I swear to you
Her name is Marie
Dance in all weathers
Goes out of its way at the slightest wave
To sour his cape
The gritty spirit of the Mist Eaters.

love compassion equanimity
His great fame fills the horizons
From poetry to metaphysics
We can marry
On earth and in the sky
Joyfully crowned head.

His Fruit is the Master
The Paraclete as soon as he comes
The paparazzi's whipping boy
The gold pin on the ticking
To show the way home
To finally discern reality.

Along the Limagne
She fed on wild berries and fruits
The moonlit night
She sat on the pulpit
Receiving the vernacular word
Of the primordial Awakening she rejoiced.

Tilting the head
She sleeps against the tree
The heart fills with clear light
Coming as it was said
As a true clairvoyant
Teaching us the unthinkable relationship.

And everything is silent
The past, the present, the future have joined
Lazy and pleasant
She dreamed of the Source
The breast offered to water bubbles
Its large open wings.

1439

I believed in you
The rise without words
Little lost cells
Neither silk nor satin
For worship in summer.

Involutional wisdom
Of the soul escaping in smoke
With time passing
And delivers deep gashes
In the shadow of the path.

Sitting against the mound
To caress the dry herbs
Pure awakening to infinity
Placed wine and fruit on my funeral bed
Delivered to the clouds as much as to earthworms.

I was walking up there
On the summits
And my gaze on the horizon
To the abyss
Pamper the impermanence of things.

I can only tame the fence posts
Become ghosts
Although I am forbidden
To have friends
Me the solitary walker.

Mauve offering
In immaculate blue
The walk was endless
Exhausting even
While the promised peak was already in sight.

1438

From the Beautiful Opening
Spread with ten fingers
Between the softness of the cheeks
And tears of joy
The plumb of who loves
Pass pass will pass.

The mist whispers
Nutcrackers from the summit white
To scare the March hare
Perfect submission
Reducing melting snow
Over the cat's tooth.

Palmée
Weaved with a thousand traits of the mind
Life opens
Where reading was the only pleasure
Long before the redness of dawn
Where to survive like a fish in the rut.

Ouch !
The queen initiative
With a stealthy look
Snorting on the edge of the abyss
To assess the thickness of the straw
For donkey at rest.

Delivering tunic
In his generosity
The night goes by
High banners in the wind
To hear laughter 
The local ptarmigan.

Sit
Open the bag
Feast on wine and whistles
Gather some blueberries
Chin in hands
Wait for it to pass.

1437

The grouse
On its raised dewclaws
Fell in love with the heather hen
Just to sadden
The waters of the dark torrent.

Handled it in such a tender way
That inoculating through
A few words of love
He crossed the red line
Without forgetting the sorrows of the century.

Massacres massacres
The flowers remain beautiful
The tango dancer tanguotes
The Great Journey is for tomorrow
The faded remains of casualness fly away.

Under house arrest
Galloping at a triple gallop through the pampas
The Strange Blind Man with High Cheekbones
Remembered very early
Let the treasures of emotions not gather moss.

I can't save him
Steep ravines of complacency
He is the paragon of gauchos
The hilarious host of the poultry market
Who turned his cheek to the arbitrariness of reality.

He will survive the illusion
Of his singular belchings
When pushing hermeneutic work
Towards its infinite completeness
Could rise from the pampas the smell of grilled meats.

Metempsychosis lined him up against the wall
To chase something more
That the contemplation of origins
This assignment
To “not be more than something”.
 
How old was he
When he was relegated to the common grave
Symbols of the Nation
He the meticulous investigator
He the slayer of the colonels.

Sometimes he was found
Under the big tree near the corral
To blow on the geniuses of the company of angels
While behind the barrier
Figured on horseback the Good Father of the lost.

The wanderer with the nimble pen
Knew how to portray the executioner and the victim
Without straying from where he got the instructions
Except for the admirable library of Babel
That contingencies forced him to not be able to read.

Phylactery tightrope walker
The keeper of instinct
Even allowed himself to invent the Internet
When other co-religionists
Worked in poverty.

Shakespeare is at his doorstep
And the mists carry me away
If the minotaur emerged from the labyrinth
Done to Luis Jorge Borges
The honor of emitting the cry of a last writing.

1436

( Work by Jean-Claude Guerrero )

Triptych of the Orient
A thousand miles from the coast
Pain shrouded in gauze
Without respite in the middle of the waves
The swell unfurls its soul.

Riding the cloud is no easy feat
Just like growing wings
When the Immaculate of our orifices
Unfold on the cardinal wall
The forked abundance of our chattering tongues.

Single obstacle to stability
It's time for short grass
For a darkness offering its fogs
To the cause heard
For having been faithful.

It was cold in this pignatelle
Without seeing the horizon
It had been agreed
To face the moment
In the emerging green spring.

The magical herbarium
Curled up at the bottom of the trunk
Let it appear
By a very round moon
The heart wary of remaining alone.

The cardinality of the place
Abhors rough logs
Arranged in disorder on the rasputitsa
Sweet flowers far away forever
Codicils of the complaint.

The pretense of retirement
Train our vulgar stories
Towards the sight of tears
While cackling at the auction
The wild geese pass.

Poor puppets
Uncapped with teeth
The desire took them
To lift across
The piers of the drifting bridge.

Living greedily
Dressing over the years
Omen sad passion
When come and go
The sentient males of the faribole.

Unique by grace
To run your hand
On the slope of a goat's skin
It was easy for us
To enter the fumigation hut.

Abrupt peril
Ocean scents
At the sight of the clouds tearing each other apart
Appeared action diverticulum
The empty space of presence.

