Quintessential Codswallop

I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but if the night brings tomorrow then bring on the night.

[quintwallop-blog]

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Un gosse et un sou trouvé dans les épines, Avec des cartouches et un vieux magazine, Près d’une auto tombée dans la bruyère, Quand Dieu nous quitta pour encercler la terre. Une fille et un merle qu’elle trouva dans le froid, Remonta sa jupe pour qu’elle sache pourquoi Dieu fit des larmes pour que pleurent les mères Puis quitta le sol pour encercler la terre. Un gosse et un sou caché dans sa paume, Un vœu souhaité qu’il jeta dans les flots, Revient dans la ville qu’on a brûlé hier, Quand Dieu nous quitta pour encercler la terre.

(a humble attempt at translation)

[larmoyante]

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

Buddha (via larmoyante)

[quintwallop-blog]

La joven con las lilas

After you left, the clouds shot up like trees And threw their fruit down angrily, and I Stood waiting, dumb, with laundry left to dry. The air was still and quiet - hollow. Please,

I asked the water, Do not go. Advise Me - but the drops did not reply, would not Linger for me to ask more. So I thought Again about the smile in your eyes.

The lilac's flower's wilted now, though green Still eats in the thin veins beneath its leaves. I think of petals clinging to the eaves, Afraid to drop into the unforeseen.

In spring, rejuvenated by the rain, The lilacs bloom, and so could we - again.

[quintwallop-blog]

The Dreamer's Plea

Long ago we'd done the same Striking out at twelve and seventeen like the hands of a clock Into fields smothered in sky Sketches of roads with nothing filled Through woods nigh-invisible by night We'd washed our feet in plastic water And laughed with the summer stars that ceased their dance to give us time.

Then, as now, dark eyes were filled with a light that I could not apprehend And the uncertainty which defined my blood Seemed reflected in another's—

But see now the young woman spinning on air as burning paper— Why would a butterfly choose to land on a trodden path when cornflowers and wild rice grow in a meadow and sway to the breath of life?

Spirit of Youth! What else could be worthy of your hands except the very moon and mountains, cut from the world and wrapped in my love? I fear I will try to offer you waterfalls and instead, failing, drown in my own dripping cry.

[quintwallop-blog]

Because of an empty room

If I skipped a dancing class and chose Instead to ask you to dinner It was neither because I know you well (I don’t) Nor because work afforded me the time (It didn’t) But rather because I spend too much Time watching the patterns of steam Over a cup of tea swirl and rise and change Because I enjoy the space in my bed But dislike how cold the other half Feels when I roll over Because, quite simply, of how difficult it is To properly fold a fitted sheet Alone.           (Besides, I have spent too much           Time with myself to want to           Dance with him anymore.)

[quintwallop-blog]

L'explorateur

J’avais tracé une carte sur ton corps Étendu sous mes yeux comme une terre inconnue J’ai appris à l’aimer, à lui plaire, à m’y habituer Mais je demeurais perdu, car, Avec un cœur volant qui ne se laissait pas dessiner, Aucun arbre ne pouvait me garder.

Finalement, mon ballon s’était trop élevé. Entouré d’azur et de coton, je ne te voyais plus. Je m’envolai vers le soleil pour bâtir ma maison dans les étoiles.

[quintwallop-blog]

Blackberry Hill

Your discarded wings faded perfectly into the purple hill Blackberry thorns had snagged your feathers And the red rose that grew up among them Was silk thrown onto ink-showered wedding sheets. When the rains came and soaked the ground I picked the rose and the blackberries But the soft down had been spoiled And I left it in the meadow by the roadside.

The clouded grass leans with the wind I will not forget the colour of your tongue Or the taste of blackberries As my heart was brushed with a red rose.

[quintwallop-blog]

Medley

After the tea is poured I cup my hands in the steam and try To catch the vapour as it leaves the mug.

Why does it feel so nice to run one’s fingers Along the edge, the cover, the pages of a book? Over wooden banisters and painted walls, Against the withered cheek of one who will die?

When I look down the stairs I know so well Lit only by the lamp behind the door I’ve just come through, I see in the darkness beneath me That begins at the fourth step up And think of how I wouldn’t be so unsure About descending If someone else’s hand were in mine.

I do not know what tomorrow will bring But if the night brings tomorrow Then bring on the night.

[quintwallop-blog]

The thing that's nice about hugging people is that it's like hugging a cat but a cat that has arms and squeezes back.

[quintwallop-blog]

No parapsychic experiences, as far as I'm aware. But you wake up in the morning, and the world seems so beautiful you can hardly stand it.

A Zen student, when asked what training led to, as quoted from Huston Smith's The Religions of Man

[quintwallop-blog]

L'amour, c'est la victoire de l'imagination sur l'intelligence.

Adage anonyme (Bernard Werber, "Nous, les Dieux")

[quintwallop-blog]

La realité est ce qui continue d'exister lorsque'on cesse d'y croire.

Edmond Wells (Bernard Werber), l'Encyclopédie du Savoir Relatif et Absolu

[quintwallop-blog]

It's funny - Though I know I will never see her Walking up the path in my grandmother's garden Maneuvering around the acorns under the old oak tree Passing under the tall blue pine, Looking at her feet (read: her phone, held in soft white hands) In elegant black sandals and bracelets, Dark hair modestly hanging over her face And hiding Cleopatra's nose - Though I know it will never happen, Still I smile inside Because I can easily imagine her doing so And such a sight (though more a dream) So out-of-place in a French village Would make my summer.

[quintwallop-blog]

It all ends.

[quintwallop-blog]

C'est pas votre vie actuelle que vous voulez pas quitter, c'est votre vie d'autrefois. Elle est déjà morte, cette vie-là.

Nathalie (Marie-Josée Croze) à Rémy (Rémy Girard), dans Les Invasions Barbares de Denys Arcand

[quintwallop-blog]

Field of Butterflies

In her dresser drawer she keeps a meadow Hidden under torn jeans and branded sweaters Which she visits when things get lonely.

She runs beside the laughing brook Bubbling under swallows that dip and sing With the butterflies over dancing daffodils.

On top of her favourite hill under an old ash She sits and scrutinizes the horizons And dreams about the lands beyond.

The mountains are so distant that they’re painted By the sun and the sky and the moon and the stars And from there she can only see the snow.

When she leaves the drawer and pulls out clothes And weighs herself down with imported cotton She smiles sadly and turns away

But never forgets her field of butterflies.

[quintwallop-blog]

A woman will come along and love you unconditionally. I mean, no matter what. She'll look at you when you sleep, she won't be able to keep her hands off you when you are in a towel, she'll tickle you until you sleep and will hug you even though it makes walking together really awkward.

lemonadegame (Reddit)