I close the month of January with a new poem

“Obsession”
January 30, 2022

I am writing this poem for you,
You are in my mind,
You are in my mind,
You are in my damn mind,
the only thing good on my mind,
you become my muse,
my dangerous love song unseen.
When I wake up every morning,
you are in my brain,
before I open up my eyes.
You are my eyesight,
when my vision goes blurry
and my world gets smaller,
I imagine your presence,
when I take my first breath,
you are with me,
strengthening me.

I am writing this poem for you,
the lines no one can erase
you are the first thought in the beginning,
the last idea in the end,
the stanza that sparks creativity,
the rhythm that makes poems dance
Forever in my mind,
the love song that is obscure,
I would rather die trying to think of you
than living without you,
in my mind,
you defined it,
and restored it.
I will fight to keep your memories,
in my mind,
the object of my affection,
my passion in action

I am writing this poem for you,
the words that blossom,
the flowers of life that keep giving,
the voice that echoes love,
in my mind,
your letter on the first date,
the first kiss at nightly walk,
in my mind,
the first embrace that binds our soul,
the last song of the night that keeps us whole,
You are in mind,
my inescapable trap
in any place in heaven,
where we are one again.

Haitian Poetry Reading with Dr. Celucien Joseph: Episode 1: Ignace Nau and Carl Brouard

Ignace Nau, “Basses-Pyrénées” (1836)

“…Et moi voilà jeté, moi, triste passager,
Sans amours, sans amis, sur un sol étranger,
Attendait du retour l’heure lente et tardive.
Ce ciel est trop désert, ce soleil san rayon,
Ces champs, de mon pays, là-bas, sous l’horizon,
N’ont point la nature si vive.”

Ignace Nau, “Lower Pyrenees” (1836), translated by Dr. Celucien Joseph

“…And here I am thrown, as a sad passenger,
Without love, without friends, on a foreign land,
Waited for the calm and late hour to come again.
This sky is empty, this sun without rays,
These fields, of my country, over there, under the horizon,
Do not have such a lively nature.”

Carl Brouard, « Les Croix des Martyrs”

“A la Croix des Martyrs
les jours
qui ne rythme aucune horloge sonore
s’écoulent calmes, paisibles
comme un ruisseau.
La petite église silencieuse
est toujours là,
est le gazon vert.
Les cretonnes,
les passereaux rouges, lentement oscillent.
Sur l’écran de la vie,
les heures passent au ralenti.”

Carl Brouard, “The Crosses of the Martyrs”
translated by Dr. Celucien Joseph

“At the Cross of the Martyrs
the days
that beats no sound clock
flow calmly, peacefully
like a stream.
The silent little church
is still there;
it is the green grass.
The cretons,
the red sparrows calmly vacillate.
On the screen of life,
the hours pass in slow motion.”

Carl Brouard, “Solitude”

“Seul dans ma chambre.
Il pleut.
Je pense à vous.
Ah ! si vous m’aimiez un peu,
le monde serait mort à mes yeux,
puisque je ne penserais,
je ne verrais,
je ne vivrais que par vous.
Aujourd’hui,
des indifférents ont prononcé votre nom
et mon cœur a battu très fort.
Mon Dieu que je suis bête!
Si je possédais un objet de vous
peut-être
ma tristesse serait moins lourde à porter.
Mais
à quoi bon me leurrer d’espoirs fous
de rêves vains
vous portez l’indifférence
comme on porte une fleur à son corsage.”

Carl Brouard, “Loneliness”
translated by Dr. Celucien Joseph

“Alone in my room.
It’s raining.
I am thinking of you.
Ah! if you would love me a little,
the world would be dead to me,
since I wouldn’t think,
I wouldn’t see,
I would only live through you.
Today,
unconcerned people have announced your name,
and my heart beat very hard.
My God, how stupid I am!
If I had kept a souvenir from you
perhaps,
my sadness would be less heavy to endure.
But
what’s the use of tricking myself with wild hopes,
of futile dreams?
you bear the indifference
as one wears a flower on one’s bodice.”

“Your Body”

Put on a display
to be watched, an image of his pleasure
abused and traumatized, a victim of his presence
one-night stand on steam
condemned and humiliated,
an act of violence.

Wanted for pleasure
for his passion, take-away
to his satisfaction, patriarchal muse in motion
boosting his ego,
ensuring his masculine power,
redeeming his insecurity,
his gaze shifted away from you.

Desired to bear his children
not a son to behold, but a song of his fantasy
not a daughter of charm, but a poem of his demise
a citizen in style, NO!
a leader of tomorrow, Not a all!
but a man of his kind.

