winter evening

frosty white sundown
expectant silence falling 
with the winter night 

solstice

Les arbres du soir jettent à nouveau

de longues ombres.

La lumière intense de l’été

Est douce maintenant et dorée.

Les blés sont moissonnés

et dans les haies et les jardins

les fruits, les baies mûrissent

vers leur récolte.

Combien de temps encore?

Il est passé, le temps de nos passions.

Nous aimons désormais avec tendresse et compassion.

car nos seins sont un peu flétris,

à force d’avoir nourri,

et nos chairs déjà un peu fatigués.

Combien de temps encore?

Déjà les hirondelles se rassemblent.

Les jeunes volent de leurs propres ailes,

et quittent les nids

et les maisons.

Quand ils retourneront,

comment sera le monde?

Combien de temps encore?

Mais quand les feuilles tomberont,

regardez bien:

Ils poussent déjà sur les branches,

les bourgeons du demain.

september haiku

late summer peace
lazy flowers flutter by 
beginning and end

soft evening

wild among flowers
and feet in the soft water

sweet summer delight

hope

soul healing silence 
summer grass and morning dew

soft under bare feet 

Brombeerzeit

Und ist denn schon wieder Brombeerzeit?
Liegt Sehnsucht auf Stoppelfeldern?
Der Sommer, der gar keiner war,
schon vorüber?

Verregnete Blumen, fruchtlose Gärten,
und Tränengeschmack auf dem Seewind:
schon Herbstes Ruh?

Wie gerne möcht ich sorglos einmal noch
in süße Früchte beissen,
im Sonnenschein!

ciel changeant

sous le ciel lointain
les champs jaunes de blé coupé
et le silence

finally summer haiku

birdsong and frogcroak 
dragonflies so swift and blue 
and shadow makes sense

fort la latte

 entre ciel et mer
suspendu dans le vent bleu
pierres et château fort 

pierres entre ciel et mer
vent bleu sans cesse vert sans cesse 
coupole convergence

a dragon tail

Once upon a time, in a country beyond nowhere and neverland, there was a village where lived a dragon. Every year, the villagers had to give him a young boy or girl so he wouldn’t come flying over their fields, burning their crops with his breath.

Knights from all over the world had come to the village to slay the dragon and have their name and their fame sung by the minstrels. They were encamped in the forest near the dragon’s layer, with their banners and tents and their armour and swords.

Every once in a while, one of them would sneak up on the dragon, when he lay in his cave, and try and take him by surprise. But the dragon always awoke too early, and sent out a hiss of hot breath, cooking the knight in his armour, and later, when he was a bit cooled off, he would have him for dinner.

After a while, none of the knights dared go into the cave anymore and they just sat there, staring at each other, wondering if they should draw lots about who was to go next, each one hoping his neighbour would volunteer to go himself.

One evening, a shepherd, a slender boy with deep sea green eyes and long black hair, got fed up with this business. He crept into the cave in the darkest hour of a dark and moonless night, when the dragon was fastest asleep. He sat down near the dragon’s head and began softly to sing. His voice was so soft and so dark that the dragon never woke up. He sang of deep seas and fishes strange and of islands far away. He sang on until morning. Then the dragon woke from his dreams. He had forgotten about cooking knights in their armour, forgotten about village children, all he wanted was to fly high over the deep green sea, to find the enchanted islands and the fish and the mermaids. He got out of his cave, stretched his wings and flew away. A dragon dropping fell smelly amidst the knights’ camp, and then he was gone.  He flew far and high over the green seas, until he came to the islands. There, he folded his wings and sat on the water like some giant gull. The fish and the mermaids were playing around his scaly feet and gradually he felt his fire go out. He sank and was content to live in the sea, and eventually married a lobster princess.

When the villagers realized that the dragon was gone, they were very happy. They gave a garden of mandarin trees to the young shepherd, and he lived happily ever after, singing songs and tending his mandarin trees.

The knights went home alone, and no-one ever sung their name and fame. 

summer haiku

cool the summerwind
fragrant barley ripening 

poppies on my path

ride the storm

Oh, let me ride the storm to the rainbow land

Where life is waiting for me,

With poppies and cherries

And roses and berries,

With laughter and kisses and smiles.

With nights fresh and blue,

Of freedom and dreams

Of white knights and firesides,

And islands white in the deep blue sea.

