Hurlant
Comme un loup piégé,
Fouettant
Le miroir lisse du fleuve
En vagues d’acier
Le vent arrive,
Charriant le froid des glaciers
Et les chants des baleines.
Mes oreilles sifflent
Et le monde d’avant est balayé
Avec les fleurs du blanc cerisier
Aux recoins du passé.
Assembling the Jigsaw of a Febrile Imagination
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Stay Bloody Poetic
i think therefore i write
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Ein OIKOS[TM]-Projekt gegen Antisemitismus, Rassismus, Extremismus und Fremdenfeindlichkeit.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
Writer & Photographer
Canadian Zen Haiku canadien ISSN 1705-4508
Ramblings of an Irish ecologist and gardener
Poetry of a changing Earth. The grief is real--so is the hope.
Inspiring others through the written word, fictional blurbs & documenting my writing process from scratch.
occasional musings of an itinerant seanchaí polishing his craft online
The Things That Are In My Head.
offbeat words for you...
Just writing what's on my mind
AS HUMILDES OPINIÕES DE UMA MULHER DE CORAGEM QUE DIZ SIM À VIDA!
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≈ fictionalpaper / piccoloscissors / creativeglue ≈
Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!
Jane Dougherty Writes 
Jane, I ticked “like” to indicate my visit – but really, I’m lost 🙂
Occasionally a poem comes with a French version. Or it can be a French poem that comes with an English version. But I can only rarely sit down and write from scratch in French. This is just a version of the Wind poem that translated itself like this.
C’est un morceau assez profonde, Jane.
Thank goodness for google translate. 🙂
I didn’t want you to have to work for it, Laurie! It’s more or less the same as the previous poem about the wind.
Not hard work at all Jane, I’ve become adept at using Google translate. 🙂