicity? 1985 adjusted on January 2013

this perfect moment
©copyright2013owpp

Moira or felicity
——————–

I muse.
My knotted thoughts
Disentangling
Along the trains
Incessant refrain.

Nestled in my corner
I brood, thinking
Of the fragments
I have left behind…
A stop. Welcomed

Interruption…
We continue.
Passengers get back
To their occupations
Those rails, so smooth

And straight, can be
My destiny
Or fatal reality
But why blemish
Demolish or vitiate

My day.
An abrupt halt
Startles me
From my
Jejune reveries.

Moira or felicity? (1)
Why crush or impair
Voluntarily
This perfect moment.
Those innocuous rails

Could be…
Reality with blemish
But I choose

Destiny in its full glory!

(1)

Moi•ra (ˈmɔɪ rə)

n., pl. -rai (-rī).
1. (often l.c.) (among the ancient Greeks) a person’s fate or destiny.
2.
a. the goddess of fate among the ancient Greeks.
b. Moirai, the Fates.

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The writer 1989- Adjusted January 2013

writer’s block

The writer
————-

Indelible hole
Irreplaceable void
Lassitude and
Despair.

Impossible
To share
He monologues
Relentlessly

The same
Refrain
Gripping
This trough

The void
Resented.
He shouts
And screams

Silently.
Appealing
Petitioning
For a truce

Reconciliation
To his page
The ink
Ingested

Words devoured
Ingurgitated
By the secrecy
Taciturnity

Of his folio
Yet faithful
As a blotter
Absorbing

His pain
Tears
Anguish
Inhabiting his

Restlessness.
Wanting
To notice
Dewdrops

Snowflakes
Perfume of
A flower tree.
Rainbows

The miracle
Of crepuscule
Intact
Brightness

Of a first
Layer of snow
Thaumaturgy
Of aurora

Smile of
A passer-by
Simple
And grand

Big and small
Opposite yet
Complementary
The Sui generis

Marvel
Of our planet
For one hour
Or more

To find relief
In his new
Felicity.
His thoughts

Bouncing off
The walls
Hurling this
Delicacy

This tribute
To life.
Back with
Ferocity.

Stunning him
For a fraction
Then taking
His page

Renew
The treatise
In a last attempt
To capture

The truth
Of his life
The one he can
Put on his

Faithful page.

Words- 1995 adjusted on January 2013

Stacked books vendor Venice
©copyright2013owpp

stacked books closer view
©copyright2013owpp

The clarity of the second photo is not that good as it was taken in a passing by second.

Words
——-

Poems
Essays
Relieves
Retrieves

Words
More words
Always
Words
——
Evade
Escape
Barely
Words

The reality
Of the mind.
Skip over
Routine,

Constraint.
Simply
BE- Have
A future
———
An island
Where danger
Has no authority
Health a guaranty

Where company
Suffices
Linked
To nothing

Married
To nature
Time of
No language

Peace
And felicity
Rules
Flows

Serenely
Going forth
With
Plenitude.

Ripe and
Mature
As a fruit
Grown old

Wrinkled
And wise.
Traces of a
Chosen and

Merited life
At peace
With oneself
Infinitely.

Words
Always Words…
To anticipate
Establish

My life
Yours
Create
Our wishes.

What is love 1985 ( Translated from French poem ” L’amour ” )

the love knot
©copyright2013owpp

This poem was written in 1985. Yes, a long time ago, but reading it again made me realize that
given a few corrections, it could be published and could send a bit of joy to my readers.
Let me know what YOU think.
Thanks for all the positive feedback I have received since the improvement
of my blog, I truly appreciate!

Love
—-

Intense and profound felicity cascading
A burst of laughter, the impression of being king

That is love.

On soft skin, a tear forges its way
A asperous hand with a gesture abates the grief

That is love.

A odd habit, sudden irritation
A confession, forgiveness, the same old refrain

That is love.

A heed, cognizance and devotion without illusion
A future traces itself, the miracle of creation

That is love.

Above all, a life, the corrugations of happiness
And a generation indulges the world to its freshness

That is love.

Finally, intense joy cascading
Bubbles of laughter, the magnitude of remaining king

Yes! That IS love.

_________________

L’amour
——-

Une joie intense et profonde débordant de soi
Un éclat de rire, le sentiment d’être roi

Ça, c’est l’amour.

Sur une peau douce, une larme forge son chemin
Une main rugueuse, d’un geste apaise le chagrin

Ça, c’est l’amour.

Une manie, une irritation soudaine
Un aveu, un pardon, toujours la même rengaine

Ça, c’est l’amour.

Un égard, une attention et dévotion sans illusion
Un avenir se trace, le miracle d’une création

Ça, c’est l’amour.

Plus que tout, une vie, les ondulations du bonheur
Une génération qui comble le monde par sa fraîcheur

Ça, c’est l’amour.

Enfin une félicité intense cascadant de soi
Des bulles de contentement, l’amplitude de demeurer roi

Oui! Ça, c’est l’amour.