ROSES IN CAFE VICTOR HUGO, D. NORMANDIE, 31 JULY 2015

ROSES, VICTOR HUGO cafe


FOUR ROSES, THREE PINK,
ONE WHITE.  A ROSE
DROPS ITS HEAD OVER THE
SIDE OF THE GLASS.
MY EYES SEARCH
 RENEWAL

A CHILD ASKS FOR AN ORANGE JUICE
JOSIE, POCK MARKED WITH AGE, JOSETTE
SMILES
AS I SMILE AT THE ROSE.


.

NO MAGPIES TODAY draft 30 July 2015 by Foutoux

NO MAGPIES TODAY


NO MAGPIES TODAY BUT THE
SULLEN SHADOW OF THE SEAGULL
FLIES PAST MY WINDOW
A GHOST OR SOUL?

NO RAIN TODAY, AIMLESS CLOUDS
SKIRT THROUGH SUMMER SKIES.

WE ANTICIPATE THE GREAT DEPARTURE
OF AUGUST, THE HARVEST, THE ONSET OF
AUTUMN

SOME DAYS ARE INNOCENT  PLAYFUL
UNTROUBLED.  ENOUGH LAUGHTER TO
WARD OFF SOLITUDE.

HOW SOON WILL I REGRET THESE
SUNLIT MORNINGS,
THE HEAVY DARKNESS OF WINTER WHICH CREEPS
 TOWARDS US.?

MAGPIES by Foutoux (draft 28 July 2015)

MAGPIES


AT THE ROUNDABOUT TWO MAGPIES
I WONDERED WHAT THEY HAD STOLEN
FROM WHERE AND FROM WHOM.

THE ROAD TO OFFRANVILLE AN  EASY RIDE,
MY THOUGHTS BEYOND ME NOTICING LITTLE BUT
MY MOOD - AU BEAU FIXE, HAPPY EVEN
IN THIS LATE JULY DAY.

AT THE GARDEN RAIN GIVES WAY TO
WARM SUN AND WE NOTICE
NO WISTERIA, NO PIONIES, NO DAFFODILS
NO COLOUR.-
 GREEN, SILVER BIRCHES
A HUNDRED FEET HIGH SCRAPING
HEAVEN.
HOLLYHOCKS AS HIGH AS HOUSES
LOOK FRAZZLED
BY LAST WEEK'S HEAT.


THEY TALK OF THE NEXT FIVE DAYS
HOT, WELCOMING IDLE TOURISTS
WHO POLLINATE THE GARDENS
LIKE REDUNDANT BEES.

THEY ARE CHASED FROM THE GARDEN
NOT BY AN ANGEL BUT
 UNEASE.

THE CAFE 28 July 2015

THE RUSTIQUE IS A CAFE IN THE MARKET SQUARE OF D. A PORT ON THE COAST OF NORMANDIE FRANCE.  THERE IS A MARKET EVERY TUESDAY.

THE CAFE 28 July 2015 MARKET DAY

IN THE MARKET SQUARE THE WIND BLOWS
THERE ARE NO MAGPIE JUST GULLS.

THE CAFE AWNING FLAPS
IN THE MARKET THE FLOWERS
ARE STIFF AS SOLDIERS IN
PLASTIC WAISTCOATS.
NO ROSES BEND, IRISES ROD STILL.
HERE AND THERE A WILTING
BUSY LIZZIE.

THE WIND, TIRES OF US AND
FLIES TO MY GARDEN WHERE
SCARLET ROSES ARE
WHIPPED INTO CONVERSATION,
THE MONKEY TREE NODS
AT THE BEECHES IDLE CHATTER.
MY OWN ROW OF CRIMSON SOLDIERS
ARE SALUTING THE WIND RIGHT NOW.

HOW MANY PETALS THAT I
SCATTERED YESTERDAY WITH
MY GRIM SCYTHE REMAIN OR
HAVE BEEN BLOW AWAY?

IN THE CAFE THE AWNINGS FLAP
THE COLD AIR RUSHES AND
CHILLS ME.

FOUTOUX

the wind (VERSE 2 DRAFT) BY fOUTOUX

I ARRIVE AT MY LITTLE  SOLDIERS
VALIANT AND CRIMSON
UNCOMPLAINING IN THE RAIN.

I DELIGHT IN THE  SNIP
WHICH RELIEVES YOU OF A
SINGLE FLOWER
AND REJOICE AT THE  INCISIONS
WHEN  BRANCHES FALL.

TURNING, WILLIAM THE CONQUERER'S
CHATEAU  IS IN GREY CLOUD
WHILE I AM STANDING IN MOMENTARY
SUNSHINE.

AND THEN THE RAIN BEGINS AGAIN
CLUTCHING MY SACK FULL OF MY
LITTLE SOLDIER'S HEADS
I RETURN HOME.

FOUTOUX


27 July 2015

THE WIND by Foutoux

THIEBERMONT IS A MONASTERY OF AUGUSTAN NUNS JUST OUTSIDE DIEPPE FROM WHERE YOU CAN SEE THE RUINS OF WILLIAM THE CONQUER'S CASTLE.


