photo: Wainui Bay, near Pohara, oystercatchers tend to be moody, seemingly very busy and impatient, a lot like human beings, it seems.
We were going somewhere, but where, we didn’t know, yet it seemed like a good idea at the time, although we did not know what was awaiting us
*posted in 2024, edited in 2026
photo: one evening, on earth. I combined two of my interests in this poem: the imperfect subjunctive, for which I have a particular affection, even if it is no longer fashionable, since I did my doctoral thesis on the use of this mood (but lost in English, in this particular instance).The second, Jung, whose company enriches my reflections.
We would open the door to dreams.
We would listen to their obscure messages.
and their ideas of grandeur
we would extract a grain of wisdom
from their grandiose staging
from our steps in the shadow that cast a shadow over us
so that the self would become oneself.
photo: Leaves speak the language of temperature. In all their autumn glory, they are telling me « the cold is coming ».
The light bends like a truth slightly guilty because of its harshness, while the leaves fall brilliantly. Why does my shadow tug at my sleeve to confide in me, to remind me of old stories I had buried so well? Yet we make peace for a while, just to crumple a few leaves in the last rays of light.
photo: oyster gatherers are often in pairs, in Pohara, always busy, doing what, I don’t know.
The days will pass
doing things,
doing something,
sometimes I will not remember what,
but I will do things
and the day will pass.
*posted in 2025
photo : sunset, Tata Beach
I will shorten the days
of the displeasures of the world
I will flatten the veins
of dark resentment
I will avoid words that are too light
for they weaken as soon as they are pronounced
nothing will be lost
everything will still be there
but buried
but buried
and relieved
of the jumble
