Posts Tagged poetry
Seven of Clubs: Butterfly Fish
Posted by Angela Brett in Fische, Schmetterlinge, Writing Cards and Letters on October 19, 2008
A flutter of butterflies flies,
aflutter in sumptuous skies
dancing between rise and fall
forming a quivering rainbow. Still,
nothing in comparison:
With the group, a fish
denies its uniqueness,
flying naturally above the waves.
One being, tracing a humble miracle
across the eclipsed kaleidoscope.
Through the rippling looking glass,
searching for a home,
a school of fish flits fleetly,
fostering a misplaced wish:
One butterfly amongst them all
is lost, a great frenzied flutter
in water makes no difference.
To the others it is much easier
to follow the flow
through the ocean. They pass
through the rippling looking glass,
searching for a home.
A school of fish flits fleetly,
fostering a misplaced wish:
Nothing in comparison
with the group, a fish
in water, makes no difference
to the others. It is much easier
to follow the flow.
Through the ocean they pass.
A flutter of butterflies flies,
aflutter in sumptuous skies.
dancing between rise and fall
forming a quivering rainbow still.
One butterfly amongst them all
is lost. A great frenzied flutter
denies its uniqueness,
flying naturally above the waves,
one being, tracing a humble miracle
across the eclipsed kaleidoscope.
Eight of Clubs: A Match Made in Heaven
Posted by Angela Brett in Intriguing Development, Writing Cards and Letters on October 12, 2008
Come have a char with me, my dear,
Let’s turn the night to day
Swing with me from the chandelier,
I’ll have my wicked way.
It will be quite a scandal
if the two of us attach
for I am but a candle,
and you’re the perfect match.
But if I’m panegyrical,
then all I say is true.
I can’t help waxing lyrical,
can’t hold myself to you.
You lit my life up when you came.
I’m burning with desire.
But you’re still hot for your old flame
that flickers in the fire.
You’re blinded by your hearth of stone
to pain that you inflict.
I’m ditched, to gutter all alone;
there’s no peace for the wicked.
But noone said that life was fair
the winds of fate blow free;
if love and cold are in the air
then you’ll go out with me.
Nine of Clubs: Grand Unification
Posted by Angela Brett in CERN, Writing Cards and Letters on October 5, 2008
Note: I wrote this with the tune and sentiment of Tom Smith‘s A Boy and his Frog (mp3) in my head. If you know the tune, please imagine that this poem is sung to the same tune as whichever verses it fits.
You might think that we’re just doing science
With a hadron collider so large.
But we’ve built this electric alliance
to give weight to our positive charge.
Take researchers from every nation,
Let the humans within them collide.
We will find the grand unification
when we see we’re all on the same side.
And with ev’ry race, tongue and religion
we’ll find how to give all the world mass.
If we’d all interact just a smidgen
with the openness through which we pass
we’d see life’s ups and downs become charming and strange,
when we face them head on, and what’s more,
seeking beauty and truth we can make a big change
with small change from the purses of war.
Take the light at the end of the tunnel,
and ensure it goes all the way round,
to illuminate more than the sun’ll,
and enlighten with what we have found:
When you’ve unresolved matters, and not enough kin,
and face too many forces to name,
if you cut out the din, and put energy in,
it turns out that we’re all just the same.
Valet of Clubs: Discours inférieur
Posted by Angela Brett in Lyon, Writing Cards and Letters on September 21, 2008
I find the words to make a distant friend,
and check them twenty times before I send,
an error-checking code in every byte.
We find a space in meatspace we can meet.
I shuffle past and only see my feet,
for you I know by words and not by sight.
I linger and pretend that I’m not there,
you find me in the end but I’ll not dare
to speak the words I only know to write.
No sooner are they loud enough to hear,
I go back in my shell for one more year.
We meet again, I recognise your face
but still can’t find the words to match your pace.
They’re crushed in scattered pauses far too tight.
I watch your wordfights, watch you shoot the breeze
I savour each riposte at each reprise
but when they’re aimed at me I flee in fright.
But battles one by one’ll turn to chances,
I creep along the tunnel by advances
And start to see a distant shaft of light
but with the light I see my train appear,
and go back to my home for one more year.
When next we meet I’m not so far behind,
I speak whenever something comes to mind,
I know your mouth just speaks, it doesn’t bite.
I speak before I’ve checked it twenty times
I post before I’ve found some better rhymes,
It doesn’t matter if it isn’t right.
For ten mistakes I say a dozen things,
so why not flap my tongue and flap my wings?
I take the plunge and try to take a flight,
and whack into a wall. It’s very clear
I’ll still be in this cage for one more year.
King of Hearts: Love Letters
Posted by Angela Brett in Intriguing Development, Writing Cards and Letters on August 31, 2008
A mental syntonicity one day
A gentle hint of what we two could be
lit just enough my life so I could see
that trust in love just might bring rhapsody,
exuberant duet of you and me,
a music fit to agonise the deaf.
By moonlight we could glimpse our apogee
Drew closer to alleviate the ache.
I saw my glow reflected in your eye,
I saw your soul like flesh through négligée,
enigma moulding treasure from okay.
I leaned a little nearer till I fell
in love, and whispered brazenly ‘je t’aime.’
L’amour, the kissing cousin of la haine
A congress fit for hedonists, but Oh!
A princess in our bed, I feel the pea
A tiny irritation right on cue
A grating indication that we are
Two spirits passing through the first caress
and driven past into infinity.
I’m looking straight ahead and not at you,
We’ll separate in steps, but c’est la vie.
