Le départ

Quelle est la couleur de mes jours, tu me demande ? Depuis que tu es parti ils sont sans couleur... celle des foins séchés au plus sévère du soleil, du fourrage pour le bétail à  l'odeur de la terre moisie - oui, c'est ça : mes jours ensevelis, ils attendent que tu vienne les déterrées et leur donner de la couleur aussi vif que le soleil rose-orange qui se couche sur le champ d'aôut.

The Barrens, part i

In the barrens

Nothing grows

But silence

Roots can't find

Their way

Through crusted earth,

Skin so thinned

It's thick with armour -

Invisible, impassable coat.

Quiet, desolate,

The Arctic tundra;

Dangerous, yet

Beautifully barren.

THE EMPIRE

to exterminate

to expel

exterminare

armenians led to the desert

to die

100 years ago   now

no one came     no one stopped

the genocide    1.5 million tortured

raped starved   finally to rest

in their blood and excrement        waiting

on death       asking

why?

it was a quiet little genocide

one hundred years to remember

one hundred years to forgot

Tramping Trails

She darts in and out of the cedars that line the old bog,

decides on a deep muddy hole to cool herself off

and emerges black as the bear who spent his winter there.

The storm is near, palpable underfoot as the thunder tears

through trees and the girl chases the beast through green,

and gold prairie grass.

I look for cover but there is none, vernal budding just begun;

on the path I wait for her return while the rain falls and drowns

out all but a retriever chasing the roar of colliding clouds.

Hello dear May Day-ers!

My ink-well has been dry for a while now, but I'm hoping to feed off of your words and your inspiration so I can create a few interesting ink blots of my own. Please feel free to analyse!