The Mermaid

The flashing blue and red lights

Accompanied by the whinnied siren

Let us know that the official force

Is quickly approaching the beach

Where we have found

A mermaid in distress.

We carried her on one

Of the promenade benches

One man had lent her his trench coat

As she was shivering in the wind

With her wet hair.

She seemed aware of us

But does not try to speak or communicate.

The police arrives and tries to shoo us away

Fat chance of that happening.

No way we are going to miss this

A TV car has also just arrived

This is going on live TV. A real scoop.

One can't say that she is beautiful

But she has a certain je ne sais quoi

About her as she keeps silent.

The police officer asks for witnesses.

Birds are circling around us

Restlessly their number increasing by the moment.

The surf is breaking over the breakers

With added forced trying to catch up

With íts lost princess as one of the reporters

Has just called her, Our sea princess.

While she, immobile and indifferent to all

And sundry has closed her eyes.

The roar of the wind increases

A bank of clouds rises from the horizon

And bursts on the scene.

Still the sea princess lets the squall pass over

While tears run down on her face.

Is it a unrequited love

That had brought her to our shores?

L. Bailliet©

06/07/2012

Les lumières clignotantes bleues et rouges

Accompagnées par le gémissement de la sirène

Nous annoncent que la force officielle

Se rapproche rapidement de la plage

Où nous avons trouvé

Une sirène en détresse.

Nous l’ avons porté

Sur un des bancs de la promenade

Un homme lui a prêté son trench-coat

Comme elle grelottait dans le vent

Avec ses cheveux mouillés.

Elle semble nous voir

Mais elle n’essaie ni de parler ni de communiquer.

La police arrive et essaie de nous éloigner

Aucune chance que cela se produise.

Pas question  de manquer cet événement.

Une voiture TV vient tout juste d'arriver

Cela va passer à la télévision en direct. Un véritable scoop.

On ne peut pas dire qu'elle soit belle

Mais elle a un certain je-ne-sais-quoi

Dans son attitude et elle garde le silence.

L'officier de police demande des témoins.

Les oiseaux autour de nous, nous encerclent

Sans relâche leur nombre croit par instant.

Le surf imbue d’un nouveau pouvoir déferle sur la jetée

Comme pour essayer de rattraper

Sa princesse perdue comme l'un des journalistes

Vient de l'appeler : Notre princesse de la mer.

Tandis qu'elle, immobile et indifférente à tous,

Les uns comme les autres, a fermé les yeux.

Le rugissement du vent augmente

Un banc de nuages ​​se lève à l'horizon

Et éclate sur la scène.

La princesse de la mer laisse passer le grain

Alors que des larmes coulent sur son visage.

Est-ce un amour non récompensé

Qui l'a amenée sur nos rivages?

L. Bailliet©

6/07/2012

Love and Devotion

Love and Devotion exhibition

Was mind boggling by the devotion shown

To the art of miniature by the unknown artists

I wished I had a magnifier glass

In order to study more of the fine details

In the frames of the paintings.

The cross cultural references were amazing

Across different times and peoples.

Of the seven paintings describing

The wives of the one sultan

Only one did not include music

Amongst the pleasures therein comprised.

It reminded me of the Dame à la licorne

Exploration of the seven senses.

How Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry

Look so amateurish in comparison with

The miniatures displayed today!

Although it showed daily activities

Such as hunting for food and sport

And the usual glorification of war

It also included the pleasures and delights 

Of education, poetry, discussion

Music, dance and love.

What a breath of culture from the Greeks,

Mongols, Persians, Turks, Indians and Chinese.

It also illustrated the arrival

Of the Western Europeans

In those far flown countries.

One becomes a witness to history

While perusing those manuscripts.

What a lovely way to travel

In the past and far away.

L.Bailliet©

14/06/2012

Victoria State Libray

http://exhibitions.slv.vic.gov.au/love-and-devotion

http://www.slv.vic.gov.au/event/love-and-devotion-persia-and-beyond

The haunted house

No one lives in the haunted house

By the escarpment nestled among the dark pine trees.

It is standing empty waiting for its next victim.

For decades now its only visitors

Are the howling winds of a mountain squall

And the naked witches dancing

On the remnants of the front lawn

In the magic light of the full moon.

Silently it listens while it sits ominously

As an evil fortress where demons of the night

Celebrate a Sabbath ritual.

Its window panes have disappeared a long time ago

And the wood of its veranda is slowly devoured

By the borers and other creepy unseen creatures.

But it still emanates a deep aura of malevolence.