Close the work
Will take place at the great crossroads of open air
Facing the azure
Waiting for sailor's faith
The slightest atom of common sense.

1435

( Work by Jean-Claude Guerrero )

D’un grain l’autre
À fendre la lumière
L’attelage du profond des grottes
S’est arrêté à point nommé.

Petits cailloux aux gorges déployées
Ont poussé leurs coursiers
Par le temps libéré
Sur un édredon brodé.

Courez messieurs de la haute
Ou bien légiférez parmi les nues
Trognes hirsutes
Émergeant du bouge aux lanternes fêlées.

Le lit couvert de livres
Avons conçus un éboulis
Ressassant par le menu
Les contes et merveilles de la parodie.

Mille miroirs aux vertus glissantes
Retenaient le quartz redondant
Pour fil à fil
Lisser le filet aux oiseaux.

Et je prêchai prêchai
Que le Bon Père
Ne courrait plus après l’apprenti-solitaire
Affublé de branchages et de mousses.

Le ciel est ouvert
Blanche tunique apparue
Sur le saisissant printemps
Me claquant le visage au vent.

Proche de l’aube sapientiale
Qui tarde à s’élever
Le sentiment d’éternité
Rapièce un koan éclaté.

1434

On the scrolls of writings
By the beach
You were marmoreals under my tree
To tell me a sweet song
In the rustling of the pines.

Essence Signal
Firmed then rejuvenated
You grouped us at the bottom of the cave
Near the sacred hearth
To see the driftwood burn.

Sitting almost all day
I had scrutinized the thoughts of my century of life
Worried that I am
Before the birds chirp
Gives crutch to my senses.

Always losing your way
When the dew cries
And that by the curved grass
Ask the shadow
“What are you ? »

Come
And lick me
The wound on my temple
So that no matter where our steps take us
Envelop us in mists.

On the stake
On the lineage rubbed with sea foam salt
I closed the truce
For hardware past oystercatchers
Speech like this.

Ultimately
think alone
And die alone
Merge in perfection
Far beyond mental attitudes.

In the heart of the tree
In the heart of man
The dark precipitate sleeps
Years gone by
To rebuild the city.

The face attracts the face
By bushy kisses
To dust off our metaphysical fears
Ready to surrender
With the Cloth of Gold.

The lumberjack can knock
The baby bawls “areu”
The soldier clicking his iron shoes
I clap my hands
As civilized noise passes.

Eyes bulging
Are painted with grains of sand
To welcome not without emotion
Morning Companions
Hands on the kidneys.

The dogs peed on me
Business is not working
In the morning we will drink wine
And in the evening rush towards the highlands
The “without thought” in “thought itself”.


1433

Three is better
To engineer the opening
When the "Intimate story"
And the "Why does my heart beat?"
To the underground offices of our completeness.

Three is better
To seriously knock
Then go out of your way
And propose the imposed figures
From the poem Immortal.

Men ! What power
When beings emerged from the anatomical boards
Who up there is running out of breadcrumbs
Blessed the sky with their breath
Like rabid beasts.

Planted there
At the door to the place of knowledge
They had prepared their business
Although nothing worked
The dragon not wanting to come out.

The leader
THE "Dazzling clandestine"
The only Egyptian
To the Spirit triangulated with serpentiform neurons
Argued from his instinct.

The shivering "Desire for eternity"
From her eyes to fine tears
Simpered with a semblance of compassion
Waiting for the opening
From absolute freedom.

The third element
A fireproof preparation
Called "The Collected"
Bathed in the amber atmosphere
For the providential meeting.

L’ "Intimate story" opened
To offer yourself, his, Yasunari Kawabata
To popular vindictiveness
Him, the transcriber
States of spirituality.

The strategy was to denounce
Places of full employment
Of forced wandering
In the cruel theater
From the dream reality.

On the right the "Why does my heart beat?"
Messy in love
Draw his desire
Doesn't matter much
Let disenchantment reign.

By ephemeral propitiatory dance
Making the genius of the place resonate
In the unusual Tower of Babel
With reassuring appearances
Creates identity uncertainty.

This is how men live
To plant the roots of good
Near the burning coals of unreason
So that suddenly
The poem can flee with its wings.

1432

The ash tree rose to the sky
Like the toad on the moon
To clear his thoughts
While towards the horizon
The Andeans are disappearing.

At the foot of the house
The absence of consciousness
Accentuated what was happening
Gone reality
Waiting for an inner speech.

To go in small jumps
Along the aisle
Gets the bush sparrow
The need to run wild
As he goes about his day.

Engrave your name on the trunk
Funny story to gorge on with giggles
A couple’s wineskin of opulence
 For single use
In times of misuse.

A young child settled under the antlers
An old man passing by
Asked about the color of lichens
Without the child raising his head
Pass nutmeg !

Smug little ripe brains
Wing-shaped samaras
Left the clusters
Going to complete the oatmeal
With a smile of mission.

Treaded the meadow
The shepherdess' strides
Victorious for having convinced the majority of the herd
To barter a few sheep
For a handkerchief waved in the wind.

Pipistrelle the beautiful
Delivered to the delirious crowd
came to cry
When free of insects
Death will frost the plaster of the walls.

Young lady
Set up your swing
To strut with ease
In the confusion of the antlers
Bringing the wolf out of the woods.

The Italian Straw Hat Poet
On his cane chair
In the thick shadow of the foliage
Began to proclaim claim declaim
Some seasonal buds.

The emotion comes
Worry twists me
Would I still be a refuge for birds ?
The Way is long
And the merciless time.


1431