tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30717499497095998052011-08-27T13:44:24.828+02:00Les Mots de Hurle-VentJOURNAL DE POEMESMirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.comBlogger561100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-79245231645801853002011-04-09T22:39:00.001+02:002011-04-09T22:40:35.625+02:00LA BRÊCHE<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Il aurait fallu des points</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pour refermer vite la plaie</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mais il en a été autrement</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">La brèche</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Béante</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Palpite</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">-Compresse-la !</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">La brèche</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Qui se cicatrise</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lentement</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mais sûrement…</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Il reste une raie blanche</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sur ton corps</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Il reste une raie pourpre</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dans ton esprit</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">C’est ton histoire</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tu ne l’oublieras jamais</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fais avec !</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Alors</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">-Vis !</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Avec ta brèche.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Nous sommes tous des ébréchés de la vie</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Et puis c’est ainsi,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Des raies rouges muettes,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Des raies blanches qui murmurent...</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Alors</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">-Vivons !</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: FR;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7924523164580185300?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-15530343327794205082011-04-03T20:54:00.001+02:002011-04-03T20:56:06.207+02:00ELLE SURVIT DOUCEMENT<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Le décor est nu</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle est immobile</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Pourtant dans son petit corps</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Un air tiède s’envole</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle inspire, puis expire,</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Là, comme ça, tout doucement</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle reste immobile</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Les yeux clos</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Les membres ankylosés</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>De n’avoir rien pu dire</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>L’esprit épuisé</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>D’en avoir trop dit</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle se sent vide, ne comprend plus rien</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Sa vie n’a pas de sens, </em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle ne se souvient pas qu’elle en eût eu un</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Enfin peut-être</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Autrefois</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quand ses jambes sautillaient encore </em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Et que l’air vif du matin </em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Lui réveillait les sens</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Quand les journées existaient</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Un jour, une nuit</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Là tout est monotone aujourd’hui</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Monochrome</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Elle survit…</em></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1553034332779420508?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-3194913818333100612011-03-29T20:01:00.000+02:002011-03-29T20:01:08.138+02:00HAÏKU VIII<iframe height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2ro92moMesY?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-319491381833310061?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-49082495537057448282011-03-29T20:00:00.000+02:002011-03-29T20:00:39.436+02:00HAIÏKU VII<iframe height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/e2cRzKNGy8U?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4908249553705744828?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-753644812578879762011-03-08T09:21:00.000+01:002011-03-08T09:21:51.825+01:00HAÏKU VI<iframe height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/szsmPhAOuC8?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-75364481257887976?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-3458178300285919852011-03-04T13:47:00.000+01:002011-03-04T13:47:22.062+01:00FARD QUOTIDIEN -HAÏKU-LONG V<iframe height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/i37COQ52j-E?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="425" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-345817830028591985?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-90978843560429332542011-03-04T10:26:00.000+01:002011-03-04T10:26:29.873+01:00Pensée d'autrefois<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5mSDPJ1rOAI/TXCvjQ_x18I/AAAAAAAAC4Q/yGei2el_p-A/s1600/For%25C3%25AAt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" l6="true" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5mSDPJ1rOAI/TXCvjQ_x18I/AAAAAAAAC4Q/yGei2el_p-A/s400/For%25C3%25AAt.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Présence ou absence</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Illusion d’un instant vrai</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sifflement, battement, souffle</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Aussi perçant qu’un cri</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">De joie ou d’effroi…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence, rythme, rythme silencieux</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Oppressant, rassurant à la fois</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Bruissement des feuilles</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Craquement des lignes</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ecriture figée</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mémoire d’enfant.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ombre qui coule</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Témoignage et confusion</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Est-ce-vrai ou bien réel ?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Empreinte qu’à la dilution</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Un instant privilégié ou privé, </span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Privatif…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Calligraphies, transparences</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence opaque, assourdissant</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Silence trop plein</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Trace qui rassure</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Présence calorique…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Arbre humanifié ou humain arborescent ?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ramifié ou incandescent</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Branches aux filiations infinies</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Le fluide énergétique qui nourrit</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Extension maximale, élan vital</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Contact amplifié pour imbiber</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Aspirer…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Gouttes attirées par le ciel</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mais qui sèchent avant</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lumière qui fait vivre, voir l’ailleurs</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Quand cela fait rêver puis s’évanouit.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Et le sens ?</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Reflet et inversion</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Cette vaine tentative</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mots qui deviennent impuissants</span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Inutiles…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lancinant mouvement</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Berceuse pour soi</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">L’artifice est évident</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Quand bien même protection</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Membrane qui isole, </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Calfeutre.</span></div><div align="right"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-9097884356042933254?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-90769458897963636132011-03-02T11:07:00.000+01:002011-03-02T11:07:46.828+01:00HAÏKU VIDEO IV<iframe height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WISScn4515A?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="425" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-9076945889796363613?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-50642882806334888602011-03-02T10:32:00.000+01:002011-03-02T10:32:59.969+01:00HAÏKU VIDEO III<iframe height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ecXiG9VS8ks?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="425" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5064288280633488860?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-14597032517590760632011-03-01T22:22:00.000+01:002011-03-01T22:22:53.386+01:00HAÏKU VIDEO II<iframe height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/gHMrEh38y6Y?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1459703251759076063?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-48134090195309530002011-03-01T22:21:00.000+01:002011-03-01T22:21:59.237+01:00HAïKU VIDEO I<iframe height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pYhXXrQt868?fs=1" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4813409019530953000?