Diverses poetic links:

I am naked......

Shores

I think of Love...................................................... Public gardens

Delirium.................... Brocken dream

Sad sundays

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I am naked.........

That I empty myself of life, of people, of days
O! enter into the night, into the forest, into the water
by the stream
Get off the mud, penetrate into the water at the outline of the forest
into the stream

I feel my feet dirty to the neck
I feel my legs of hair growned stunted
My genitals exhausted and greeny-grayny
I feel my belly loquacious marsh-mallow
I feel my breasts up to the lips of my shoulder blade
I feel my face nose like skyscraper



I want to wash myself into the stream at the outskirts of the forest
Already I band my knees over the breast greenery
Already I touch the breast greenery and I am naked
Already I come to life my genitals revive
Already the night stumble over my belly
like fingers
Already I feel blood flowing itself to the wind whore
I fall into the stream
I see shadows
I drink into the water
I hear hobgoblings
shouting feminine names
I feel my ears counterfeat
I float belly to the nunnys' moon
The underwoods make themselves cloisters and carmels



I present my nudity to the stars youthness
I offer my buttoms to seat the night
I offer my ginitals to shadow the landscape



I am naked in the water of sanctified blessings
I am naked over the water
washed away

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shores

shore to the sinking arm
rotten

savage

wise and blood over

tissues

jackets of sea

remains of mothers

rotten



bocage

shipwreck to the naked boat

lost

to the carnals storms

to the barbarous images

overfed

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I think of love

I dream of love
my nights over your pillows of wispers

I dream of love
love hanged to the strings of my desire
love by the tiny road of your heart
love over the beatten breast of your mornings



I dream of love
I shout love to the birds that love each other
love to the animals that look upon themselves
to the trees that inter-clashed

I dream of love
love of shadows over the depicted walls
love of dreams over the faces of men
love of realities over the nature image



I dream of love
outside men that clashes
beyond the virtues of steel and lead
away from despaired cities

I dream of love
Love over the tireness of my mornings
Love over the heaviness of my noons
Love over the sadness of my nights

I dream of Love
Hanged by the strings of your arms
Suspended to your laugh of sadness
Enslaved to your nights of lies



I dream of Love
I dream of an insense Love
I dream of Love of ungratefull dreams
I dream of Love indefinable

My nights over your pillows of pleasure
I dream of Love

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Public gardens

The eye like rose brushes
pierce the oasis of public gardens
knowned faces
unknowned faces
suns crippled by the unknown of portions of forests
hairies of Ingres to the dangling laughs
laughs shaggy or sad
and some masks in the reflective waters
saddology of fourteen hours
my twenties in the misery of bitumen
trunkated gestures
depicted sceneries
masks repainted
girls deteriorated



a rowboat of loving water
in the break of a wake
Amoroso
but



the granites of the Maiden
slowed the daring of the gigolos
breasts of lead and steel genitals
under the angelic physionomy
the brawls of lovingnesses
disturb the calm of the undergrowth

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Delirium

They stopped to the bottom of my fingers
those images of interrupted suns
And we played our paradises
over the walks of your predestined nights



Now that my fingers are tired
Now that your breath has fade out
Now that sleep carry the girls along
I must return to the lights
I must estinguish my memory
and recover my mirages for tomorrow.



I strolled my fingers to the night
and I had flutes in my fingers
to ring the awakening of the bells

There where windows in your eyes
and my flutes tired themselves to your beds
I stopped the pendulum at midnight
and we stopped to look upon the night.

Near your calcinated dreams
there is a passage of emotion
Near your body in flesh of nights
there where your beds thorned by pleasure



Your faces of illustrious paradises
are throwed to the abyss of my scull
And the image of predestined faces
is confused with the landscape of forgettyness

I feel your mornings full my pockets
and I loose my dreams through the holes of my pockets
I feel your life all over my fingers
but I trumble and I can carry no more.

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Brocken dream

Closed door over the pallor of your dreams
a filament of moon through the lock
and the soft step of a young girl in the shadows
of my furniture



Door open over the reality of this dream
my hands that encircle hips of satin
breasts of fairies that retain my hands and the shadows
of two hearts



Door brocken under the thunder of a nightmare
a fire of calcinated moon destroy my dreams
and the fear of a thunderstorm breack into the heaviness
of my shadowed brain

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Sad Sundays

I came out to the space
a kind of space like sunday
there I saw girls of garden
they where also flowers
there I saw flowers of garden
they where also girls
I thank them all
They showed me their colors
They told me "Darling"
but I left without saying goodby
because my rendez-vous was the night
and at night I have rendez-vous with nobody

because the flowers and the thanks of flowers
the thanks and the girls of flowers
the girls and the flowers of garden




all the gardens of thanks and of girls
are to the mouth of silence
are to the sea of hope
are to the gesture of solitude
all the sundays before the morning
are to the mouth of sea
of gestures shadowed without tomorrows

and if I come back from space
with my laugh almost perfect
my throat keen to live
my eyes in the silence that blow
I think I will let my hands there
because I do need no more instruments



I do need no more dreams
of gestures
I do need no more of you

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (poetry: translated from Rêves, 1999) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe

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