Delphi

===Outside===

From the summit
Lost in blue
The temple overlooks
The river and the sea below
Where ships dance between waves of tiny mirrors


===Inside===

On a whitewashed
Wall
Daubed in
Earth colors,
A profile
Outlined in black,
Tells tales of
Ancient rituals

And
Prayers to forgotten gods
Are painted
In
Images of hope
Behind a
Haze of smoldering sage


===Beneath===

Untold are the
Myriad of
Unadorned stories

Spectators
Hum the chant
Of future love and plenty


===All in all===

The Oracle will murmur:

Nothing changes
And time alters all.

__________________________________________________________________

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

Reflections 6

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

For Each day...

For each day
Our friendship endures,
In a white vessel that sails
Toward unknown shores,

We stir the infinite ocean
Leaving a trail of indecipherable waves,
Each a measure of the passing moment,
And of the calm it procures.

Yet, no seafaring occurs
Without uncertainty of reaching port,
Or apprehension of grazing invisible reefs,
Or dread of seeing someone lost.

In the sunlight hours,
Or under the star blanketed night,
Each passing day,
Reminds us that, still, our friendship endures.

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

Until Hell Freezes Over

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

De Saison

Click here to hear the author read the words below

Lignes rectilignes dans un miroir d'argent,
Points cassés.
Tirets-
Virgules,
Mon amour,
(Lui, Elle, Eux),
Lèvres pincées,
Crache vers le ciel.
Doigt d'honneur :
« Dieu ? Rien à foutre… »
Dixit, insoumis.
L'intérim éphémère de la vie
Vous regarde glacés, transis,
Cadenassés
Tandis que
Je pars sur les routes
De, pour et à l'aventure.
Peut-être même les chemins creux
M'étonneront-ils encore,
Et aussi des prairies, où l'herbe verte,
Matelas des siestes paresseuses,
M'invite.
Fini de vivre comme un mort!
Je sens,  je touche,  je goûte, j'écoute…
Je vois
Les chansons de ces drôles d'oiseaux
A plumes noires ou bleues.
Et puis, et puis :
Respirer… Respirer…
Fermer les yeux pour mieux voir.
Se taire…
Pour mieux entendre,
Mais pas vous…
Vous avez fini de nous vendre de l'air en boîte,
De nous casser les oreilles
Avec tous vos rêves  de merveilles matérialistes,
Verduns de tous les amours du monde,
Enveloppés de film plastique inodore,
Made in China ?
Reviennent les vacances de l'Improviste,
Sans rétroviseur,
Sans ouvrage que celui d'aider l'Autre.
Oui, l'Autre…
Je n'aurais jamais pensé
Qu'un jour ton nom
Serait inscrit à l'encre rouge
Dans la colonne
Des partis sans laisser d'adresse.
Tu te souviens, dis, camarade?
Plus de drapeaux !
L'Amour n'a besoin ni d'hymne, ni d'étendard,
Mais de poésie sans frontières.
Le vent change.
L'été part.
Et les hirondelles s'alignent sur les lignes rectilignes
Avant de prendre leur envol.

English translation 

 Seasonal

Straight lines on a silver mirror
Broken periods.
Dashes-
Comma,
My Love,
(Him, Her, Them),
Pursed lips,
Spits into the sky.
Middle finger extended:
"God? Don't give a fuck ..."
Dixit, defiant.
The ephemeral transience of life
Looks at you
Frozen,
Paralyzed,
Padlocked
While I travel the roads
Of and for adventure.
Perhaps even the sunken paths
Will still astonish me
As well as the meadows, where the lush green grass,
Mattress of lazy siestas,
Invites me.
No more living like the dead!
I feel, I touch, I taste, I listen…
I see
The songs of those bizarre birds
Of black or blue feathers.
And then, and then:
To breathe… To breathe…
To close one's eyes to better see…
To fall silent
To better hear,
But not you…
Are you done selling us air in a can?
Deafening us
With all your materialistic dreams,
Verduns of all the loves in the world,
Packed in odorless plastic wrap,
Made in China?
May the holidays of The Unexpected return,
Without rearview mirrors,
Without any labor but that of helping the Other.
Yes, the Other…
I never thought
That one day your name
Would be entered in red ink
In the column of Those Who Went Away
Without Leaving a Forwarding Address.
Do you remember, hey, comrade?
No more flags!
Love needs neither anthem nor standard
But craves poetry without borders.
The wind's changing.
The summer's leaving.
And the swallows are aligned on straight lines
Before taking flight.

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

Crossings

 

Copyright 2010 Alain Millon

Timelessness

The visitor opens the window
To see the colors of the outside world
But the curtains are drawn.
She left the door unlocked
So matters would be simple
She thought.
Is it three?
A sun ray catches speckles of dust
Floating in the yet-to-be-filled
Container of his thoughts
As he drinks the last of his morning
Vodka tonic
With a twist.
Or is it twelve?
He'd like it to be seven
 But she asked him to wait until two.
She hears the chimes from the room inside
Where dark corners blur with the earth tone yellows
Of a forty-watt bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling.
"I interrupt this program," he mumbles.
He reads the article again
In the Sunday paper brought on Friday.
It's about a letter
Found years later
Between a chimney and a wall…
Received, lost and never read,
Yet sealed.
Next to a story about changing weather patterns,
The headline screams:
"Lovers reunited after fifty years"
He was asking her to wait until two
But she came at ten
Although he preferred seven.
"Poor bastard," he murmurs.
"She loved you."

©2010  Alain Millon