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-1440172612506165762011-02-24T13:54:00.000+01:002011-02-24T13:54:19.914+01:00VOUDRAIS-JE...<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Je veux rire dans tes cheveux</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Comme un albatros heureux</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Pleurer dans l’eau amère</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Qui se forme sous tes yeux</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Je veux chanter à la terre entière</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Mon bonheur de vivre enfin</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">J’ai compris je me suis comprise</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Le temps d’un instant</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Et sachez-le bien</span></span></em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Comme c’était là mon chemin...</span></span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-144017261250616576?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-51696605560012571462011-02-24T13:52:00.002+01:002011-02-24T13:52:51.668+01:00Sable froid et petits cailloux<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Sable froid et petits cailloux</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Idée d'hiver les pieds nus</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Dans lune mer de nuit.</span></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5169660556001257146?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-45532511800313008812011-02-24T13:51:00.000+01:002011-02-24T13:51:42.910+01:00Corps en huile noire<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="background-color: white;">Corps en huile noire</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #444444;">Ecrasé sur la toile</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Empreint du désarroi</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><em>D'antan</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4553251180031300881?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-3065585493286553932011-02-24T13:48:00.002+01:002011-02-24T13:48:46.765+01:00La corde du ciel<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f1c232;">La corde du ciel <br />Funambule y chancelle <br />Atteint le soleil...</span></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-306558549328655393?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-78312979908209471362011-02-24T13:47:00.000+01:002011-02-24T13:47:54.101+01:00L'arc-en-ciel<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #d5a6bd;">L'arc-en-ciel <br />En cerf-volant <br />Goûte du vent</span></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7831297990820947136?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-18953686679550813812011-02-24T13:45:00.001+01:002011-02-24T13:46:04.701+01:00I CAN'T BEAR!<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I</span></strong>care s’envole pour retomber, quel idiot!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">C</span></strong>arré plein de coins, pourquoi pas des ballons qui s’envolent</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A</span></strong>ccroc à mon âme, en voler une autre?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">N</span></strong>aufrage en radeau, méduse qui s’endort</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">'</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">T</span></strong>erreur nocturne, radeau du rêve s’envol'</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">B</span></strong>arbarie ça me tue, tuer pour Méduse</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">E</span></strong>nnui barbare et barbant</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A</span></strong>crostiche en accroc de lettres envolées dans l’air d’esprit</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">R</span></strong>accord (?)</span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1895368667955081381?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-36705253990711544762011-02-24T13:43:00.002+01:002011-02-24T13:43:43.719+01:00LE LIVRE UTILE<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><em>Le livre utile</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Qui nous arrache les sens</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Qui fait crier l’âme et suinter l’encre des émotions</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">L’ancre que l’on jette là quelque part dans ce lieu dont l’on a l’impression de s’y (re)connaître déjà</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Les écluses des vies passées, rêvées ou en à-venir</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Où l’écriture des mots ne fait qu’une avec leur sincérité</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Où les images fusent en nuances de gris, bleu-mauve ou jaune orangé</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Un livre qui nous devient cher comme la pupille de nos yeux</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Un livre que l’on dévore non comme l’ogre mais comme un affamé pudique qui a soif et faim de vérité</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Un livre <em>utile…</em></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3670525399071154476?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-41483683995063509912011-02-24T13:42:00.000+01:002011-02-24T13:42:07.463+01:00La Passe-Muraille<em><span style="color: #a64d79;">La petite Alicia se regarde dans sa glace. Elle s’interroge : zut ! Mes yeux sont-ils devenus translucides…? Ainsi ! Qu’il en soit comme cela et je traverse le miroir de mes pupilles…<br /><br />Alicia, agacée de se traverser maintes et maintes fois décida alors de changer son miroir et de transformer celui-ci en glace en cornet aux sept boules-arc-en-ciel aux mille goûts multicolores à dévorer…<br /><br />Rassasiée comme une petite fille peut l’être, elle passe de nouveau la muraille de son iris transparent et arrive maintenant prête à la nouveauté dans un monde qui l’attendait, mais en son temps… -un monde qui cette fois-ci s’était montré il est vrai fort compréhensif…<br /><br />Ce monde n’est pourtant pas d’une bienveillance naturelle. Il se trouve être plutôt dur et froid, il sait même être cynique et râpeux… Mais il aime les êtres purs et la petite Alicia était un être ainsi construit…</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4148368399506350991?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-30654001598819553232011-02-24T13:40:00.000+01:002011-02-24T13:40:30.207+01:00Ce soir en-barque-et...<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Embarquée dans les rouleaux d'écume,</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">La tête qui s'emplie de liquide bleu</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Je crie à tue-ma-tête</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A qui -personne- peut entendre</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"-Ne m'abandonnez pas"</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Je n'aperçois la rive</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Qu'en mirages humides</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">De vagues ivres...</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">JE suis ivre,</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">En fait juste fatiguée,</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ecrire pour atteindre mon île</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">De paix...</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3065400159881955323?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-52948553148519822402011-02-23T22:04:00.000+01:002011-02-23T22:04:32.754+01:00REPRISE DU BLOG TRES VITE!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CicUy5mtg2A/TWV2TXzI4gI/AAAAAAAAC2U/xpkv4lB4CFA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" j6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CicUy5mtg2A/TWV2TXzI4gI/AAAAAAAAC2U/xpkv4lB4CFA/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5294855314851982240?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-62591232048156010702009-12-12T13:03:00.004+01:002009-12-12T13:09:40.262+01:00PindOrA(l)ma<div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#6666cc;">Mon nouveau blog<br />Dans lequel vous pourrez suivre le début </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#6666cc;">et l'évolution de mon travail<br />Pour ma prochaine exposition</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#6666cc;">Aquarelles & Toiles & Textes : </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#6666cc;"><br /></span><a href="http://www.pindoralma.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#cc66cc;">PINDORA(L)MA</span></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-6259123204815601070?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-65501866059216247552009-10-22T19:08:00.004+02:002009-12-14T11:51:15.826+01:00PANDORA'S WORLD<p align="center"><br /><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-4bd74c506babbab0" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v18.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4bd74c506babbab0%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330292279%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7FD8CBC37E65EB6443AD2070DFB1EA71E5F6C618.305E98B693852D40B50DC7639784A605EBDEC31A%26key%3Dck1&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4bd74c506babbab0%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D6tMe-euFNBgmHVFk-uOUHEQdiPQ&autoplay=0&ps=blogger"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v18.nonxt7.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D4bd74c506babbab0%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330292279%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D7FD8CBC37E65EB6443AD2070DFB1EA71E5F6C618.305E98B693852D40B50DC7639784A605EBDEC31A%26key%3Dck1&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D4bd74c506babbab0%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D6tMe-euFNBgmHVFk-uOUHEQdiPQ&autoplay=0&ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /></object></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Un Film-Conte by Miren</span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Musique : Tempus Tea Time </span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Composition # Interprétation : by Ethel Muniz </span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Dessin # Montage # Réalisation : by Miren </span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Collection Noitarugif # PeinLiMusic </span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">MMIX</span></p><br /><p align="center"></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-6550186605921624755?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-17735924666868495152009-03-18T18:37:00.011+01:002009-03-21T23:31:13.736+01:00CE TEMPS...<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/ScExjdkOM0I/AAAAAAAAAIo/fY6QHaXtEyk/s1600-h/Horloge.