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mardi, juillet 1 2014

While waiting to be reunited... in life ?

1. Consciousness slad pierced by fleeting glimpses.

- The round shape of the beach reveals the face of the island.
- The attraction of nothing leads me in endless rotation.
- The shore where I met the aground beauty, reminds me a broken hourglass.

A wave of love overwhelms me and tries to carry me to freedom.
(To be continued)

This is not by catching wings that somebody take off.

2. Why do not resurrect now ?

We shall come closer, then no longer be uncertain images.
You shall come closer, then wet your hair to wash the dried blood of my orifices.
You shall come closer, then do not say anything to hear the beating of my heart.

Ghost emerging from limbo to look you straight in the eyes.

You shall come closer, then my wet hair will be able wash the dried blood of your orifices.
You shall come closer, then I will be able to hear our hearts beat in unison.

Ghosts emerging from limbo to touch each one each other, our skins at our feet.

We shall come closer, just to see if the dialogue of our bodies will write a story.

Keep on looking for, despite allready found it, it's turning the wheel of a mill.

3. What happened to the dawn ?

Rumor said that her heart is buried in the land of dreams where time does not exist.

My sharp tongue split the sun before it rose
and there remains only the blood.

I see through my outstretched hands the memorie of the dawn.

The red turned black as the surface vanished,
In the depths I stay despite it's daytime immersed into the night.

The dawn is a little bit you, a little bit me, when we forget our borderlines.

Our time has folded like a bruised body till disappear,
pretending he never existed.

Yet the memory of the dawn continues to blight me endless.

A word that dissapears shake the buildings.

4. Pores and skin.

When I am the silent
love once again
goes through my cocoon of illusions.

The surface is permeable when I forget the borderline.

I take back my place inside you.

A drop of you touched me
and woke me up
therefore the illusion of solitude

I am with you.

I remember to fall asleep at your side.

The time that separates me from you is only a dream...

Claws and fangs break on innocence.

5. The rebellion of the poet.

The crowd asks,
stray poems,
erupting in all directions,
offset as the venom and eternity,
instead only blood,
flows out my pen.

In my outdoor circus,
I refuse to play fantasy.
In my tawny mouth,
I find what is beyond,

The scream of the soul.
The naked sound.
The vibration that nothing can hide.

To be is not writing,
but consciously draw your life,
puting in your gesture,
all your will
and going through the crowd
as with a bow.

All moral prohibition's transgressions are better than none.

6. Free love.

I could call her waking life, but she's got a name that I keep secret.

If I was a source, she would make me squirt.

I stopped playing words when I began to really enjoy life.
To describe the beauty is signing it death warrant.

If I were a stone, she would make me jump.

I stopped to draw her when I understood that a concept only makes sense if it takes shape in life.
The golden bars of the cage next to be disassembled became the twigs of our nest.

If I were a tree, she would make me run.

I stopped talking since I want to hear her whisper.

I stopped to wait for her since I want she could come.

I stopped to be shaky since I want to touch her.

I stopped to believe in an ideal since I want to meet her.

I stopped letting myself be lulled by the course of destiny since I found my being purpose.

Will without love is sterile power.

7. Shortly before the promise of dawn.

I was about to faint.

I was so fragile.

She caught her breath,
till I build myself a body.

My heart was like a magnet,
now it burns like a fire plant.

Only her can contain me.

I was trapped in a mirror.

Each root of my thoughts grew a flower appeared.

My gaze was lost in this mind mirror.

Mimetic flowers generated a veil woven of my past,
that masked my life
preventing any real contact.

She remained motionless,
till I notice the lures dance.

My eyes saw only a projection,
now they stroke the present with the fire intensity.

Only her can touch me.

(Only her could save me.)

Intimacy self regenerate into the universal ocean.

8. Naked evidence.

What I took as dawn,
this is how our colors shimmer
when we meet.

