Category Archives: Vorbele de căpătâi

The Giant

Posted on by
The Stone Giant by Anna Höglund


…
was it but a dream
all the rainy mornings dressed in skin
the evenings in the cold chasing purple stars,
young hearts never getting old
lovers in the chain of storm
fast cars crashing down
some things turn to gold, others never hold;
what I miss the most
is a song my lips be spelling in the scent of Holy Ghosts
on high rocky roads crossing
you were naked in the wild
with a smile dressed in white
and everyone that came along
carved and carried larger stones…
so,
give me back the music and let me play my cello
I still hear the horses
can you keep it breathing until we reach the border?
Alice,
I remember now –
you gave me the stories and I gave them hope
grains of silver on a field of stone,
and I don’t need no colors
to paint it back alive
for I’ll always be a Giant
awake in the exploding Sun…

The Rope

Posted on by

They wrote it on a wall rising before me
charcoal on a stone to stand tall forever,
“Put down your hunger
and forget the gain,
rest your shadows
there is time today”
and I sat with the Lord
bowed down my sword
and with a wide heart I weighted the whole…

How often do you chase a pond in a lake
or a drop in the hay the days that it rains?
and I cut the rope,
harps start playing the obscure
the nights turn to clay
to mould them right out in a better way
with the veins in my hand
and the dreams that remain
like a vision I had back in the day…

Testament (II)

Posted on by

In the night that came around
just before the demons fed on dreams unaccomplished,
I have seen the stars,
one needs darkness for the light to show
and nothingness makes place for everything to happen
when hope is in the trade time’s a moment repeating on itself…

I am in the present written from a book that’s spared
hired as a preacher selling truths,
I scar inside and change the fate of those who look
ask me for a question that may open minds,
for silence rides a racing horse that wins
and grass grows where only dust remains –

The last scribe hunts words shaped in coal
an understanding offered to an altar in the desert,
why push forward when the heart is heavy
in the total absence of ideas
kneel before the center of existence
and cry a prayer as a sentence burnt in stone…

The passage

Posted on by

I have met her in a dream
where the nights refuse to stay
and I am driving to the mountains left side from the sea,
have a calling for the heights
and got a house to build,
my two arms digging making place for roots to fit –
oaks to grow up in our garden
for our kids to play;
showed your soul through opened rib-cage at occasions
and the bleeding pulled your madness to the surface,
in the battle to exist
you did misspell the road to glory…

I have met myself through life
an old men always feeling younger,
I do not dream but did imagine
all the terrors locked in bottles of their own,
it took some time to learn the lessons
took a lifetime to remember words of wisdom written in the clay,
my second mother left a testament for loving
words were few but burnt in deep,
and did I listen?
I recall the war as I do the taking my goodbyes
hoping that beyond the havens she is very much alive…

I have met my army marching
their feet naked and the hands up in the air,
counting stars when nothing’s left to trust
they slide one after the other in the gutter,
I loved her once, I’ve got a photograph misplaced somewhere
but nothing could have guessed the silence to become,
when the grass turned greener everywhere
while my backyard covered with a yellow scent,
the Doctor wrote me medication
and I fell asleep once more,
dreaming of a calling for redemption,
dreaming of a different world…

John the Baptist

Posted on by

I write with a drink,
the words that I sip
and pour them down all over your hips…

I forgot your name,
how does one say when you bring water that turns into wine,
I shall call you Alice –
it suits you as one that still lives in a wonder,
how can that be?

As I did not learn your name,
at dusk I shut blinds and locked up the door,
we did not have a dog for we could not choose a name
so each time it asked we’ve fed him blue dust
and then just hoped…

You are a little girl, you wander a lot,
your steps are not measured but my sail wind is,
and your tears paint red
a whole sea has changed,
before going to bed…

I asked the skies for wings to fly
so branches came out of my two eyes
and each time a nest opened my chest I felt I could step on a cloud;
one day they left,
children of mine, to age and build up the same…

I speak days and recite the nights
with leaves that fall under the weight of so many stars,
and as you put your back into the ground
I kiss your skin and hold you into my arms….

And I start to drink
a bottle of the words that I fear
and I’d be soon drinking the sea…

Music

Posted on by

I need music to put the days in motion
for music is the color of the life I gathered
and my core burns notes instead of carbon,
I need dancing in my soul even if my feet be freezing
and the jumping beat of changing weather,
to close my eyes and surrender to the dreaming…

So sing to me your longest ballads stranger
don’t let sunshine pass without your fingers playing
and paint your pastels in the fountains of my lights,
I live on rhymes and lyrics spoken from the heart
may your voice be more than just vibrations
and your chords be strings your feelings stroke…

To my fans

Posted on by

I am writing letters to my fans
groupies gathered at the electric fence –
it has been a while
I have missed you Kyle,
on the streets the life is tough
luckily I’ve found a cheap ass pub
fifteen pints for my last pounds,
hey Dolores dance a round
even if there is no tune
I will sing with you tonight
clothes and bother falling down,
and the poetry I wrote
is for the girls I almost loved
all I’ve felt and never told
put on plate to dine upon;
take the books before the burn
chapters noted must be read
pages folded shall be left
in this world there is no end,
cutting skin to look inside
hands are gloved, the spirit cold
I have yet to touch a heart
beating faster than the sun,
and the wall that goes forever
keeps it hidden from the rest
If I ever say those words
hope they trust to carry gold…

Discours

Posted on by

Ce soir je me permets rêver…
j’écoute le bat d’horloge de la salle de bains,
immergé dans une chaude vie fluide qui caresse mes limites,
un verre de vin de Saint Émilion,
un témoignage qu’a fait naître un livre,
des brèves messages d’une ancienne copine,
mes pensées prennent du recul,
je me vois dans mon intimité,
ça faisait longtemps que je n’ai pas décidé que pour moi,
je me sens libre,
porteur d’une liberté inviolable…
je suis un homme !
il me restent trois semaines à vivre dans le désert,
du temps qui s’écoule au même temps que ma médiocrité…
je serai un soldat véritable dans peu de temps,
amené à vivre dans l’ombre de grand Broca,
j’ai des oreilles,
des yeux,
les doigts crispés sur une lame prête à couper,
je me transforme,
je redevienne –
on m’a touché la main avec des lèvres noires,
je ne le mérite pas plus que lui,
c’est lui l’héro qui a vaincu,
et moi l’apprentie,
je suis Ses bras et je suis Sa volonté –
un martyr qui sourit !