Despite the romantic shade of the tall pine trees

Surrounding it, no lovers meet here.

It slowly dreams of the madness it provoked

Of the mass suicides it induced

As people detour to avoid it.

L. Bailliet ©

1/05/2012

Personne ne vit dans la maison hantée

Près de  l'escarpement, nichée au milieu des pins noirs.

Vide, elle attend sa prochaine victime.

Depuis des décennies ses seuls visiteurs sont

Les vents violents des grains de montagne

Et la danse nue des sorcières

Sur les vestiges de la pelouse

À la lumière magique de la pleine lune.

Silencieusement, elle écoute accroupie,

Inquiétante par sa présence

Comme une forteresse du mal où les démons de la nuit

Célébrent un rituel du sabbat.

Ses vitres ont disparu il y a longtemps

Et le bois de sa véranda est lentement dévoré

Par les foreurs et les autres créatures rampantes invisibles.

Mais elle émane encore une aura de profonde malveillance.

Malgré l'ombre romantique des grands pins

Autour d’elle, aucuns amants ne se retrouvent ici.

Elle rêve lentement de la folie qu'elle a provoquée

Parmi les suicides qu'elle a induit

Pendant les gens se détournent  pour l'éviter.

L. Bailliet©

05/01/2012

Shades of yesteryears

Shades of former days

Of glorious deeds

Of yesteryears forgotten

Saved by the poet affection

As a talisman against eternal banishment.

What sacrificial blood

Does one need to partake of

To be allowed to enter their kingdom?

Dispossessed of all desires

Why is the poet in the scented fumes

Exploring the misty lanes of the labyrinth 

Leading to the stony heart of marble temples,

Emptiness pulsing with the echoes of past voices

Singing lauding hymns as angels would

In a dispossessed abstruse heaven.

She is to rest in the same bed

Where human-gods have previously slumbered in.

What dust of ancient dreams will she share?

From which lonesome shore

Will the impalpable spirits rise amongst the straight reeds

From the glassy waters of a bottomless lake

To tell her the story of their historical feats?

Which battle will they choose to recount?

Which conquest will they retell?

On whose dead hero's horn the call

To wake her up will sound

To bring her back to us?

What will she remember of her nocturnal journey?

L. Bailliet©

15/04/2012

Souvenirs d’antan

De glorieux ombres oubliées

Sauvées par l'affection du poète

Comme un talisman contre le bannissement éternel.

Quel sang sacrificiel doit-elle lamper

Pour être autorisée à entrer dans leur royaume ?

Dépossédée de tous désirs

Pourquoi le poète dans les fumées chargées de parfums

Explore les voies brumeuses du labyrinthe

Qui mène au cœur de pierre des temples de marbre,

Le vide pulsé des échos de voix passées

Chantant des hymnes comme des anges,

Dont les louanges seraient adressées

Dans un ciel obscur aux dépossédés.

Elle consent à se reposer dans le même lit

Où les hommes-dieux ont déjà sommeillé

Quelle poussière de rêves anciens va-t-elle partager?

A partir de quel rivage solitaire

Se lèveront les esprits impalpables parmi les droits roseaux

Dans les eaux d'un lac livide sans fond

Pour lui raconter l'histoire de leurs exploits historiques?

Quelle bataille vont-ils choisir de lui raconter?

Quelle conquête lui conteront-elle?

Quel cor dont la mort d’un héros a résonné autrefois

Retentira pour la réveiller et nous la ramener?

Que se rappellera-t-elle de son voyage nocturne?

L. Bailliet©

15/04/2012

The full moon

High across the cloudless night sky

The bright silver light of the full moon

Guides us, the creatures of the night,

The dreams of mankind,   

To reach one of our worldly meet.

A veil of invisibility covers our flight

To the sleeping human world

That lay beneath us unaware and innocent.

Tonight no wind disturbs our silent trip,

Straight as the flight of a crow,

Is our destination to be reached across the seas.

Each amongst us is uniquely imprinted from the human psyche  

It raised and escaped from.

Some speak of games, some of love,

Of exams and work, others of illness and war.

Together we gather momentum

When suddenly an attack is sprung on us from above

And with the tip of the wing of a chimera

We lose our balance and forced down

In the gaping mouths of steep precipices over the mountains

Or in the unfathomable depths of the sea

The only survivors are those who have the time over land

To take shelter in the skeletons of statues
Be they Venuses or gargoyles until the next full moon.
So you pedestrian desultory walking  in the park 
Have you ever wondered in which has your dream taken refuge?

© L. Bailliet`

7/2/2012

a new legend