Together, we are a garden of being,
an utopia become true,
marvel of diversity,
constantly changing,
wide of all paradoxes,
free as a conscious choice.

A promise renewed every instant,
the memory of a caress that will not fade longer than the time it need to reproduce it,
being aware in each breath and offer in each exhalation.

2 fingers on 4 lips...
The meeting of two beings, in whom the body and the mind, finally meet.

The thousand petals lotus is as bud,
as bloomed flower and also faded flower,
it is every moment of the perpetual cycle of life,
when liberated from fear, we realize that the illusion no longer blind us.

I thought walking on the water,
yet I was stepping back to the present time.

She was not a mere destination, indeed we were moving in concert,
then our paths crossed each one.

I felt the scale of possibilities grow exponentially.

Nothing mattered more to me now that to know her.

I became a mere freedom offered to my heart.

To be able to be reach by her hand to give us a chance to be together.

The projection of the film ended when life begins, our life.

The limits of the imagination are the mark of a brush.

9. No pleasure competes with the feeling of this love.

As the hour approached,
I felt the sap rising in me,
statue since a so long time been neglected,
I discovered love as if it was the first time.

It was as if my stone skin,
became the walls of my prison,
now facing this joy without clone,
it broke up like clay in the sun.

In the room in ruins, between the crumbling walls,
your presence like an evidence,
your call echo still resonates
next the sensory fireworks swirls
and I realize that this is life.

To wish everything till I share it with you.
To wish all the emotions till I share them with you.
To wish to know love together and deliver it as it delivered us.

I do not know the future,
but this present I live,
is an unspeakable happiness
without lure or fear,
a preview of a possible future.

You are free to meet me.

Who you are, no words can translate it,
but each time my lips dare hum,
I believe that you are listenable mixed with love.

Version Française du carnet de poèmes.

lundi, août 2 2010

Zeugma of the Death [a collection of free poems for no commercial use by Morne. 2003.]

The zeugma of the death.

1. The beautiful zombie.

At the end of the Abyss,
I found a home.

She is a hungry goddess.

Thru her lips,
my voice is a siren,
the lost souls.

2. The Cripples.

All the men are
the omnipotent model
amputated of a number
of possibilities.

The personality
is the set
of the mutilations.

3. The Atomic Jail.

The freethinkers
as worms
at the surface of the earth.

If an electron penetrates the atomic nucleus

Is it a fertilization ?

4. The Undead.

The Undead and the living-dead
join together
to dance at the wedding
of the both worlds.

They are the hyphen.

The link.

The only way.

5. The Zingaros of the soul.

Moon dust people
neither sorrow nor joy
they sing the hope
for conceal the secret.

6. The illusion of the travel.

The reflection is like the surf
Which brings us back our replicas.

We generate It,
It regenerate us.

Ad eternam.

We let us carry away
by the reflection.

We always come back to
the same beach.

7. The lost souls.

''The people which have their last ...

I spent my whole life
waiting for the coup de grace.

I decline to lower my headband,
because I know that I would find,
the coup de grace already past
I'm walking dead.

There is a web presentation made for the French version.
Actually it's possible to download freely the french version in pdf & epub format and soon in bilingual version. (write the check code and click on OK for download the ebook)

lundi, juillet 26 2010

Baptism of Suffering [a collection of free poems for no commercial use by Morne. 2002.]

I. The Baptism of Suffering

When in the deep of the abyss

I have raised my head

an instant

I thought I saw
my remembrance watch me.

II. Freedom

Some puppets into tears

bear in their wild hands,

the links.

III. First Madmen

Emerging from the abyss

their wild eyes

are seeking their target

into the mirror.

IV. About the desire

Do you Remember

the Life

this infinite


which since

never ceases.

You have tasted

the forbidden fruit

and your wings

are broken glass

where cling the reflections of the past.

Your soul strives to remember,

but only your shadow

inhabit your loneliness.

The ghosts of the past


defile your body

indecent trace of time

V. Saturation

A man in silence

loses sight


succumbs to the pain

to feel the one he loved

leave him.