Although no other man can double you,
although no lover can replace this ex,
We’re done, and if today you wonder why,
remember every A will lead to Z.
Queen of Hearts: Why?
Posted by Angela Brett in Birds of Canada, CERN, Dinosaurier, Discover Ontario, Fische, Holland, Hunde der Welt, Intriguing Development, Ireland, Katzen der Welt, Lyon, Mont Blanc, Paris, Pferde & Ponys, Pilze, Reptilien, Schmetterlinge, St James's Gate, Switzerland, The Best of Switzerland, Tierwelt Europas, Venezia, Wasservögel, Wildvögel, Writing Cards and Letters on August 24, 2008
Why are there poodles?
Why are there cats?
Why are there Bellan wrasse?
Cross-breeding of oodles
For eating of rats
To boost ocean biomass
Why are there leatherbacks?
Why is there beer?
Why is there Notre Dame?
We’ve banned aphrodisiacs
To free us from fear
In an effort to sauver nos âmes.
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why corythosaurus?
Why Holsteiner horse?
Why are there Cooper pairs?
To kill time before us
To show feats of force
They send thirteen thousand amperes
Why are there wood hedgehogs?
Why are there clothes?
Why are there queens of hearts?
For Lumpi to teach French dogs
To hide what God loathes
So the kings can enjoy their parts
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why Malahide Castle?
Why’s there Lake Sils?
Why are there tundra swans?
To use a land parcel
It rains, the hole fills
Now there’s no room for mastodons
Why are there butterflies?
Why are there birds?
Why did they bridge the Arve?
It’s so we don’t shut our eyes
To free falling turds
For the sake of appearing suave
Is there a god who says, “It’s ’cause I say”?
Is it for people who like it that way?
Is it ’cause particles followed some law?
Is it just random events, nothing more?
Why Maison du Mayet?
Why are there hares?
Why cruise in Georgian Bay?
It’s a raison de payer
For chic furry wares
‘Cause it’s ever so trendy that way
Why the Venice regattas?
Why the Rhine falls?
Why are there crested grebes?
Dear historical matters
For souvenir stalls
To eat the spare dough in Thebes
Yes to the god who says, “it’s ’cause I say!”
Yes for the people who like it that way.
Yes to the particles following laws
Yes to the random, its wonderful flaws.
Eight of Hearts: Two-part Harmony
Posted by Angela Brett in Holland, Writing Cards and Letters on July 27, 2008
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Let’s sing together in our own harmonic,
Let’s cry out all the words we need to say.
Let’s irrigate our souls with liquid tonic
until the final doubt is washed away.
But you’re the star, you’re telling your own story
to crowds of singing parrots, humming birds.
Although I’m just a moon, reflecting glory
I paint my own self-portrait with your words.
You radiate the lyrics from your core
of feelings I can never see inside.
I catch your eye in rapturous rapport,
no matter if our hearts don’t coincide.
You shine to see us moons all sing your song,
We beam to know a star will sing along.
Seven of Hearts: Varied Words for Snow
Posted by Angela Brett in Birds of Canada, Writing Cards and Letters on July 20, 2008
It’s macaronics de nouveau
Ă©crit sur l’air de Words For Snow.
Des mots pour la neige (a line-by-line ‘literal’ translation of Words for Snow)
A seven of hearts featuring a varied thrush sitting on a snow-laden branch
Je respire l’anglais, l’air de rien
mais quand je respire le français,
c’est l’eau qui semble m’Ă©touffer.
I took the plunge, and I’m aware
si je remonte, c’est moi qui perds.
Je parle français un peu de plus,
The air of English spreads diffuse
des petites bulles dans l’eau française,
a snow of words that Benoît says
C’est clair comme du cristal, mĂŞme plus
I wish such grace could reproduce
My tongues hang out, mouthwat’ring pair.
Je veux en boire des rivières.
In melting snow I want to stay,
to swim like fish in Angel Bay
in fluid French that’s clear and fun.
Â
Wine and cakes (a lipogram missing an English drink)
English is air I exhale,
French is a splash I expel,
choking on wine of my grail,
drowning in yield of my well.
l’Anglais je prends Ă la louche,
le français je crâche vers le ciel.
L’eau Ă la bouche qui me bouche
L’eau me lessive mais m’appelle.
Six of Hearts: Synaesthete’s blues
Posted by Angela Brett in Birds of Canada, Schmetterlinge, Writing Cards and Letters on July 13, 2008
Two vodka oranges ’cause now I’ve got the blues
I cannot see the letters in the colours that you choose.
To start, the way you write your S
imparts a way-too-bright fluoresc-
ence, but it is for you, synes-
thete, near enough to true finesse.
‘Twould not be such a foreign ges-
ture, if it were an orange S,
but it’s a sin for you, es-
thete, saying it’s a blue S.
Two votes to orange S ’cause now I’ve got the blue S,
I cannot see your letter S in the colours of the true S.
Four of Hearts: Alice and Bob
Posted by Angela Brett in CERN, Writing Cards and Letters on June 29, 2008
I gave a note to Isaac meant for you,
but Marvin changed my message to a curse,
and though the barb that reached you wasn’t true,
you shivered at the harshness of my verse.
The next time I made sure to use a code,
So such a change would never fit the rhythm.
But Eve was smart, and understood my ode,
Her friends took part, and took our secret with ’em.
Embarrassed by such semaphore of hearts,
I used entangled light to write my note on.
But Eve still looked, and such a look imparts
an altered quantum state upon the photon.
To heχ with fears of stickybeaks or malice
Dear Bob, I’ll shout, I love you, signed, your Alice.
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