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314583520575632194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 324px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/ScExjdkOM0I/AAAAAAAAAIo/fY6QHaXtEyk/s400/Horloge.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Ce temps qui passe<br />En heures lasses<br />Une pince de bois<br />Cramponne crânement<br />L’étendoir indolent<br />Des peaux ridées…<br /><br />Os longs et<br />Bas usés, jambes lasses<br />Divagations hermé(neu)tiques</span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"><br />Interprétées par… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#990000;">Moi !<br />Toujours la même...<br />Demain : trente ans<br />Et toujours les mêmes<br />Anathèmes<br />Érythèmes<br />Où le bât blesse…<br /><br />Ma vie est en point de suspension<br /></span><span style="color:#990000;"><em>Je nais, je meurs…<br />Renais encore et puis re-meurs<br /></em>Mais finis toujours par renaître…</span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="color:#990000;">Je voudrais être </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">En point d’orgue…<br />Une vie en<br />Sucre d’orge<br />Qui<br />Finirait par </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Fondre dissoluble par </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#990000;"><em>Mon</em> désir<br />Lors de </span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#990000;"><em>Mon</em><br />Dernier et lucide<br />Claquement<br />De langue</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#990000;"><br /><em>Vermeille…</em></span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1773592466686849515?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-10065372274364871502009-03-14T12:09:00.008+01:002009-03-14T17:38:08.616+01:00LE PLONGEOIR<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SbuQca9tB7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/z6ZuukwuLH4/s1600-h/Le+plongeoir.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312999003362494386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 344px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SbuQca9tB7I/AAAAAAAAAIg/z6ZuukwuLH4/s400/Le+plongeoir.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">C'est un endroit très étroit<br />Où l'on se pose<br />Les vraies questions<br />Face-à-face avec ses doutes</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Quant aux effrois...<br />Délation, abnégation,<br /><em>Corruption...</em><br /><br />J'oscille, je vacille<br />Je cille, j'hésite<br />La tentation d'arrêter<br />Ce frisson de vertige<br /><em>Me fige...</em><br /><br />Mon corps a un peu froid<br />Et chaud, bouillonne<br />Se cabre, s'élance</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Sans bouger d'un pouce</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"><em>Sans rescousse…</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"><br />Je sens un semblable</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Dans mon dos s’agiter…</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Foule, il y a une foule</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Derrière moi qui fulmine</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Houle d’exaspérés</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"><em>Qui me mine… </em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"><em><br /></em>Alors j’avance </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Petit pas par petit pas </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Et je sens alors tout mon cœur</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Se soulever de terreur</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Quand ce vide inapprivoisé</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Une supplique jusque lors </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Se tord et vocifère</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">En une immense déferlante</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">M’aspirant <em>par méprise</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Victime indigente</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">D'une extravagante </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Baïne</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">A la fringale opaque</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Qui claque dans sa frappe</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Emporte...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Moi !</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Et tous les argonautes</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Sur un radeau d'hommes</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Chavirés en mer...</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Mer</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Gargantuesque</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Vagues-cimeterres</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Cimetière</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Gigantesque</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">En mal de marée</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">D'humains </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Vaincus.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">En vain...? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#6600cc;"><em>En Fin...</em><br /></span><br /></div></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1006537227436487150?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-64533690188036543022009-03-09T23:33:00.012+01:002009-03-10T19:26:04.204+01:00MA CLEF...?<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SbWZPc7EvoI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/pv3kLbj2ozQ/s1600-h/cl%C3%A9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311319826294423170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 249px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SbWZPc7EvoI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/pv3kLbj2ozQ/s400/cl%C3%A9.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;">Ma clef n'ouvre qu'une porte,<br />N'enferme qu'une créature<br />Dans sa cellule calfeutrée,<br />N'affranchit que son captif<br />De sa geôle de verre,<br />Ne cache aux regards<br />Que leurs propres désirs<br />Ne désire nulle autre chose<br />Que susciter quelque énigme<br /><em>A verrous...<br /></em><br />Ma clef-fée veille à ma paisibilité<br />Elle métamorphose son crochet-clef<br />A chaque cycle lunaire entamé,<br />Il n'existe pas un passepartout<br />Qui puisse avoir raison de<br /><em>Ma Boîte-de-Pandore...</em><br /><br />Ainsi la clef de voûte </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;">"célestement"<br />Mienne<br />Claquemure<br />En insondables<br />Desseins de serrures<br />Et autres armures<br />Le miroir sans tain<br />De mon âme<br />Errant cireuse<br />Dans sa<br />Pupille d'or </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;">D'ores et déjà</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"><em>Vitreuse...</em><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-6453369018803654302?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-21734472228056004352009-03-05T16:22:00.015+01:002009-03-06T12:18:52.740+01:00FEMME-PHASME<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/Sa_uzH1xGEI/AAAAAAAAAII/lCV4gePjKq0/s1600-h/Planche.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309725047738406978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 379px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/Sa_uzH1xGEI/AAAAAAAAAII/lCV4gePjKq0/s400/Planche.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">Femme ou Phasme<br />Brindille et diaphane<br />Cataleptique<br />Anorexique<br />Reine de cirque<br />Au scaphandre extra-lucide<br />Se dissimule<br />Résolument<br />Dissidente<br />D'un monde dissolu...</span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">Votre corps s'extirpe<br />D'un corset<br />Aux baleines<br />D'ivoire, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Déboires </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">D'une mue<br />Solitaire<br />D'un(e) pauvre être<br />Se débarrassant<br />En tortillant</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">De ses guêtres<br />Devenues<br />Étriquées et </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Désuètes...<br /><br />Mais voyez,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">C’est pour vous </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">La chance<br />D'une résilience </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Aux désirs denses ...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Échapper à<br />Une promiscuité </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Mal engagée </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Avec vous-même... </span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Ainsi </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">N’ayez pas peur<br />De vos ardeurs en<br />Hauts-les-coeurs </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">D'âmes </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Dardant<br />Les bonnes heures </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">D'un bonheur </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Sans heurts </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Sinon </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Esquives lascives </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">D'une </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Femme-Phasme </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">En substance </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Exquise...</span></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-2173447222805600435?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-78751723850306962642009-02-26T22:51:00.019+01:002009-03-01T15:10:59.480+01:00UN PETIT FLACON DE VERRE... BLEU<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SanKcLfoGUI/AAAAAAAAAH4/3p08yLBlUlo/s1600-h/parfum.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307996221303429442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 373px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SanKcLfoGUI/AAAAAAAAAH4/3p08yLBlUlo/s400/parfum.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Éther</span> grisant</span> <div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Flacon, fiole, vasque, coffret de verre,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Bleu</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Comme ton regard</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Qui baisse les yeux</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Indigo,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Indigné de trop en dire</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Mais digne d'être...