POETRY

Her glare-rimmed glazy gaze

Clouded by coloured craze

Blackened by a burning blaze

Dreaming of distant days

Snow tucked under his lower lip

Melting into his sleep

Where his thoughts and fears trip

Down into the deep

He moves his limbs, weightless

Sees his body, stateless

Fateless

Undisturbed by the hissing blow

Of wind coming through the window

Tes yeux surpris, deux agates bleues

Dessinent aujourd’hui des amandes parfaites 

Aux couleurs changeantes, bleue et vertes

Grands ouverts sur le monde, tes yeux 

Qui en ont vu de toutes les couleurs 

Alice qui rit, Alice qui pleure

On ne compte plus les années

Les enfants sont grands

Les saisons se ressemblent, parfums d’été

Du bois à couper, des framboises à cueillir

Les arbres de Noël sont devenus géants

Les petits enfants n’en finissent pas de grandir

Bien sûr, Il y des petites rides au coin des yeux

Un dos un peu voûté, le genou se rebelle

Contre les années, il y a ceux et celles

Qui les ont quittés, photos, lettres à l’encre bleue

Ceux qui passent au loin, en hivers ou en été 

On ne compte plus les années

Suzie the Centipede scurries across

whitewashed boards

In lonely hospital wards

Where snoozing old men pretend they’re not bored

And chubby nurses grasp medical swords -

-Fighting bacteria in perfect accord

Suzie skids into the outside

She uses the wind as her guide

A doubletree
that snaps
Into 5
skin cities
frozen vintage
Mochaland

Le film d’une vie en épisodes 

Sous-titre français, allemands, arabes

Un piano l’accompagne  

Musique de Bach ou de Mozart 

Le temps a un parfum de Provence 

Les livres respirent sur les rayonnages 

La chambre aux tapis est son isoloir 

Le passé tressé avec soin et raideur

Caressant la fraîcheur des courbes d’un cou

Se faufile, perdu, loin et en pleurs

Incomparable youth in his eyes,

As he starts out with a voice so peaceful and deep,

That sly, cocky hint in his smile,

The stories he tells that lull you to sleep

The tangles of my hair shrouding my dream

The charred knot in my raspy, unknown voice,

Smothering water letting off hot steam,

To ponder, think, and know there is no choice

He crept up on me

When it was too hot

Blood trickling from my nose

Kissing the wood

     Spiteful

A canvas filled with shapes,
and many obscure faces, open-mouthed,
Miniature carvings from men and women,

A Jean-Pierre Bellan, 25 Mai 2017

Le bleu d’un jean usé, bleu des pigments

Palettes éparpillées, ocres et carmins

La mer bleue d'Alger, dans le lointain d’avant

Le bleu des campanules, jardin après jardin

Sleep stained

Sleep strained

Clinging to your eyelids

Timeless tunes

Tinkle and totter

As memories - mumble,

Shake and shuffle

Spinning in your eyes

Inspired by St George and the Dragon, by Jacopo Tintoretto

I bolted towards the eerie array of colourless trees,

Leaning into the envenomed depths of the sea.

St George the Prince sat stiff, resolute

His bony fingers clasped around

the strands of moonlight floating from my mane.

Beyond the crevice of the soul,
lies a glorified story of my sleepless nights.
The dreams, too sour and ever too ripe,
overlap their brused shadows and slide out of my mouth.

Un hiver ou un été

Je partirai dans le froid ou dans le soleil

Dans un cristal de neige étoilé

My legs, moving faster than my shadow,
the colours in my sweaty hand,
Too far in such a short distance,
like dying before the end of life.

Seventeen

Delightful

Voice and Soul

6200 days

Home and away

Little blue hood

Lol, finicky mood

Un chien s’est suicidé

Un sourire s’est perdu

Des larmes se sont noyées

Weak and exhausted,
Hammered to my bed,
not be trusted,
for I’ve lost my head

Stacks of worn-out sighs and swollen hearts,
The leg of Egypt lifting elegance,
on its stretched out deserts and smiling pools of golden blue,

Sinful day,
and truthful night,
will betray,
the eerie light

You slumbered in the middle of the sea, 
with a melancholic smile on your soft face,
You dreamed of pretty things that could not be,
your dreams lulled you away to a strange place

Solitude,
is one feeling,
yet so many,
it is so vulnerable and nude,
silencing peace,
and creating a feud

It was a Summer night with starry skies,
The pale moon peeked timidly though the clouds,
The cool night air lingered with truths and lies,
The stars were glinting through the darkness's shroud.

My eyes flit open, darkness trickles in
The sky is cloudless, dun and without moon,
The wind gurgles, tiptoeing up my skin,
Inhibitions swept away by its tune