I WILL MISS YOU

I will miss you
The day
The night
The other times

I will miss you
And here
And there
And elsewhere

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Cotton by reading_is_dangerous] (yesterday)

RULES OF THE GAME OF THE YELLOW DWARF

today I went to St-Paul Street
to find the bookstore I was told about
where they sell books in English
and on the way, in an antique store, I saw
the framed « Règles du Jeu du Nain Jaune »
or Rules of the Game of the Yellow Dwarf
with its own genuine deck of cards
and the complete set was 200 euros
which is exactly the amount of money I lost
to an Italian thief, the last time I was in Paris
so I just went my way
until I found that bookstore which I was looking for
and, there I asked for their poetry section
and, as often, it was located near the cash register
and, on the shelf, there was only one Bukowski
and, on the back of the book, it was written $13.95

I asked the lady about the price in euros,
and she told me it was 13.95 in euros
and I thought, “Ok,”
then I picked up another book, poems by Li Po
and that one too, it was $13.95

I offered 20 euros for the two books
but the lady,
she said that Li Po book’s price was in pounds (9.99)
which was the equivalent of about 18 euros
and this time I thought, “No.”

now the lady wouldn’t give me a deal,
because, she said,
she herself still owed $300.000 for the bookstore,
and last week, one of her checks bounced back,
and so on, and so on...

I told her: “I can put back these books on the shelf
and you’ll sell them another day,
or you take my 20 euros for them both.”

so she said: “No.”

I just took the Bukowski for 13.95 euros,
and then I left.

a bit later I found a place to read,
opened the book at random,
and there it was, a poem of Bukowski, which I didn’t know, entitled:
Was Li Po wrong?

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Lion with Breasts by reading_is_dangerous] (today)

HAVE WE BEEN THERE TOGETHER?

can the world be turned upside down
because of silence?

will the glass panes break down in tears
will the old stones fly away
will the treasures be lost, of our hopes

can the trees of you stand there, silent --
as if I was not crying?

have we been there together?
have we not been there together?

::: ::: :::

[Picture: I am back in Paris by reading_is_dangerous] (today)

DOLPHINS IN SPACE SUITS

this happened, you turn into the Moon
cold and mute

your arms opened to catch the light
a female wave

she falls asleep into your arms
a full body, what to do with her?

behind a strong window pane
you lay her down on a lunar bed

with guardians, dolphins in space suits
swimming in little gravity

you walk the corridors of Luna Base
find poems of men dead long ago

you throw them away, the poems
it's just paper anyway

lady Light in her dreams
her eyes going left and right, REM

what can the brain do, but to go along
yesterday in a cave, tomorrow on the Moon

lady Light her skin is pale, white
like the fur of Mister Rabbit who lives here

the dolphins in their space suits
obviously envious, hey, Mister Rabbit!?

how did you get here, on the Moon?
I am the Man, says the Rabbit

well, why not
you yourself now just a moon

::: ::: :::

Picture: Somebody going somewhere

Poem reconstructed on August 25, 2012.

THE RABBIT OF A SOUND

at night I hear the sound of a fan
which is located downstairs

the sound is a middle-pitched humming,
it is monotonous and strange

the sound travels up, up to my ears
where it becomes a rabbit

the rabbit grows, and grows,
and it breeds, and breeds -- other rabbits

at the end of the night my ears are full
of noisy rabbits, and I feel wasted

now I am unable to resist the temptation
of going to sleep, to dream of a better world

oh! and I saw a hare on my way
to the airport, in Paris, the last time I left

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Colors from the better world by reading_is_dangerous]

WATER IN THE MIND

see! a gift for us, next to the Sun
there is a road that goes over your back
like water in the mind, when there was thirst
and so we come together

the snake of me
the heart of you
a wave of hope sent into the world
that is our gift, here, under the light

this land is all what we haven’t lost
at the departure of the sky, and our souls
and your black robes, and my silver scales…
we did well to leave everything behind

our land is where the mouth catches the tail
our land is where I feel at home, full of meaning
our land is where our words will reach new heights
our land is where I heard the call, your song



::: ::: :::

[Picture: A flash of sounds by reading_is_dangerous] (yesterday)

CHICKEN & STUFF

the sitting me, waiting for the plane
the sitting me, transported to the plane
the sitting me, before the picture of the plane

out of words
a man like a dog
won't stand until the call

the sitting me, not eating when he flies
the sitting me, this time I needed the food
the sitting me, a chunk of white meat

chicken flesh
a soul raised from Hell
cruel punishment, reborn in a chicken farm

the sitting me, white face of the Moon
the sitting me, an arm stretching over the Black sea
the sitting me, chicken-flesh inside of me

coming back from Paris
I won't find many words on that airplane
but what's to do?

::: ::: :::

Picture: White Chicken

Poem reborn on August 26, 2012.

TO PASS THE SKIES

are we free
to burn the flames,
to drown the waters,
to pass the skies,
and so to tell the gods
that we are free?



::: ::: :::

[Picture : The tree by reading_is_dangerous] (The Spirit Of Freedom at the top of the July Column, Place de la Bastille - May 15, 2008)

ROOF

Is absence more alive than presence? What does the word alive mean? Are we alive? Are we really alive? What is alive, and what is not?

Are questions sorts of columns raised to hold the roof of lies, or the roof of truth? What happens when the questions are taken away (with answers) or purposefully removed?