Oh let me ride the storm to the rainbow land,

Away from smoke and destruction

From sorrow and pain and from fear.

Let me ride, let me ride,

Oh let me away,

Let me ride the storm to the rainbow land,

Let me just ride away from here.

haiku de la motte

seule sous les hêtres
peuplée de verts mystères
la motte féodale

Für Florian, den wir am 5. Juni 2009 begraben haben

Ich suchte ihn Nachts

und rief ihn bei Tage,

und wanderte lang einsame Wege.

Folgte einer Hoffnung hin und wieder:

Dann war’s ein Irrlicht.

Und kam immer wieder zum selben

grauen Felsgestade,

und sah die schwarzen Wellen

ans Ufer schlagen so kalt,

da wusste ich:

Dort ist er hinab,

dort ist er verschwunden, versunken,

ins bittere schwarze Nimmermehr. 

first whiff of summer

birdsong and sunshine
and a first whiff of summer 
elderflower sweet 

renaissance clouds

Palaces, bridges, towers and bells,

The river is muddy from rain.

No light is in these narrow streets,

No poppies, no cherries,

No smiles and no sunbeams,

No laughing lips nor kisses.

I cannot understand the song

The wind is singing.

These palace walls

Are prison walls:

The hangman walked by here. 

balade toscane

sur la colline 
la maison, les oliviers 

sont seuls dans le vent 

to be back...

But oh for the mild glow

Of mellow old brick walls

Peeping through all shades of green

Of scented hills and valleys,

Ringing with blackbird-song.

And for the bright specks of red by the roadside

Of poppies that swing in the breeze,

Ripe kisses awaiting the harvest.

And for the sky so blue and deep

And humming with the everlasting

Music of the universe.

But oh for the ringing and singing of church bells

Swinging in steeples and towers of stone,

Singing of faith and of angels,

Of bloodshed and war and of fear,

Filling the air and the hearts

With their song.

Oh to be back…

february

wind and weather gods
are singing in the bare trees 
a song of changes 

for my friends

The evil eastern wind 

that cut through flesh and bone

and hurt my soul 

with light so bright 

and merciless

and shadows deep and sharp - 

no room was in those days

for dreams and hope -

the evil wind died down.

warm sun is on my face 

and birds are singing

of love and light

and better days to come

they warm my heart 

and by my loving thoughts 

may they warm yours! 

winter day

This winter morning

Silent, cold and bright

So blue grey white the sky:

Is it expecting snows and storms,

Or sudden raging bursts

of passion by the fireside?

Will sunshine come,

And birdsong,

Or silent clouds of snow?

Will peace be with us,

Or strife and struggle clamour

Through the world?

This winter day

So cold and bright

Has come and gone.

The stars are shining,

And Mars a fiery dot

So far, so far away. 

série des animaux

Série des animaux plus ou moins rares

Une plume de dragon,

Deux plumes de goélands,

Trois plumes d’anges :

Pour écrire des lettres de feu,

Pour écrire des récits de voyage,

Pour écrire des berceuses.

Quatre poils de lion,

Cinq écailles de sirène,

Six pommes de pin :

Font rugir

Font frémir,

Font plaisir.

Sept cils de licorne,

Huit feuilles de laurier,

Neuf dents de dinosaure :

Un rêve tout en blanc,

Une soupe odorante,

Un grand mal de dents.

Dix coquelicots,

Onze cornes de brume,

Douze plumes de pégase :

Rouge dans les rêves,

Perdue dans les possibles,

Je prends mon envol. 

dragon sky

a dragon feather 
pierced the moon last night
and liquid silver 
is flowing over the sky 


beware of dragon feathers
they write fiery letters 
and they might pierce
a heart 

printemps bleu clair

Gris argenté, un peu grisé,

De doux nuages reflètent

Le bleu de l’univers.

Timide et indécis,

De doux oiseaux gazouillent

Dans les bois sans feuilles.

Indécis, presque invisible, 

Le soleil se montre seulement parfois

En bordure des nuages.

Timide et indécis,

Le printemps compte les bourgeons,

En respirant le doux parfum des mimosas.

Quand l’hiver reviendra,

Il lui dira, un peu hautain :

Mais oui, mon p’tit monsieur, ‘y a  p’us d’saisons !