this is not a poem

it is a gift of love
of learning and exhaustion
of learning to live with it
whatever & However heavy it is;
to carry the flame
into the future
fly onTO the wings of hope
AND JUMP towards NIKE

Paris in June

Paris in June
Was spinning in high heels
Amidst tourists
Beating the gray asphalt path

The air was bright
And smelled of soothing linden
While the motorcycle sounds
circle around the triumphAL arch

Beyond the antique merchants
The Seine was flowing serene
Almost Washing the feet
Of Notre Dame and Saints Chapelle

And all theses sweet perfumes
And memories That taste of chocolate
They could turn to smoke 
unless they're shared

summer

in this summer of battling giants
in the arena of free open air
we breath respite and we let ourselves
be covered by showers of small flowers

the complex wonders they work
through the alchemy of generosity
where friends Are mostly real
and enemies are in large parts imaginary

And if daVid never quite understood
the power of the little flower
he seeded all the buds of hope
we need to carry when we climb our mountains

to escalate AND See the sights 
from the shoulders of giants
one needs to walk the path in righteousness
and love and not in wrath;

together will find peace this summer
we will turn the arena of free open air
from its scope of battling GIANTS
and mercenaries to a dance ARENA we hope

 

love

it is the answer
no question
it is what pumps
the blood
through the veins
it is what dissolves
loneliness
into laughter
it is the curious head
of a child
up in the morning
asking
for a hearty breakfast
for the
brain

it is the answer
no question
to hunger
and to misstrust
it is the magic
cream that
heals the wounds
it is the wound
that heals itself
opening up
towards the otside
living for others.
satiated
by the need to give
even if it means
tipping the world
off-balance