</em></span></div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Vapeurs, essences chromatiques</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Enivrent</span> mes narines</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Wagon du temps suspendu</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">S'arrête dans la gare</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Hagard</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Sans fard</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Trop tard je repars...</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Les larmes de verre</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cristallisées</span> </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Dans cette eau amère</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Iode aux ressac éphémère</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">S'enferre</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Dans ses dents de mer</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Enfer...</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Ou madeleine </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Mange de la mémoire</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Le nez prompt à se perdre</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Délicieusement dans le</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Cellier aux mille </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Souvenirs, armoire</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Reste entrouverte</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>En fête...</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Voleur d'odeurs</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Senteurs par coeur</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Parfum sans heures...</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Un petit flacon de verre,</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;"><em>Bleu...</em></span> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7875172385030696264?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-92043711914142196982009-02-24T22:32:00.006+01:002009-02-25T23:04:16.651+01:00LA MAISON DE POUPEE<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SaRnm34jLdI/AAAAAAAAAHY/mV0W43Wp76Y/s1600-h/la+maison+de+poup%C3%A9e.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306480178483113426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 346px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SaRnm34jLdI/AAAAAAAAAHY/mV0W43Wp76Y/s400/la+maison+de+poup%C3%A9e.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em></em></span></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:180%;"></span></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>*****</em></span></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#990000;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>La Maison de Poupée</em></span></span></div><span style="color:#990000;"><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Ou la maison des fantômes...</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Elle est en papier</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Et ses hôtes monotones...</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Les aiguilles de l’horloge</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Tournent à l’envers...</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Les miroirs sont couverts</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;"><em>Des draps usés jaunes...</em></span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:130%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:130%;"></span></em></span><span style="color:#990000;"> </div></span><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-9204371191414219698?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-66494605473467629162009-02-20T21:47:00.001+01:002009-02-20T21:51:59.633+01:00LE BANC...<div align="justify"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZ8XKQmrCFI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/X2YvkpoYnyI/s1600-h/leBanc.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304984351089035346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 297px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZ8XKQmrCFI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/X2YvkpoYnyI/s400/leBanc.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#663366;"><em><br /></em></span><span style="color:#663366;"><em>J’aime que l’on s’asseye Ici et Prenne un peu de temps Pour réfléchir Il est cinq heures cet après-midi Les enfants sortent de l’école Ils aiment bien passer par mon parc L’après-midi s’étire en fin de journée chaude C’est juste paisible…</em></span><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-6649460547346762916?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-8996068340310576502009-02-18T22:26:00.004+01:002009-02-19T11:52:01.672+01:00LA CHAMBRE<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZx9xSd0VdI/AAAAAAAAAGo/oGfwlYujCDA/s1600-h/chambre.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304252746859566546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZx9xSd0VdI/AAAAAAAAAGo/oGfwlYujCDA/s400/chambre.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><em>...Cage flottant sur la furie des eaux</em></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><em></div><div align="center"><br />Le ciel par là semble moins obscur</div><div align="center"><br />La vitre salie par des promesses atones</div><div align="center"><br />Sans mots, cherche-bruit à tâtons...</em></span><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-899606834031057650?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-34322928016087481112009-02-17T23:17:00.009+01:002009-12-13T21:29:21.685+01:00MAISON-ANCOLIA<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZs3vnuHNYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/TKX-g5mcaxY/s1600-h/DessinMMIX.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 291px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303894277414663554" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZs3vnuHNYI/AAAAAAAAAGg/TKX-g5mcaxY/s400/DessinMMIX.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>MAISON-ANCOLIA</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>"C’est un lieu bien étrange… </em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>J’y reviens toutes les nuits. </em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>Je visite la maison pièce après pièce, </em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>Nuit de songe après nuit de songe…"</em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Aujourd’hui c’est mon premier jour ici. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je viens d’arriver, je suis un peu perdue… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je ne me rends pas bien compte. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je sais juste que </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je suis assise sur mon lit, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Que les volets sont fermés </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Et la chambre sombre. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">J’ai une petite lampe de chevet </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Et un livre sur la table de nuit. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Il doit être tard. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Le silence est opaque comme </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Celui de la nuit profonde et bien entamée… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Pourquoi suis-je ici ? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je me souviens juste </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Que de me souvenir est vain… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je me sens vide… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Et un peu oppressée avec ces volets clos... </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je vais les entrouvrir au moins un peu. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je fais tourner le crochet qui grince </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Tout doucement et sans trop de bruit… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Et pousse lentement les volets </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Pour faire rentrer un filet d’air </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Dans cette petite pièce calfeutrée… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">La nuit est tiède<br />La lune brille en croissant </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Au-devant de moi…. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Enhardie par l’air obscur et doux </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">J’enfourche le petit rebord. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je suis maintenant assise, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Les pieds flottant dans le vide… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je ne me souviens pas<br />Si je suis à l’étage, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Ni même à quel étage. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">J’ai l’esprit bien embrumé </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Pour me souvenir de ces détails </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Mais bien enclin à sentir </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">La douce brise sur mon front. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je ne veux plus rester dans cette chambre, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je vais faire juste un petit saut en avant </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Et communier entièrement avec l’atmosphère </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">De quiétude ici en dehors…</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">J’ai du perdre connaissance. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">De l’herbe mouillée<br />Me chatouille le nez<br />Et puis j’ai froid soudain. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Depuis combien de temps suis-je ici ? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Sans avoir la réponse, je me relève </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Mais ma chemise de nuit </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Est trempée et glacée. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je lève les yeux </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je remarque de la lumière<br />Qui sourd de la fenêtre là-haut… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Il me faut rentrer, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">On doit se demander<br />Pourquoi est-elle partie…? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">-Pas vraiment partie!...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Juste prendre un peu d’air... </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je m’approche à tâtons de la porte que </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Je sais être celle de l’entrée… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Vite je remonte il fait si froid….