Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Renart, Magician…
How will Renart play the luth,
Of how will he culbutate,
For Noble His King virevolt
« Per Bona Fide Per State »
He found a Queen to this Kingdom
An Oriental princess whom Rome,
Admired and appreciates !
« Renart wants to bind Law, all Means !
Establishes with Hermeline
And Our Kings’ Due Approbation…
His three sons, the vine, the Mansion »
« And be Knight of the Royal Sceal ! »
As a magician he appealed
All hearts to his own well being !
Villon
Did you read Villon ? Amazing !
The ballad for hanged men : congrats !
He was condemned, and there he sat !
He was graced… The poet from France.
I never stole a quid nor two,
But have to applause with good sense,
He was acclaimed since these times too !
I guess ! And deem… – France, versifying ?
A bandit from the Middle Ages !
Wrote me a poem ! Coverage :
Thousand years ago ! A distance,
Esteemed, the Stars’ Twilight would bring !
To which France leave I my poems ?
In the streets, full of Sentinels,
Paris sleeps at day, nights recel,
The rehearsal of our old dreams…
At war the French people prays, spells,
And fights… Far as I know repels,
Our ennemies, they die, it seems.
France is a blessed land I’m serene !
Kalina Shivanayama
Kali o Thy love of Shiva,
Reign onto me, with all Justice
In my few instants : Glory, Bliss !
For You o Thy Kali, Baba !
To Kali my life would provide
If I pray Her then, night and day.
« Kali, Kundalini Yoga,
Mantra, Tantra… – Kali deva ! »
Serve ! Whispers the echo : serve Her !
You might be in Her Praises, flare !
I dear, and I dear my prayers…
The noble Mysteries I glane
Praying Kali, drive on a lane,
Of flowers – the hearts of Her Priests.
Kali ! Asceticism ! Feist !
The Banksters
The markets know an in-between,
In NYC, call Howard Dean !
Call Obama, Trump and Prince Charles !
What happened ? On his phone Blake gnarls,
To team members : CREDIT FUNDING.
– But no one answer to our calls,
Says Joshua : they all assist
The burial of Agent Paul,
Though Blake, we think he still exists…
– Are you kidding me ? Where is he ?
He must not live ! As we agreed !
Find him ! I will call, in Paris,
« Delanoë »
– No Blake !
– Succeed !
– Succeed or you will be redeemed !
– Do not call him Blake ! He’s in jail !
{A SECURITY BELL RINGS HIGH}
– Alert ! Three armed men on B2 !
– Tyson ! Rockets traps ! I am through,
To Kirghizistan ! But what a fail !
I hate you !
– We all know you,
Blake !
– You are on my mire Josh…
– But you’re a fake ? Blake ?
« Soch’
Soch’
Beng’
Boum. »
– Glocks
Timothee Bordenave is a writer, and an artist, from Paris France, where he was born in 1984.
After a law degree he exercised as a librarian, and directed two libraries in Paris.
Along with the publication of more than twenty books of poetry, novellas, and essays, he has often presented his graphic works of paintings and photographs, in France and also abroad.