“Nested Ring of Splendor”
for and in memory of Hélène Joseph

We remember the day when God spat in the wind to create you.
It was before the day of rest, the Sabbath of peace.
The Divine graced the world with your presence, the first woman, the mother of life.
On January 3, 1947, “The Day of Venus,” you became the daughter of Saturn,
the crown Jewel of our life system.
Candle in the dark, your light shines many paths,
when we venture in the valley of obscurity, you enhance visibility.
when we travel in the mountain of ignorance, you give understanding.
You are like the sea-goat in two harmonious forms,
merging drylands and the seas,
linking the children of the sea
and the children of the earth…
as one big family.
You clothe them with wisdom, creativity, and identity.

Mother of 7 beautiful rings, orbiting our Saturn of life,
you put a rainbow in your daughters’ hands,
to display the optical illusion of life,
each one nesting in the sanctuary of your splendor…
in search of the rainbow of life…
You sealed your sons’ future with the rarest pearl in the world.
With your rainbow rings, you filled in the gaps in their life,
unifying them as one.
In your womb, you nurtured life,
From your breath, you gave birth to life
Under your teaching, they grew, evolved, and became wise.
You fed them, sustained them with language,
words that have no end…
sentences with no stops…
You assured their reproduction through the next generation…
You kept them safe, taught them to crawl…
Under your shelter, they found a home,
both loving and good,
beautiful and sweet.

Clothing them with the majesty of motherhood,
with love and peaceful beauty, you bind them all together
in perfect harmony and correlation.
Mother of seven gateways and thresholds,
you protect our throne rooms,
and guard the entryways of the temple of our hearts.
Your limitless resilience, oh the Goddess of every Capricorn,
pushes us forward to prevail over life adversity and painful memory.
Through your daring ambition, we are made strong;
When we are afraid, we remember your courage.
When we lose hope, your spirit inspires faith and trust.
You fill our hearts with joy and laughter.
You will always be the glorious Moon of our galaxy.

Oh, Mother of 75 years today,
Your days were shortened to only 72 innocent years,
but your strength endures…
your humility is transmissible…
you hold perpetual kindness in your healing wings…
You adorn nature with fresh carnations,
a symbolic gift of friendship and trust to humanity.
Yet you will live in us for 72 thousand years in future bliss,
You, our “Nested Ring of Splendor.”

On your birthday,
we will offer you pearls made of raindrops,
coming from faraway lands,
where it does not rain,
a place where roses bloom in spring,
a place where the sun always shines bright,
a place where we can kiss the moon dream at dawn.
We will reactivate your memories,
stored in scattered phases of life.
We will dig the earth to wrap your body,
made of gold and light.
We will dance in the dark with you between our arms,
we will smile at your simple acts of love…
we will sing your name in places,
where life never ends
where you will be Queen,
where your love, the ruling King.
where your virtues, the guiding principles of life.
We will tell your story, the story of the Queen who never dies.

The Last Love Poem!

I will not write you another love poem,
poems made of love inks do not tattoo your heart.
I will not send you another love letter,
with the same magical love languages.
You said “You are not my muse.”
I wrote you love songs with the pencil of God,
to keep you in my destiny,
for our love to stay young and strong.
You responded with tears of bitterness,
with an erasable marker producing alienation.
You sent dried roses in the envelope,
red hot stars to the cold moon
to signal you love has wings.
You changed the love lyrics of language.

I will not write you another love poem,
to bid farewell to an old romance that faded away.
You said “There is no happy love life with you in my world.”
I wrote to you at last so I could forget you.
I penned my last words with a heartache.
You dressed your heart with a dirty robe,
covered your soul with a black mask, 
to be unseen, untouched…
It remains invisible to love at first sight.

I will not write you another love song for a last time.
My last love song is written in an erasable ink.
This is my farewell letter to you,
a woman who turned away from her first sight love.
She exposed all its imperfections.
I will not write to you.
I have no need to remember and to reimagine,
because this love was never true.

I will not write you another love poem.
My new love song is for another poet,
an admirer of love languages,
a poet of love,
a champion of beauty.
You never set your heart to love me.
You never pursued me with a love that lasts.
My pain is turned into shouts of joy,
cheers of delight.
My peace is restored.
All is well with me.

I will not write you another love poem.
You burned my poetry book,
my love languages notebook is torn in scattered pieces.
You turned off the radio when the poet sings
“Love is strong and eternal.”
Your love is not my love.
You ended love, you pushed the sun away.
You betrayed a love, 
so innocent, true, and pure.
This is my last love poem to you.