</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">"Je suis alors témoin d’une bien étrange scène.<br />Même dans l’absurdité de mon rêve </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">elle me semble fort singulière...<br />Quelle scène curieuse... parce que,<br />savez-vous cette petite ombre<br />glisse toutes les nuits dans le jardin<br />sur le tapis de rosée…<br />Elle se laisse choir comme une plume… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">De son troisième étage...<br />Et quelques instants plus tard,<br />elle se relève, rentre par l’entrée...<br />Puis au bout d'environ dix minutes, </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">elle réapparaît à sa fenêtre et<br />Tombe à nouveau légèrement de là-haut… </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Comme un ange sans ailes...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Elle remonte, s'envole, retombe...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Sans réaliser sa pesanteur,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Remonte, s'envole, retombe...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Sans réaliser le sens de sa chute,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Ni cette réalité dépourvue de fin...<br />Et ainsi durant toute la nuit<br />Et ainsi toutes les nuits…"</span></div><div align="center"><br /><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;">C'est ainsi dans la Maison des Ancolies...<br />C'est ainsi pour mon rêve de cette nuit... </span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333399;"> </div></span></em><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3432292801608748111?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-48106069107655120002009-02-11T21:42:00.013+01:002009-02-12T09:34:13.384+01:00ANNA<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZPejXf1tFI/AAAAAAAAAGY/RBQyxFvZhPo/s1600-h/Anna.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301825885529551954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 399px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZPejXf1tFI/AAAAAAAAAGY/RBQyxFvZhPo/s400/Anna.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">Comment parler de toi<br />Quand que les mots s’écrasent sur la vitre<br />Du train sans destination<br />Que nous avons pris<br />Et sans vraiment<br />En avoir conscience…<br />Par défaut…<br />Pour mon salut...<br />Et c’était<br />Mon dernier voyage<br />Je me l’étais<br /><em>Juré …</em> </span></div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><div align="center"><br />C’est un voyage pendant lequel<br />L’on peut s’assoupir<br />Sans vigilance<br />Tu es assise à côté de moi<br />On a un peu discuté<br />Dévalé ensemble les mondes<br />Que l’on traîne<br />Enfin c’est surtout moi…<br /><em>Et mes mondes…</em> </div><div align="center"><br />Caressée par<br />Des chuchotements de caresses<br />Le bruit doux et lancinant<br />Sécurisant d’ici<br />Où je t’ai suivie<br />Je crois même que c’est toi<br />Qui m’a appelée<br />Quand je m’éloignais toute seule<br />Dans la ruelle de Crève-<br /><em>Cœur….</em> </div><div align="center"><br />Tendresse de mon ange<br />Ma maman, mon amie,<br />Mon autre moi-même…<br />Oui alors c’est vrai,<br />Je m’endors en paix<br /><em>Maintenant…</em> </div><div align="center"><br />C’est pour toi que j’écris tu sais,<br />Je virevolte autour des mots<br />Dans un nuage d’embruns<br />Qui se forme tout autour de moi<br />Adoucissant les contours des lames...<br />C’est toi mon tourbillon<br />Qui m’aspire<br /><em>Au-dessus des toits…</em> </div><div align="center"><br />Anna mon amie<br />D’envols,<br />De rêves,<br />Des yeux fermés,<br />Des joies sans failles,<br />Des trains sans arrivée,<br />Sinon celle<br />Que je voudrais<br />Quand je le voudrais<br /><em>Bien...</em><br /></div></span><div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SZM4oZ2-emI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/cuF8n0vH_v0/s1600-h/aur%C3%A9lia.jpg"></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4810606910765512000?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-55509677298662598942009-02-08T11:00:00.017+01:002009-02-08T21:42:52.198+01:00P-AL-I-M-P-S-E-S-T-E<div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SY7fpptIklI/AAAAAAAAAGI/VOkItM8s2ZE/s1600-h/5.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300419718124442194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SY7fpptIklI/AAAAAAAAAGI/VOkItM8s2ZE/s400/5.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">P </span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">Palabre <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Pénélope</span> Perte Persistance Personne Pluie Pollen Palanquin Partition </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><em>Perpétuelle</em>...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">A</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">Aveuglément Annihilée <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Albertine</span></em> Apprend Autodidacte Appel Arrachée Anonyme Affectée </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">Arbrisseau...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">L</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Labyrinthe Larmoyante <em>Longtemps</em> Litanies Livides Laissant Labourer Loquet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Lamellicorne</span> </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">Lapsus...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc33;">I</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc33;">Icône Ignorance Imaginant Immatériel Inclination Irréversible <em>Isolée</em> Ivre Instable </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc33;">Innée...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ffcc33;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993399;">M</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993399;">Misère Manipule Méandres Mauves Minute <em>Miroir</em> Momifiée Monde Musc </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993399;">Mystère...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#993399;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;">P</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;">Prière Prêteur Poème Palais Philanthrope Pandore <em>Papillon</em> Paraître Poussière </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;">Parabole...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3366ff;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;">S</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;">Sablonneux Sacrifice Sang Somnambule Sas Synopsis Servile Somptueux Spirale </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"><em>Source</em>...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#336666;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">E</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;"><em>Empreinte</em> Ensemble <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ecorcher</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ecorce</span> Enveloppe Esthète <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Etang</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Etant</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Emu</span> </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;">Exultante...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6666cc;">S</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6666cc;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Semaille</span> Salie Santal <em>Sans-fil</em> Sauterelle Schiste Secte Serpentée Sitôt </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6666cc;">Sucrée...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6666cc;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">T</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><em>Tasse</em> Tarentelle Tectonique Terminale Tilleul Toréer Tourmenter Transgresseur Traquée </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">Trébuchante...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">E</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Eclipse</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Echo</span> Effacer <em>Empoisonnée</em> Ego <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Echappée</span> Et caetera <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Ether</span> Envol </span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#006600;">Embellie...</span></div><br /><br /><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-f8bd89a5a815cfe7" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df8bd89a5a815cfe7%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330292280%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D12926EBE44C88CB790F6DA207BDF163650DD0CB0.7C9C450E1E504F4A2A853D5A44CA7C6698F6BE51%26key%3Dck1&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df8bd89a5a815cfe7%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D4JK7D4PyGFOQ5TAx7xyzLlDCW1I&autoplay=0&ps=blogger"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v5.nonxt3.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Df8bd89a5a815cfe7%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330292280%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D12926EBE44C88CB790F6DA207BDF163650DD0CB0.7C9C450E1E504F4A2A853D5A44CA7C6698F6BE51%26key%3Dck1&iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Df8bd89a5a815cfe7%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3D4JK7D4PyGFOQ5TAx7xyzLlDCW1I&autoplay=0&ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /></object></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5550967729866259894?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-19327829852056823582009-02-06T23:07:00.000+01:002009-02-06T23:08:59.535+01:00L'ARBRE A PALABRES...<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYy0sQcncPI/AAAAAAAAAFw/GNVTS8QP0jw/s1600-h/arbrepalabres.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299809533930467570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 252px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYy0sQcncPI/AAAAAAAAAFw/GNVTS8QP0jw/s400/arbrepalabres.jpg" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1932782985205682358?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-58423787258705154432009-02-05T22:23:00.005+01:002009-02-05T22:52:22.033+01:00LA BOÎTE....<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYtZNMqX-4I/AAAAAAAAAFo/w0KWqqEimNo/s1600-h/LaBo-te.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299427469803649922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 322px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYtZNMqX-4I/AAAAAAAAAFo/w0KWqqEimNo/s400/LaBo-te.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#333399;"><em>Personne aujourd’hui<br />Ne pense à sa boîte…<br /></em><br />Je peux donc<br />Me permettre<br />D’entrouvrir<br />La mienne...<br /><br /></span><span style="color:#333399;"><em>Ma boîte noire<br />Ma mémoire...