His mouth opens

but says nothing

It respects his pain.

The skin feels the rain

but the man hears nothing.

He discovered the emptyness

when it is already too late.

VI. Eternity


when eternity ends

we see the incredulous bones

of the hands of the other side's gods

doggedly search

among the same dust

that in humans hearts.

VII. Pretension of the dying one

I am the death

and you are my children...

... It's so reassuring to exchange our masks.

Actually it's possible to download freely the french version in pdf & epub format and soon in bilingual version. (write the check code and click on OK for download the ebook)

jeudi, juillet 22 2010

Bridge Of Dream [a collection of free poems for no commercial use by Morne]

The Bridge Of Dream
"Eternity will finally bloom."

I. The gold of colors.

The gold of colors,
melts and drips,
from the bridge of the dream,
but those who see it,
are statues before the time.

II. Zephir.

Moon quarter,
fallen over,
a link hanging on its point,
like a spider,
a child has slipped into earth.

III. Absence.

When it will stay only the cold around me,
I will invite it into my house,
I will listen to its silence come over me,
before falling asleep.

IV. Ode to the Wind.

Books of dried leaves,
words for gnawing them,
dust poems,
for provide to the wind,
the only child of this earth.

V. Misunderstanding.

Stay stranger.
Like a wolf,
whose the good cattle,
have turn off the appetite.

Stay stranger.
In lunatic asylums,
the one considered by all mad,
is the wise man who has remained stranger.

Stay stranger.
In lunatic asylums,
The ones considered by all wise men,
are the instructors of madness.

Stay stranger.
Because livestock is afraid of wolves.
Not of shepherds.

Who kills whom ?

VI. At the Spring of Life.

Ink at bedtime.
Our minds distill the Life.
And create tomorrow in the meantime of Night.

Day staring into nothingness.
While our puppets dance Maya.
Simulate Life where there is only Silence.

Who sees the inner realms stretch over this world ?

VII. A Truth.

Awakening is an extraordinary cruelty,
but without it, the night is eternal.

The musical version of the poems in French is available for free download (zip file).
There is a web presentation made for the French version.
Actually it's possible to download freely the french version in pdf & epub format and soon in bilingual version. (write the check code and click on OK for download the ebook)

lundi, novembre 30 2009


TSdessin1999.jpg Version 0. Adaptation du court métrage sous forme de nouvelle.


Akka les choses qui dévorent / Grubber things.

Synopsis long. Un jeune couple d'Ultra voit émerger dans son quotidien des "grubber things", taches de lumière organiques qui apparaissent, telles des spores sur les murs de leur maison. Moisissure extraterrestre, stigmates d'un autre monde... difficile d'y voir clair. Au début, la curiosité prime, ils ne s'inquiètent pas, puis quand les créatures lumineuses deviennent envahissantes, il est déjà trop tard la maison est cernée...

Synopsis court. L'émergence du surnaturel dans le quotidien d'un jeune couple anarcho autonome.

Brain Storming Evening. (Le soir du samedi 23 juin 2012.)

On se croirait sous le ciel immense d'une nuit d'été. Les étoiles qui scintillent doucement semblent presque à portée de main. Une allumette craque.

L'allumette est dans la main d'Ivre de joie, qui donne le feu à une bougie prisonnière d'un verre. Il est posé au cœur du motif d'une spirale, prise dans un triangle, peinte sur la table.

L'atmosphère entière se met à osciller au gréé de cette source de lumière, un peu comme si le vent soufflait.

Le décor de la pièce est minimaliste. Ils sont tous deux vêtus de noir. Corentin Doll est appuyé sur la table tournante et se tient la tête d'une main, tandis que de l'autre il fait défiler des pages d'infos sur son portable.


Lire Triple Soleil en ligne dans l'œil de la réalité. Télécharger la nouvelle en version ebook gratuit : pdf ou epub.