Une petite fleur vient déclore.

Une petite fleur vient déclore.

 De grande qualitées lui ont été transmissent pour grandir et s’épanouir dans le jardin de la vie.

Si fragile elle ne c’est pas encore, quelle est venue embellir un bouquet d’une composition diversifier.

Cette agencements de fleur dégage un parfum irrésistible, dont ont ne peu s’empêcher de si rapprocher.

Une variété de fleurs, qui lui permettra de devenir de plus en plus belle de jour en jour.

Ils parsèmeront sur son chemin, les plus belle pétales de leur bouquet.

 Elle est déjà une petite fleur magnifique pour tout s’eux qui l’entour. Un jour elle récoltera à son tour se quelle aura semé.

Pour se rendre compte, avec les années que la plus belle fleur dans son jardin est sa mère.

Bienvenue ANNABELLE dans se grand jardin de la vie.

(Une pensée écrite pour une amie.)

Une mère est une fleur pour la vie le temps n’est pas toujours doux mais la floraison reviens à  chaque année.)

Je le dédit à toutes les mères.

Annie Gosselin

Moment of Jazz



A MOMENT OF JAZZ

Walking on the hot humid streets of Montreal I followed the sounds coming from the heart of the city. At the edge I heard blues on one corner and a classical guitar on the other moving in harmony.

A dancer in the middle of the street moves seductively to the rhythm of mambo and a couple swings into view to a rock and roll tune. A mime plays air guitar his lips moving to a John Lennon song.

The first beer is cold and smooth.

Walking by the jugglers and the prince, I made my way through the bright crowd. The hard raunchy sound of an electric guitar laid down a beat, the lead guitar cuts its way upwards to the sky. Boom, the bass and the drums filled the background and we moved closer to the stage in the distance. A joint was pressed into my hand and I inhaled its promise of mystery and peace.

Trails of smoke, voice and sound, reaching out from the band, touching, choosing. Sticks flying, keys pounding, the flicker of fingers on strings of steel.

She appeared, her hand on my shoulder. That touch, that gentle squeeze from years and years ago, she had been with me, here. Empty were the streets then and the rain fell upon us as we embraced and we sang our first song together.

Her hand touched my face and we kissed forever. Our arms tight around our bodies. Unable to get closer.

Time clicked away its seconds. The world turned. The crowd applauded.

We disappeared. Out of existence. In light, in sound, inner space, we were all alone. In love.

No music but our own. The pulsing sound of our heart and soul. We melted together. Sitting on a length of driftwood...floating on and on and on.

Coming, coming.

The sound, then the light and the images getting closer and closer. 

All the beautiful people. We danced within the space they gave us.

Before I die, I will love you again.

Ron Mahedy

Guilty

 

Surrounded by the hustle and bustle and noise of the condemned. You will get what you deserve, he said to me. Why is he here, the captain asked. Don't know, came the answer. Did he ask for a lawyer? Lock him up and read him his rights.

Smells of closeness and feels like the rough texture of iron.

We are all guilty, they said.
What did you do?
I don't know, I replied.
Are you guilty?
I am here, I replied.

SILENCE
The right to remain silent. Silence is a right. The privilege of not talking and being condemned. Guilty, he never said a word. Plead guilty and you will get off easy. Show remorse and you will get off easy.

I am guilty and I am sorry.
What did he do, asked the judge?
I don't know, the lawyer said. He refuses to speak.

Silence condemns him. Two years in solitary.

SOLITARY
Tell them what you have done. He slowly walks around the yard. They must let you go. He went into the hole.
Loud crashing noises of breaking glass and the hiss of falling missiles.
Laughter comes easy when the jokes are small. The noise is broken by the tears falling upon the stone. Silence continues within the imploding darkness. Loud screeches beneath the door.
Time has passed quickly outside the door.
What have you done. He walks around the yard.

BITCH
Passed around from hand to hand, cheek to cheek. Love, not perfect but better than being alone. If you can't get it, you take what comes.
Soft and sweet, clean and neat.
Depression is more honest and real, more comfortable.
Wish to cry but the tears were lost in solitary.
Violence is silence, no eyes to see and no ears to hear.
The end of the beating and falling slowly to the floor.

STORM
Not guilty the jury speaks. The riot begins. The injustice. The bitch had friends and lovers who stood up and shouted. Injustice.
Sex heals all wounds.
The fires, the screams and bullets. The victim is released by the back door.
The feelings are hard and unapologetic.
Hate is a sound that cannot be silenced.

He remains silent.

DEATH
The logical end to the road and only plausible exit. Refusing, he shouts out and screams.
Not going gently into the night.
Nothing to forgive and nothing to forget.
Disobedience to the natural order, cowardice and shame.
The disease has won and the verdict has fallen.

What have I done.

His voice circles the world upon the wind.
All is left behind as he boards the plane.

Guilty.

©Ron Mahedy.

Un Ange



UN ANGE

Lever les yeux au ciel, sur un nuage blanc c’est poser un ange. Du haut de son nuage elle devient notre ange gardien.

Fille, femme, épouse, mères, grands-mères, arrière grands-mères qui a accomplies beaucoup de leurs passage sur terre.

Aujourd’hui c’est à nous d’être guider par la sagesse du
chemin parcourue de cette femme.

Pour tout c’eux qui suivront ses pas, cette ange nous transmet un bagage merveilleux.

Maintenant c’est l’heure de te laisser bercer par le vent, au rythme des saisons, accompagné des anges que tu as temps aimaient.

Merci de ton amour.
Merci d’avoir fait parti de notre vie.
Merci d’être le début des maillons d’une chaine.

Pour cette famille qui est la tienne pour toujours, tu es devenue une perle rare d’une valeur inoubliable.
C’est avec beaucoup d’amour que nous te lésons déployer tes ailes.

©Annie Gosselin.