<br /></em><br />Je l’extirpe d’en bas<br />De ma bibliothèque<br />Je m’assieds sur le canapé<br />Placidement…</span></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;">La boîte aux idées?<br />La boîte aux secrets?<br /></span><em><span style="color:#333399;">La boîte aux rêves?<br />La boîte aux tourments? </span></em></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;">Ouvrir, c'est s'engager<br />Dans le tourbillon<br />De ce que l'on ne peut plus<br /><em>Maîtriser...</em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;">Des choses enfouies<br />Oubliées,<br /></span><em><span style="color:#333399;">Ou plutôt rayées,<br />Effacées...</span></em></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;">Tout<br />Revient<br />Avec la force<br />De la résurgence<br /><em>De l’indigeste… </em></span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;">Prendre le risque<br />D’ouvrir</span></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="color:#333399;"><em>La boîte de Pandore ?<br /></em><br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;color:#333399;">(Dans dix ans peut-être...)</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5842378725870515443?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-57845213043029438112009-02-02T23:11:00.008+01:002009-02-03T12:02:14.910+01:00LES LOGES DE MON CERVEAU...<div align="center"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYdv3ZrZPXI/AAAAAAAAAFg/pqZyKl1GMOI/s1600-h/les+loges+du+cerveau.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298326484201061746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 375px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYdv3ZrZPXI/AAAAAAAAAFg/pqZyKl1GMOI/s400/les+loges+du+cerveau.jpg" border="0" /></a><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"><strong>Etude de phrénologie "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Art-sans-hasard"</span> appliquée</strong></span></em></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">1. Vestibule d’entrée à Utopia…</span></div><span style="color:#ff6600;"><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">2. Grand-salon pour reposer les questions sans réponses…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">3. Salle-à-dévorer des repas gargantuesques…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">4. Salle de billard pour des duels manichéens…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">5. Fumoir-cellule pour les persistants…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">6. Salon des Dames pour conversations privées…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">7. Petit vestibule sas de décompression…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">8. Bibliothèque de rencontres avec de grands maîtres…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">9. Petit salon (ancienne chapelle de cultes incroyables)…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">10. Bureau pour rédiger toutes les correspondances sans correspondant …</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">11. Cuisine très équipée sans aucun marmiton</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">12. Cellier ou salle des épices des mille-et-un coins du monde…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">13. Arrière-cuisine dans laquelle on ne se prive de goûter tous les mets en avant-première…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">14. Chambre jaune pour les audacieux…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">15. Chambre bleue pour les mélancoliques…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">16. Chambre verte pour les fous…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">17. Chambre face-lune pour les rêveurs…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">18 et 19. Chambre-suite… à suivre…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">20. Petit escalier des pas feutrés…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">21. Petite terrasse donnant sur l’allée de rhododendrons…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">22. Cave composée exclusivement de vins nobles papaux…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">23. Grand escalier descendu nu c’est selon dada … </span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">24. Salle-de-bain mauve …</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">25. Le bain-maure ou hammam…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Et pour finir,…</span></div><div align="left"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">26. Placard noir où l’on enferme-à-double-tours tout ce qui importune… !!!<br /></span></span></div><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5784521304302943811?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-73226124380637014902009-01-29T21:48:00.005+01:002009-01-30T18:47:33.265+01:00JE CROIS QUE…<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYIZsIswn5I/AAAAAAAAAFY/k6GYat0krbU/s1600-h/Oph-lia.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296824357781282706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 315px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SYIZsIswn5I/AAAAAAAAAFY/k6GYat0krbU/s400/Oph-lia.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#003333;"><em>...Ophélia s’est noyée ce soir…<br /></em><br />J’avais pourtant<br />Mes yeux bien ouverts<br />Mes oreilles attentives<br />Au moindre des moindres<br />Bruissement étrange…<br /><br />J’étais penchée<br />Sur la rive<br />Les pieds mouillant<br />Dans l’eau limpide et<br />Fraîche du torrent<br />Perpétuelle telle que...</span></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">J’ai du m’endormir…<br /><br />J’ai vu mon reflet<br />Tout seul s’en aller<br />Ondoyant sous le miroir<br />Des gouttes qui l’attirent<br />Toujours plus loin de moi…<br /><br />J’ai bien tenté de me lever<br />Mais la tête me tournait<br />Mes idées embrouillées<br />Brouillaient mes yeux embués<br />J’ai couru sur la berge...</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Mais Ophélie est partie</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Dans l'onde ravisseuse…</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Je crois bien qu'elle</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">S'est noyée</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Ce soir...<br /><br />J’ai bien tenté de<br />La faire revenir<br />J’ai même rêvé qu’elle<br />M’embrassait<br />Mais c’était juste </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Un peu de rosée </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">De brume de ruisseau…<br /><br />Puis le soleil m’a réveillé<br />Mon amie d’âme m’a souri<br />Mon Ophélie n’est-elle jamais partie ?</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Ma tête est lourde </span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Mes yeux sourds...</span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;">Et je m’endors dans son odeur<br />De lys en fleur…</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#003333;"></span></div><div align="center"><em><span style="color:#003333;">J'ai eu si peur...</span></em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7322612438063701490?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-52715258889372171272009-01-27T17:01:00.006+01:002009-01-27T18:48:20.295+01:00SALLE POUR ESPERER...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SX85pKn-zKI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/0iDZqYmm9-Q/s1600-h/La+veill%C3%A9e.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296015066200460450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 305px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SX85pKn-zKI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/0iDZqYmm9-Q/s400/La+veill%C3%A9e.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#330099;">Ces chaises qui se meuvent et craquent,<br />Ce brouhaha dans la rue,<br />J’entends des voix dans la pièce d’à côté…<br />Ces vieux magazines tous usés d’yeux,<br />Les rideaux blanchis sur la face de lune,<br />Je suis<br />Dans la salle d’attente…<br />C’est long<br />Et « <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">grisailleux</span> »…<br /><br />Par les vantaux de la fenêtre,<br />Je fixe les toits de la maison en face,<br />Sa cheminée cendre crache de la suie noire …<br />La ville d’en bas s’agite dans l’hiver qui pique,<br />Là où personne ne s’imagine…<br />Dans leur bruit,<br />Moi…<br /><br />Quatre chaises vides,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#330099;">Quatre chaises penchées,<br />D’une bâtisse pas bien droite,<br />Qui connaît tous les secrets,<br />Chuchotis des pensées<br />Transpirant du <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">papier-peint</span>,<br />Quelquefois…<br />Confusions des pensées,<br />Parfois…<br /><br />Mais,<br />J’attends…<br />Solitude d’instants étirés…<br />Jusqu’à quand…?<br /><br />Les gonds grincent<br />Les voix atones me ramènent<br />A ma réalité<br />Certes d’un autre réalisme<br />Que celui de cette pièce<br />En expectative…<br />En point d’orgue<br />Sans horloge…</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5271525888937217127?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-58160713697398125462009-01-24T13:23:00.007+01:002009-01-24T14:49:11.768+01:00QUELLE TEMPÊTE!<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXscKpGBV7I/AAAAAAAAAFA/y8PBhDlGtKs/s1600-h/LA+temp%C3%AAte.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294856756059527090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 325px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXscKpGBV7I/AAAAAAAAAFA/y8PBhDlGtKs/s400/LA+temp%C3%AAte.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Quelle tempête<br />Se déchaîne<br />S’engouffre<br />Dans les arbres pliés,<br />Hurlant de vent<br /><br />Terrée au fond<br />De ma chambre<br />Je grelotte<br />En pensée<br /><br />Bourrasque d’émois<br />Claquement des<br />Branches de jais<br />Nuit gonfle et souffle<br />C’est la tempête<br />Dans ma tête<br /><br />Dehors, dedans<br />Serrant les dents<br />Sans chavirer<br />Mal au cœur<br />D’amour-propre<br />Un orgueil délogé<br />Dans son idée<br /><br />Mais voici<br />La houle s’apaise<br />Je rouvre les yeux<br />Les volets et les lumières<br />Un instant trop duré<br />Enduré ainsi ?<br />C’est assez... </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5816071369739812546?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-16971695227289782952009-01-21T20:53:00.009+01:002009-01-21T21:25:27.851+01:00ALLONGEE SUR MON LIT...<p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293841927156162370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 107px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXeBL002X0I/AAAAAAAAAEo/xo9uVHHh2j8/s200/1.jpg" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#333399;">Allongée sur mon lit<br />Je pense<br />Je ferme les yeux<br /><em>Puis m'endors ?</em><br /><br />Je marche jusqu'à la fenêtre<br />-De ma chambre noire-<br />Fermée ; </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#333399;">Je l'ouvre<br />Je pose ma chaise à côté<br /><em>Et grimpe...