What would be life without any question? Is life a question?

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Questions by reading_is_dangerous]

THE HORSES

“Dreams have as much influence as actions” - Stéphane Mallarmé

She told me that
a real horse was trapped
inside the golden one. I laughed,
but now it seems as if that
just made sense.

::: ::: :::

[Picture : Jeanne, Under The Sky by reading_is_dangerous] (May 2008)

PLACE DES DEUX ECUS

Whenever there is a new place you like
You end up wondering
Whether or not a mysterious reason
Has anything to do with you liking the place

Perhaps the stones...?
Or perhaps that wall...?
That roof...?
That window...?

You search for a reason
You imagine reasons
You end up wondering
If any reason is needed at all

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Café, Place des Deux Écus by reading_is_dangerous] (May 12, 2008)

THING, TRIP, MORNING, MOUNTAIN

One thing I discovered over the years is that I am unable to write during the first few days of a trip. For instance, yesterday morning when I left Yerevan I took a picture of Mt. Ararat from the airport, and I spent the whole day in Paris thinking about the words to go with it, but I couldn't find them.

I tried, "In the morning he saw the mountain, and in the afternoon he wondered which of these two things where now farthest from him: The mountain or the morning."

There seemed to be something wrong with that, because the morning is not a thing, and yet it is. In any case, I couldn't post what I wrote yesterday, and I'm only doing it now because many pictures are waiting to be shown.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Glass by reading_is_dangerous]

THE WATCHFUL TOWER

I was looking at my cat, a Siamese queen, as she stood watch over the little nation of her twelve days old kittens – there are four of them – and I thought of what is called the “instinct” and which is just an idea to put a word on the behavior of animals, and of people too. The cat knows what to do. The kittens know what to do, just like their heart know what to do, just like my heart knows what to do.

And the eye knows what to do. And the flowers know what to do. By the way, have you ever heard about something called the plant’s instinct?

Even a virus knows what to do, and the various parts of a virus, they each know what to do. In the end, it seems as if the sun itself knows what to do. The whole universe obviously knows what to do. The whole thing around us, and that includes us, our mind, the soul if you want it, that’s all and only knowledge about what has to be done, and the means of doing it, and the result of it all, all what has been done. It’s everything together, and it’s pretty convenient that it is so. Imagine if the things were in one place, and the knowledge of what to do with those things was elsewhere… Such a situation would not be convenient, in my opinion.

We don’t know why we do what we do – we, rational agents, cognitive beings, we can ask ourselves that question: why? However it seems as if the why isn’t so important, unless it is for us to wonder at the beauty of it all. For instance, the beauty of a watchful tower, and the beauty of her little, fluffy kittens who just happen to know that they need warmth, and milk, and caresses, and sleep. This almost sounds like a definition of paradise.

The kittens just opened their eyes as I am writing this.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Emailka and the Katyata by reading_is_dangerous] (May 9, 2008)

A picture of one of the kittens can be found here.

THERE, MY CROWN

Your feet or live trout
The fresh waters of your ankles
Your knees jump, goats
I take your thighs
When you bite, tail, my sting

Everything is in order
Your back is pure beauty
A lion dreams in your heart
Your arms are my loving sisters
Your neck can save me

I follow your lead
Into the Great Caves of your Being
There, my crown, let me give it to you
The moon of your left eye
The sun of your right eye

Where I stand, you stand
There is a knot that keeps us together
The statue of you
The statue of me
Wild rocks, giants, gifts of the Sky

The elements of you and me
Copper, Iron, Gold, Silver and Stone
They waited for billions of years
For this to happen: a kiss
Before we fall asleep



::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Wings Of Your Breasts by reading_is_dangerous]

THE SILVER MILK

fall of the skin of time at night

you are not calling me

dead horse by the door this morning

you are not calling me

your song

hill breast of gold under my wanting hand

my dream

you come to me skin, hand and breast

let me call you

the Silver Milk

::: ::: :::

Picture: Silent songs 

Poem remade on August 26, 2012 

THE BEACHES OF YOUR SKIN

a stone with heart
in the pocket of my hand

let me throw it at you
see if you can catch it with your lips

a stone with heart
at the bottom of the sea

dreams of salt
on the beaches of your skin

::: ::: :::

Picture: A stone with heart by reading_is_dangerous

THE MAD FAIRY OF YOUR KISS

the mad fairy of your kiss
made me forget the cold,
but later I found myself alone,
outside the borders of your land,
and there I was to drown in time

the body of your absence
was hurting me in the dark,
when suddenly it turned around and left
and I sensed your presence

the fingers of your soul
reached for me with a spell
"The Cobweb Of A Sun,"
thus I was lost, but bright and burning!

::: ::: :::

[Picture: The Cobweb Of A Sun by reading_is_dangerous]



Inspired by Be Gone, a poem of Mijo.

A NIGHT, YOUR ARMS

"Show your wounds," - Joseph Bueys

Sometimes one has to go walking.
Sometimes one has to cut their own wings.
Sometimes has to get these wounds which can be turned into a womb.

Ashen faces or blue sky
Days and days and days and days
Then comes a night, your arms
Find the sky you were just longing for.

Hope!
Without hope you're just a falling rock.

for E.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Faces Or Blue Sky by reading_is_dangerous]