Sun Dancer

Said the Comte de Germain in a dream
Things aren’t just the way they seem.
One day you’re alive
and another you’re not
Isn’t life just a dream?

“Bon Soir,” said the man from Dijon,
Though the mustard was far from gone.
His delightful dessert
Was known through the world.
All hail to the men of Dijon.

A silly old man from Lyon
Had a very carefully manicured lawn
Little did he know
That fashion in tow
Was modern art feats instead of his fawns.

There once was a man who wrote limericks
He put as many words in a line as he could fit
This worked very well
Until came death’s knell
before he could to convince someone out there to publish it.

There once was a man from Toulouse,
Who put all his gold in a caboose,
When the tax man came,
He started his train,
That silly engine-less man from Toulouse.

Once I took to the sky with wings of a dove

To see how the world looked from above.

The winds of the universe blew,

and I henceforth knew,

that below with my friends was enough.

Fallen angel,
I see why you linger here
among the crocuses.
What a beautiful thing
to watch a flower grow
and be there
when the stamen first pierces
the sky.

“ Non ha l’ottimo artista alcun concetto
c’un marmo solo in sé non circonscriva
col suo superchio, e solo a quello arriva
la man che ubbidisce all’intelletto.

— MA

“ C’est un homme qui ne meurt point, et qui sait tout

— Voltaire

“ Errant sur un sable brûlant je le sentois a chaque instant s’affaisser sous mes pas les nuages s’ammoncelaient … sur ma tête, l’éclair sillonnait la nue, et donnait une teinte sanglante aux flammes du volcan … Enfin j’arrive, je trouve un autel de fer j’y place le rameau mysteriéux … Je prononce les mots redoutables … à l’instant la terre tremble sous mes pieds le tonnerre éclate

— CSG

“ Autrefois, les gens croyaient aux fées et aux fantômes.

Lyon.

“ Vois-tu ces grands bâtons droits ?
Ce sont les nouveaux arbres.
Vois-tu ces grands batons droits ?
Ce sont leurs nouvelles armes.

Someone tiptoed around the corner
and caught me dreaming. Of where
the rose still grows
unencumbered
by the thorns
of our desire.