</em><br /><br />Je respire l'air de la Nuit<br />C'est vif<br />C'est noir<br /><em>C'est la liberté...</em><br /><br />Mes pieds quittent le sol<br />Tandis que je me laisse<br />Tomber<br />Aspirer ?<br /><em>Libérer...</em><br /><br />Je sens le vide<br />Je ne chute pas<br />Je suis<br />Une plume qui s'envole<br />Tellement<br /><em>Légère...</em><br /><br />Ici tout est fort sombre<br />Le monde dort<br />En dessous<br />Je traverse<br />Champs et routes<br /><em>D'en haut...</em><br /><br />Je suis bien comme ça<br />Mais tout a son prix<br />C'est fini...<br /><em>Ça commence...</em><br /><br />Mes yeux pleurent<br />Celle qui n'est plus<br />Mais tristesse est douce<br />C'est la liberté<br /><em>De l'âme...</em></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1697169522728978295?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-70689161136789581382009-01-20T16:44:00.003+01:002009-01-23T22:48:48.619+01:00DE RETOUR...<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXXzCe8JoqI/AAAAAAAAADU/k_YjGIIFSrk/s1600-h/Le+Ch%C3%A2teau.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293404161034527394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXXzCe8JoqI/AAAAAAAAADU/k_YjGIIFSrk/s400/Le+Ch%C3%A2teau.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ff6600;">C’est étrange de revenir sur<br />Des lieux où l’on a mal vécu…<br />Plus personne ne reconnaît<br />Mon enveloppe corporelle…<br />Le même regard, certes, mais comme ces gens là<br />Ne regardent pas dans les yeux…<br /></span><br /><em><span style="color:#ff9900;">Celle-ci a l’air bien las,<br />Celle-ci n’est plus si belle…<br />Celle-ci est déjà maman,<br />Celui-ci n’est plus bien terrifiant…</span></em><br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">L’on prend d’abord un certain plaisir à<br />Déambuler anonyme quand on traîne la honte<br />D’être soi-même…<br />Je marche dans les pas d’une ex-moi,<br />Disparue déjà depuis longtemps…<br />Effacée d’elle-même, gommée par<br />Procuration pour les autres…</span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7068916113678958138?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-40052704991151751642009-01-19T19:33:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:36:33.709+01:00SONNET V<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTICv5-YFI/AAAAAAAAAC4/_04gMvJ9fKE/s1600-h/no9.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293075411612098642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTICv5-YFI/AAAAAAAAAC4/_04gMvJ9fKE/s320/no9.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#993399;">Les souvenirs se font de plus en plus prégnants<br />Les cris des enfants me réveillent parfois<br />Les temps révolus ne le sont jamais vraiment<br />Des rémanences viennent me visiter et se raviver...<br /><br />L’école et ses platanes se sentent bien en scène<br />Les acteurs d’avant remettent leurs costumes<br />L’air sent l’automne et les habits neufs<br />Les marelles à la craie dansent avec les palets...<br /><br />Mais les fantômes n’aiment pas jouer longtemps<br />L’artifice se dissout dans un courant d’air tiède<br />Les nuages se serrent en une éclipse fortuite<br /><br />La pluie commence de tomber en perles de larmes<br />L’eau déluge dans la cour vide qui miroite<br />Un léger éclat de triste des souvenirs d’antan...</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-4005270499115175164?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-35954664304063991592009-01-19T19:30:00.002+01:002009-01-29T22:08:10.261+01:00SONNET IV<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTHP0wzP-I/AAAAAAAAACw/-5HqdPeBf4w/s1600-h/2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293074536742469602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTHP0wzP-I/AAAAAAAAACw/-5HqdPeBf4w/s400/2.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#000066;">Petite sœur je ne souffre pas te voir ainsi<br />Te cogner aux murs qui m’ont déjà fait des bleus<br />Viens, Je t’emmène voler par-dessus les toits<br />Comme des âmes ivres de liberté peu tutoyée<br /><br />Tu traînes tes os dans une geôle si froide<br />C'est le papillon trop longtemps engourdi<br />Qui ne sait plus battre de ses ailes poudrées<br />Vers les cieux mauves, légers et oxygénés...<br /><br />Tu entends les cris des familiers pour te ranimer<br />Mais endormie dans les nuages de songes en baume<br />Tu es un nouveau-né trop tôt dans l’antichambre de la vie<br /><br />Oublier la réalité des lits trop durs et glaçants<br />Ne plus trembler de se sentir défaillir puis faillir<br />Tu vas voir, on est heureux de temps en temps...</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3595466430406399159?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-53478130309873332332009-01-19T19:27:00.001+01:002009-01-19T19:29:30.203+01:00SONNET III<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTGUTfZthI/AAAAAAAAACo/HtA4dYtduaI/s1600-h/tortuepoissonsok.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293073514198840850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTGUTfZthI/AAAAAAAAACo/HtA4dYtduaI/s320/tortuepoissonsok.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Le kiosque se vide de ses autochtones quotidiens<br />Le vent souffle une douce brise de fin de journée<br />Ici l’on s’asseoit pour rêver enfin un peu<br />Les yeux clos tandis que les bruits s’éloignent...<br /><br />Les papillons tourbillonnent dans leur ronde<br />Des paires d’yeux clignent dans les buissons bruissant<br />La terre respire et tressaille de quiétude retrouvée<br />Le banc craquette et s’étire de ses quatre pieds...<br /><br />C’est le moment de reposer les idées et les heurts<br />Ceux-là même nous assaillant pour n’être oubliés<br />Et que l’on tâche de cacher pour les voir s’effacer...<br /><br />Le murmure des arbres apaisent les tumultes<br />L’épilogue du jour dénoue les fils emmêlés<br />La nature aide ses enfants à s’apaiser...</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-5347813030987333233?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-13305142748223061442009-01-19T19:24:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:26:27.541+01:00SONNET II<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTFr4QqEDI/AAAAAAAAACg/A4r4JY_VmUI/s1600-h/DSC02834.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293072819694473266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTFr4QqEDI/AAAAAAAAACg/A4r4JY_VmUI/s320/DSC02834.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#663366;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">L’édredon de brouillard épais recouvre le lac d’huile noire<br />Le radeau glisse comme une ombre fendant l’eau endormie<br />La lune brille de tout embrasser et guide le cortège<br />Une barque frêle, le rameur, une ombre blanche ondoyant...<br /><br />Il y a des temps se recueillant en des voyages muets<br />L’ultime traversée de silence en taisant ses adieux<br />L’on imagine déjà les âmes en leur nouvel écrin de nuages,<br />Libérées de tous ces maux auxquels nous sommes obligés...<br /><br />Le peuple des éclairés veille de la rive qui s’approche,<br />La crique dévoile dans une demi-nuit sa cour et ses hauts cyprès...<br />Soyez enseveli en ce monde étrange tandis que le jour se lève...<br /><br />L’île maintenant s’éloigne, comme ses fantômes somnambules,<br />La symphonie s’étouffe dans la rame qui s’éloigne,<br />L’orchestre disparaît en souffle sourd de nuances d’aube...</span> </span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1330514274822306144?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-3764455772399810112009-01-19T19:19:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:26:50.257+01:00SONNET I<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTE32be5XI/AAAAAAAAACY/S4NvZ6RhYOg/s1600-h/DSC02830.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293071925849810290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTE32be5XI/AAAAAAAAACY/S4NvZ6RhYOg/s320/DSC02830.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;">Toi digitale dentelière de vers<br />Accompagne les espoirs du temps qui défile<br />De ton canevas en toile de lin tu tisses<br />Bientôt ton trousseau achevé puis défait...<br /><br />Le temps chuchote des mots au coin des murs<br />Les pièces nues susurrent leurs quatre volontés<br />La lumière darde son âme en ce cachot invisible<br />Le clair-obscur révèle les beautés non pressenties...<br /><br />Transie Pénélope nous sommes toutes parfois<br />Nous attendons en vain (?) ce même jour incertain<br />Malgré les heures lasses qui s’étirent sans se rompre...<br /><br />Le soleil du soir là-bas finira bien par s’éclipser.<br />Les collines disparaître en lune noire d’obscurité,<br />Se parant de ses meilleurs atours pour une nouvelle aurore...</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-376445577239981011?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-85611866353243023862009-01-19T19:17:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:29:56.374+01:00ES-TU EN RETARD ?<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTD9SkliuI/AAAAAAAAACI/BdOpFJ2yazs/s1600-h/s%C3%A9choirteteok.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293070919791905506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTD9SkliuI/AAAAAAAAACI/BdOpFJ2yazs/s320/s%C3%A9choirteteok.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#000099;"><em>T’est-il déjà arrivé de rêver que tu dors<br />De pleurer et de rire<br />D’avoir les yeux comme une fenêtre<br />D’essayer de mieux faire<br />D’aimer sans désirer<br />De jouer en pensant à autre chose<br />De voler puis de retomber très légèrement<br />De vouloir fuir sans pouvoir<br />De crier en silence<br />De devenir transparent<br />De bouger pour ne pas t’engourdir<br />De t’oublier pour vivre ?</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-8561186635324302386?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-11798624424938615772009-01-19T19:14:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:16:47.394+01:00LA LEÇON DE PIANO<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTDU2JHuDI/AAAAAAAAACA/nTtAlZPN8uY/s1600-h/pianochroma.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293070224965744690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 262px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTDU2JHuDI/AAAAAAAAACA/nTtAlZPN8uY/s320/pianochroma.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">Je déchiffrais les arabesques au piano,<br />Printemps frais après printemps doux,<br />Automne nu après automne roux,<br />C’était un peu une grand-mère<br />Qui m’accompagne me chaperonne<br />En cheveux argent aux boucles blanches<br />Elle est longue et fière<br />D’une rigueur de corps comme d’âme<br />Ses mains effilées d’une vie en Conservatoire<br />A la peau fine et ridulée d’une aînée<br />Les ongles bien courts pour crocher les croches<br />De partitions de grimoires en miroir...<br /><br />Dehors une cour vide de jour sans classe<br />Les fenêtres hautes et les salles froides<br />L’air du ciel en dièse de bleu et mauve de luth<br />Le cours s’achève tandis que frénétiques<br />Les douze papillons dodécaphoniques<br />Se posent à la fenêtre de l’école de musique...