" Little recipe" Ann-ie Jo Ly

A day of painful thoughts and sorrow, take delicately two of your tears and blow.
 Go outside and run, in the sickly sun.
  In a tiny movement, draw a drop of rain through the windy moment with your fingerprint.
 Then wait for the magic print and smile at the rainbow.

"Châtiment d'une Infidèle" Ann-ie Jo Ly

Je veux m'anéantir dans le ciel de son 
 âme 
Et je veux me noyer dans le lac de ses  
 yeux 
 Je veux m'ensevelir sous la caresse qui 
 damne 
  Et je veux m'éveiller sous le souffle de l'aveu 

"je veux " Giannis Mavromatidis

Je veux devenir tien exister,vivre 
et me répendre autour de toi, sur toi, en toi, 
Je veux devenir ton trophee de victoire, dans l'interminable guerre  
des fantasmes exageres et non consommes de l'amour
Je veux devenir la mane de tes reves,de tes passions et de tes  
desirs les plus barbares, les plus obscures ,innomables et 
blasphemes de tes "vouloirs
Je veux devenir ton tresor cache et que tu me depenses gouluement 
et sans retenue dans les orgies interminables et degradantes de 
sessions sans logique 
Je veux devenir poignard dans ta main, que tu dechires avec moi en 
mille morceaux tes nuits et que tu marques de cicatrices le velours 
des draps de ma solitude
Je veux devenir la proie qui se debat ensanglantee dans le piege 
meurtrier de ta beaute parce que la mort par elle est preferable a 
une vie sans elle.....


 

"Clotilde" Guillaume Apollinaire

Anemone and columbine

Where gloom has lain

Opened in gardens

Between love and disdain

Made somber by the sun

Our shadows meet

Until the sun

Is squandered by night

Gods of living water

Let down their hair

And now you must follow

A craving for shadows

"The Tempest" William Shakespeare

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As i foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

"The blessing" Baudelaire

When, by decree of the sovereign power,
The poet makes his appearance in a bored world,
With fists clenched at the horror, his outraged mother
Call on a pitying God, at whome these curses are hurled:
"Why was I not made to litter a brood of vipers
Rather than conceive this human mockery?
My curses on that night whose ephemeral pleasures
Filled my womb with this avenging treachery!
Since I must be chosen among all women that are
To bear the lifetime's grudge of a sullen husband,
And since I cannot get rid of this caricature,
--Fling it away lie old letters to be burned,
On what you have devised for my punishment
I will let all you hate of me rebound,
I will torture this stunted growth until its bent
Branches let fall every blighted but to the ground!"
And so she prepares for herself in Hell's pit
A place on the pyre made for a mother's crimes,
Blind, in the fury of her foaming hatred,
To the meaning and purpose of the eternal designs.
Meanwhile, under the care of an unseen angel,
The disinherited Child revels in the sun's
Bright force; all that he eats and drinks can fill
Him with memories of the food that was heaven's.
The wind his plaything, any cloud a friend,
The Spirit watching can only weep to see
How in childhood his way of the cross is lightened
With the wild bird-song of his innocent gaiety.
Thos he would love look at him with suspicion
Or else, emboldened by his calm, experiment
Wit various possible methods of exciting derision
by trying out their cruelty on his complaint.
They mix ashes or unspeakable filth with the bread
And the wine of his daily communion, drop
Whatever he may have touched with affected dread,
And studiously avoid wherever he may step.
His mistress, parading her contempt in the street,
Cries: "Since he finds my beauty a thing to worship,
I will be one of the ancient idols he talks about,
Am make myself with gold out of the same workshop!
I will never have enough of his kneelings and offerings
Until I am sure that the choice foods, the wines,
The 'nard,' the "incense,' the myrrh that he brings
He brings as other men would to the Virgin's shrines.
And when I am sick to death of trying not to laugh
At the farch of my black masses, I try the force
Of the hand he calls'frail,' my nails will dig a path
Like harpies', to the heart that beats for me, of course!
Like a nestling trembling and palpitating
I will pull that red heart out of his breast
And throw it down for my favourite dog's eating
--Let him do whatever he likes with the rest!"
A serene piety, lifting the poet's gaze,
Reveals heaven opening on a shining throne,
And the lower vision of the world's ravening rage
Is shut off by the sheer lightnings of his brain.
"Be blessed, oh my God, who givest suffering
As the only divine remedy for our folly,
As the highest and purest essence preparing
The strong in spirit for ecstasies most holy.
I know that among the uplifted legions
Of saints, a place awaits the Poet's arrival,
And that among the Powers, Virtues, Dominations
He too is summoned to Heaven's festival.
I know that sorrow is the one human strength
On which neither earth nor hell can impose,
And that all the universe and all time's length
Must be wound into the mystic crown for my brows.
But all the treasury of buried Palmyra,
The earth's unknown metals, the sea's pearls,
Mounted by Thy hand, would be deemed an inferior
Glitter, to his diadem that shines without jewels.
For Thou knowest it will be made of purest light
Drawn from the holy hearth of every primal ray,
To which all human eyes, if they were one bright
Eye, are only a tarnished mirror's fading day!"

"A Death-Bed" Rudyard Kipling

This is the State above the Law.
The State exists for the State alone."
[This is a gland at the back of the jaw,
And an answering lump by the collar-bone.]

Some die shouting in gas or fire;
Some die silent, by shell and shot.
Some die desperate, caught on the wire -
Some die suddenly. This will not.

"Regis suprema voluntas Lex"
[It will follow the regular course of--throats.]
Some die pinned by the broken decks,
Some die sobbing between the boats.

Some die eloquent, pressed to death
By the sliding trench as their friends can hear
Some die wholly in half a breath.
Some--give trouble for half a year.

"There is neither Evil nor Good in life
Except as the needs of the State ordain."
[Since it is rather too late for the knife,
All we can do is to mask the pain.]

Some die saintly in faith and hope--
One died thus in a prison-yard--
Some die broken by rape or the rope;
Some die easily. This dies hard.

"I will dash to pieces who bar my way.
Woe to the traitor! Woe to the weak! "
[Let him write what he wishes to say.
It tires him out if he tries to speak.]

Some die quietly. Some abound
In loud self-pity. Others spread
Bad morale through the cots around .
This is a type that is better dead.

"The war was forced on me by my foes.
All that I sought was the right to live."
[Don't be afraid of a triple dose;
The pain will neutralize all we give.

Here are the needles. See that he dies
While the effects of the drug endure. . . .
What is the question he asks with his eyes?--
Yes, All-Highest, to God, be sure.]