Tag: French verse forms

35 posts

Cut the Crap: descort

You seek for “truth”: for the origin of being, the thing in itself, but either don’t look hard enough, or waste time looking in the wrong spot. It’s right here: the meaning is no recipe, it is not the history of a dish to be rehashed at leisure to impress special friends. What a double-edged…

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Lines from Our Epitaph: chant royal

’Tis morning, for the cock at dawn has crowed; and in the bustle of the waking day each wipes away the sleep and takes their load from where it slept – and moves along their way. Some burdens may seem lighter than the rest, mere trifles, more akin to happiness than heavy sacks of lead,…

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Round Again: chanso

And so around again: the how, the where, the when; could be and might have been; the raven or the wren. The sword versus the pen: in battles now and then it’s hard to tell who wins; the line is blurred, and blends. What’s up around the bend? Who knows? To see us then is…

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The Renaissance Myth: bref double

If genius is the thing that saves mankind by pulling it along above the mud, and with the rarest spark, inducing flames to warm against the night the coldest souls, then why does the world still seem deaf and lame? Could be, outside that magic, a savant controls the weak container that is man, so…

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Some Sense of Meaning: ballade

The world is what it is, the pundits claim; and City Hall no pugilists defeat. No matter where you go, things stay the same; you either like your bourbon iced, or neat. A thing is in itself almost complete; just unifying theory holds it back, a brave philosophy in which to beat some sense of…

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The Know of Unclouding: descort

What if I thought for just a moment of some mitigating circumstance that might prove beyond a shadow of doubt the single truth behind all appearances, and in that fleeting instant, found instead of solid rock, just cloud, and what if when I reached within that mass of disappearing mist and air I forgot just…

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The Press Conference: descort

No outrage, just amused (perhaps its because I can’t stand the sound of his voice) It reminds me of a song by Robyn Hitchcock “He’s the president of Europe and he’s talking to the dead / They’re the only ones who’ll listen or believe a word he’s said” That, and Wenn ich Kultur hore entsichere…

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