<br />Mes mains jouent toutes seules<br />Sur le clavier des idées sur papier biffuré<br />Valse et tourne, tourne et vire... !<br />J’ai plaisir à rêver de cette femme qui brille<br />Des nuances en buvard de musiques chromatiques.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1179862442493861577?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-35076061131957309012009-01-19T19:09:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:13:23.942+01:00MA PETITE MODELE<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTCthq5aKI/AAAAAAAAAB4/XCyB58D1N9I/s1600-h/Lyg%C3%A9ia.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293069549455370402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTCthq5aKI/AAAAAAAAAB4/XCyB58D1N9I/s320/Lyg%C3%A9ia.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#000066;">Camille et Madeleine<br />Ont tout à envier à ma petite modèle<br />Natte pas trop sage et yeux curieux et doux<br />Ravissante et frêle debout<br />Elle envole ses rimes délicates<br />Comme les plumes d’un oiseau-lyre<br />Niché dans un arbre tout de Poésième.<br />Elle s’enflamme pour les belles-lettres<br />Clio La Muse, pour les fables d’enfants<br />La nouvelle littérature et les mondes de Sophie...<br />Elle pose pour moi et je suis fort fière<br />De pouvoir dessiner cette jeune damoiselle<br />Chrysalide paisible, poétique même<br />Cette petite fée me plaît.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3507606113195730901?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-72979857444733978722009-01-19T19:01:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:06:59.348+01:00L'ACROBATE-FUNAMBULE<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTBH7dOqdI/AAAAAAAAABo/uMKmp8Qf0x8/s1600-h/d%C3%A9but.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293067804030708178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXTBH7dOqdI/AAAAAAAAABo/uMKmp8Qf0x8/s320/d%C3%A9but.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#333399;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">La funambule déambule<br />La « plume-hymène » sautille<br />Élégamment colomb’belle<br />Trotte-menu brindille<br />S’envole à la venvole, atteint presque<br />L’astre du jour dardant ses rayons...<br />Caressants ?<br />Etoile virtuose de métaphore<br />Joue du fleuret pour sa vie<br />Gageant ses pions d’ivoire<br />Sur l’échiquier du temps...<br /><br />Chimère enjôleuse,<br />Sa rêverie périlleuse<br />Néanmoins magnificence<br />Sa pensée est une bulle de savon<br />S’élevant jusqu’aux cimes<br />Des arbres à pain du paradis...<br />Limpide et diaphane<br />Un chœur d’enfant<br />Chante et enveloppe de fraîcheur<br />Les ardeurs de la sœur d’Icare.<br />Une volée onirique quoique dramatique<br />La bulle va s’éclater promptement<br />La descente tragique certainement<br />Plongeon dans le gouffre<br />Des affres des opiacées...<br /><br />La fosse ne respire plus<br />La pendule d’argent s’en interrompt<br />Des milliers d’yeux brillants<br />T’illuminent en réverbères<br />T’accompagnent car en toi<br />Ce sont eux qui se voient<br />Te brûler leurs ailes de papier...<br />« Avance opiniâtre, éloigne-toi de l’âtre ! »<br />Ce sont maintenant des murmures<br />Gorges qui se serrent et pouls qui cognent...<br /><br />Te voilà fin arrivée au bout de ton fil<br />Les larmes roulent sur leurs joues<br />Joues empourprées des spectateurs<br />Mais qui ont encore froid aux os<br />A la pensée d’avoir manqué de peu<br />De croiser la Faucheuse noire<br />Des blés jamais bien assez mûrs<br />Ma fille je t’aime,<br />Il en faut une qui se désigne<br />Tu es notre double qui se hasarde pour nous<br />Dans des contrées qui nous sont inconnues<br />Des vies non vécues en goût d’amertume<br />On joue et toi tu tombes là où nous le dûmes</span>...</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-7297985744473397872?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-90639180312228489642009-01-19T18:56:00.000+01:002009-01-19T19:00:28.369+01:00ALICE PLEASANCE LIDDELL<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS_hWZ1m5I/AAAAAAAAABg/vZVD__jnhiY/s1600-h/minha+namorada.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293066041737714578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS_hWZ1m5I/AAAAAAAAABg/vZVD__jnhiY/s320/minha+namorada.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="color:#330033;"><br /></span><div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS_QbMR1dI/AAAAAAAAABY/Tmv7Vwtf1U4/s1600-h/alice.jpg"></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#663366;"><em>Sur l’arche voguant aux flots de La Tamise<br />Alice fillette supplie l’écrivain<br />De lui conter la fable en fil de laine<br />D’une contrée de merveilles...<br />Son lièvre de Mars, son chapelier,<br />Ce matou du Cheshire malicieux,<br />Qui s’esquive et s’esclaffe<br />En un miaou !-hurlement !<br /><br />Espiègle, gracieuse, exquise,<br />Costumée la durée d’une pose<br />En petite mendiante de Charles Dickens<br />Photographiée pour la postérité,<br />Sa frimousse en éclair du regard,<br />Eclat de rire qui claque,<br />Interroge et se gausse<br />De tous les soupirants soupirant...<br /><br />Femme de glace, beauté d’artiste,<br />Trente ans s’effacent en un souffle<br />Il ne parvient guère à se remémorer<br />En cette figure de statue Grecque<br />Son amie-enfant, l’Alice tant aimée<br />Fillette de porcelaine fascinante et enjouée<br />Pourquoi donc ne veut-elle pas consentir<br />A quelques amours... philanthropes<br />Pour lui Carroll Lewis ?</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-9063918031222848964?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-240018120319709102009-01-19T18:50:00.000+01:002009-01-19T18:55:50.709+01:00CAFE MÜLLER<div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS99RQOmLI/AAAAAAAAABI/SC403wkSggo/s1600-h/femmeagenoux.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293064322368313522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 139px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS99RQOmLI/AAAAAAAAABI/SC403wkSggo/s320/femmeagenoux.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#333399;"><em>Des corps en quête,<br />Halètent des ectoplasmes<br />Brûlés d'une énergie de vie<br />Où es-tu? Qui es-tu?<br />Café Müller des solitaires âmes blanches<br />Robe albâtre blême blafarde presque<br />Tu deviens laiteuse, nacrée<br />Je t'étreins, tu me rejettes<br />Dame aux longs cheveux roux<br />Assieds-toi substance<br />Chair de chaises qui claquent<br />Amant aux yeux clos<br />Chaises qui grincent et crient<br />Amant idéal d’un échange hors temps...</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-24001812031970910?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-36777102476226424412009-01-19T18:46:00.000+01:002009-01-19T18:54:33.595+01:00ALMA MON ÂME OU LA POUPEE D'OSCAR...<div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293064637502698050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS-PnOHskI/AAAAAAAAABQ/xJJ9Wt3PJpU/s400/lamari%C3%A9e.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#333399;"><em>Femme peinture et musique<br />Piquante, magnétique et rayon de lune<br />Tu m’attires dans ton arantelle de dentelle<br />Pleure ou cris tu m’appartiens<br />Même-toi m’aime ton corps<br />Tes cheveux, ou ton sourire<br />Ne sont qu’à moi et tu peux rire<br />Je ne t’entends pas poupée de cire...</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-3677710247622642441?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-9431413312100762882009-01-19T18:37:00.000+01:002009-01-19T18:43:59.809+01:00LA DEMOISELLE AU LIVRE<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS70ECxGwI/AAAAAAAAAA4/VFp3zOx8kO4/s1600-h/10.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293061965180115714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXS70ECxGwI/AAAAAAAAAA4/VFp3zOx8kO4/s320/10.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;color:#990000;"><em>Fille de fil avance<br />Un livre dans les mains<br />Ses yeux ne dérivent pas<br />De l’histoire et des chapitres<br />Pétulants, romantiques,<br />Burlesques ou épiques<br />Papillons noir ou albe,<br />Aux élytres poudrés d’émois...<br /><br />Cette colombine mâtinée<br />Ne s’enquiert guère<br />Des mille questions<br />Des passants en-suspens<br />Curieux de cet elfe gracile...<br /><br />L’enfant-chrysalide<br />S’ouvre au monde<br />Et promène d’un pas sûr<br />Par le verbe et l’emphase<br />Les songes littéraires<br />Des fabulistes et poètes.</em></span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-943141331210076288?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3071749949709599805.post-13595414885576276072009-01-18T22:49:00.000+01:002009-01-18T22:52:46.656+01:00SONGE D'UNE DEMOISELLE D'AVANT...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXOkgjl8LnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/7H3zlTxkyv8/s1600-h/l%27ange.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292754866307608178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ga5fcn9Jaq8/SXOkgjl8LnI/AAAAAAAAAAM/7H3zlTxkyv8/s400/l%27ange.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#333399;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#333399;"><em>La ruelle s’étire,<br />Oblique vers la gauche<br />La minuscule Place Dulcie September<br />Entr’apparaît au-devant d’elle.<br />La bâtisse se dresse là,<br />Anthracite, roide et austère,<br />Elle hésite à se rapprocher tant<br />Ce concerto au piano<br />Qu’elle est seule à entendre<br />Devient oppressant,<br />Assourdissant,<br />Hurlant.</em></span></div><span style="color:#333399;"><br /><div align="center"><br /><em>Ses souliers vernis<br />Neufs et durs<br />Claquent sur les pavés froids,<br />Elle essuie d’un revers de manche<br />Ses yeux embués,<br />Son visage tout mouillé<br />Par cette Symphonie Monotone<br />Qui n’a de cesse<br />De bruiner continûment sur la ville.<br />Elle traverse cette place au sens tragique<br />Pousse la grande grille en fer forgé de l’Ecole,<br />Monte les cinq marches<br />Pour accéder au cloître vide en cailloutis,<br />Et en son centre,<br />Un bassin sans autre eau<br />Que celle de la pluie fine de ce matin triste.<br /><br />Elle lève ses yeux,<br />Les murs sont de pierre grise<br />Les fenêtres hautes et étroites semblent sévères<br />Mais laissent cependant sourdre de la lumière<br />De néons des salles de cours. Salle Varèse,<br />Salle Barthes, Salle McLuhan, Salle Vermeer...<br />Les noms se martèlent,<br />S’égrènent dans sa tête emplie de musiques russes,<br />Rachmaninov, Borodine, Moussorgski,<br />Tchaïkovski qu’elle écoutait avant d’aller en cours...</em></div><br /><div align="center"><br /><em>Avant...</em></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3071749949709599805-1359541488557627607?l=hurle-vent.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Mirenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08899332640323044976noreply@blogger.com0