Jesse le Fou

Let the images speak.

Archive for the 'Poems' Category


Poet du jour: Paul Eluard.

Posted by jtrussell on January 15, 2008

I love you for all the women I have not known
I love you for all the time I have not lived
For the scent of the vast sea and warm bread
For the snow that melts for the first flowers
For the pure animals untouched by man
I love you to love
I love you for all the women I do not love

Who reflects me except you, I am so small
Without you I see nothing but a vast desert
Between yesterday and today
There are all those deaths I crossed in the street
I have not been able to pierce my mirror wall
I have learned life word by word
As one forgets

I love you for all the wisdom that is not mine
For health
I love you against everything that is mere illusion
For the immortal hearts that I do not possess
You believe you are doubt, but you are reason
You are the great sun that makes me drunk
When I am sure of myself.

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Poet du jour: Elizabeth Bishop.

Posted by jtrussell on January 11, 2008

To Be Written on the Mirror in Whitewash

I live only here, between your eyes and you,
But I live in your world. What do I do?
–Collect no interest–otherwise what I can;
Above all I am not that staring man.

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Poet du jour: Philip Larkin.

Posted by jtrussell on January 10, 2008

First Sight

Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.

As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth’s immeasurable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.

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Poet du jour: Arthur Rimbaud.

Posted by jtrussell on January 9, 2008

Sensation

On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:
But endless love will mount in my soul;
And I shall travel far, very far, like a gypsy,
Through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman.

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Question to myself: what is this poem.

Posted by jtrussell on January 3, 2008

Skeptic and Believer

The Skeptic who
wants to Believe,
the sprout and the bean,
as Joanna might say,
needs courage in self
a guide along
the way.

It takes someone to show
there is more
than you know.
More love more joy more life.
Then you hear spirits
rush by
as you softly cry
and wish that you were better or more.

‘Til the soul of the world
slowly unfurls
and whispers only to you.
As you begin
to see
to see
to see
to see
to see.

For one who believes,
like the sprout and the bean,
can see light along
the way.

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Better Poetry.

Posted by jtrussell on December 20, 2007

‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I’ll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.
Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,
Poisoned in the bushes an’ blown out on the trail,
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin’ there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Now there’s a wall between us, somethin’ there’s been lost
I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it’s doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

I’ve heard newborn babies wailin’ like a mournin’ dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an’ they gave me a lethal dose.
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

Well, I’m livin’ in a foreign country but I’m bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine.
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

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A poem to start the day.

Posted by jtrussell on December 20, 2007

For Her

It was just a table
but he made it for her.

He carved the wood,
and sanded down the grain.
The legs were round
and solid,
the top was plain.
You could see the imperfections
and the knots
but it was sturdy and would hold
its charges.

It was made for food
and children and laughter.
It was made for family.
It was made to hold all
the moments that make up a life.

It was made to be home.

It was just a table
but he made it for her.

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