THE WIND

A SUDDEN BLAST AS I CLIMB TOWARDS
THIEBERONT
THE MAGPIE FLIES SIDEWAYS AT THE HEDGE.

ONLY A SIGHT DRIZZLE SO
ROSE HAD TOPPING CAN CONTINUE.

BLACK PASTIC BAG, SECATEURS,
FLORAL GLOVES..I
ARRIVE AT MY LITTLE SOLDIERS.    (draft continued next blog).  FOUTOUX.

WIND, THIEBERMONT (draft 2nd verse)

I am now responsible for chaotic
growth, for the weedy, unwatered
rabble presented beneath the
Holy man.

No longer prey to the sigh of
Beauty's Appreciation,
my gardener's eye, Mistress and Master,
Dominatrice.  Can't wait to get
the gardening gloves on.

In the Divine Office I cannot see
My roses from here but
pouring 5 litres of water on each bush.    (see next blog - technical problems)  Draft 25 July 2015
I am the mother who has given milk

WIND Verse 3.

WIND.  Draft verse 3.

Feeling like a mother giving first milk
To first born, I confess
To being a born again gardener.

Draft 25 July 2015  Foutoux
t

WIND, THIEBERMONT 25 July 2025

WIND, MONASTERE DE THIEBERMONT 25 July 2015

Unreasonable ad irritable
Wind, I call you to account.
The copper beech shakes its head
Like a teenage girl its  hands
sway unafraid while the rose looked
frankly, troubled.
A single bird flies behind the
Wooden Christ, who blocks my view
Of  crimson roses.

draft 25 July 2015.  Second verse next blog.

WILLIAM THE CONQUERER PART 2

WILLIAM THE CONQUERER  PART 2

And what has changed since?
Still lie the hills, still flows the river,
Your miserable ruin lies unchanged.
Still flies the swallow, still the sky is blue.
The sea, the wind, summer breezes,
butterflies, roses.
All may have delighted you.

From Thiebermont, I massacre
French roses and you lie long dead.
I am your unconquered English Rose
Fading with each summer
But not yet vanquished.

WILLIAM THE CONQUERER (ruins at Arque La Bataille Normanie)

WILLIAM THE CONQUERER  (verse 2 in next blog)
(Ruins at Arque La Bataille, Normandie)


GHEEHOME LE CONQUERANT
(so pronounced in French)
It is I who am cutting French heads
(True only roses)  while from a distance of
One thousand years and three kilometres
See your Thumb sized Castle ruined.

One thousand years is
15 times my life lived
when Poor Harold was shot
Through the Eye.





And








W

MAGPIE by Foutoux

MAGPIE.

The Monastery, beech saplings planted
Three deep, two rows to my left
Three to my right.  A shade hardly
20 years old.

The Magpie lands in front of me like
A bi-plane.  Is it the same one
Who at Mass lands beyond
the wooden Christ beyond
the tinted windows?

I walk behind the chapel this time
to dead-head a thousand roses
in one hour.
Holding my seccateurs the roses
moult petals but not at my
wedding.

From time to time I lift my head
and see William the Conquerer's
ruined castle - Arque La Bataille.
What is an Englishwoman doing
considering the ruins
 from here the size of his thumb?
Coronation, domination and
atrocities, nothing remains but me
And the thumb sized castle
and my pleasant musings on
this sunny day.

23 July 2013

MANOUCHE THE CAT

MANOUCHE by Foutoux


Manouche, small eyed and white
Cat of a thousand lives
Treading a parquet floor
You remind me of Tsarinsas and
Snow, sledges and rheindeer.

How patient you are
Manouche Manouche.
Your mistress crouches over
You as a lioness over a cub
Administering homeopathic cures.

PISTACHE THE CAT

PISTACHE by Foutoux


Pat a tee Pat a tah
Pistache, great ball of fur
Sidles, tortoiseshelled, towards me.

One-eyed, but staring wisely,
Oozing from both ends
Apartement cinquante
(18th Arrondisement Paris)
Would be a little less
Without you.

20 july 201

MILTON's HEAVEN

MILTON'S HEAVEN by Foutoux


JEWELLED ANACHRONISM, A VISION
OF HEAVEN
SUBLIME,
ANGELS HIDE THEIR FACES
WITH WNGS
AN AMBER RIVER FLOWS THROUGH
PARADISE AND GOD, HIMSELF,
HIDDEN BY CLOUDS
SHOWS ONLY A HEM.
LISTEN TO THE ANGEL'S SONG
"GLORY GLORY GLORY
HOSSANAH IN THE HIGHEST."


FAR BELOW SATAN ROMES
FOR HUMAN PREY

AND I?  FAITH IS ABSURD
SAYS AUGUSTINE
FAITH IN THIS GOD WHO HIDES HIS HEM
WHO KNOWS ME AND LEADS ME
AND LOVES ME.


19 July 2015

GLASSHOUSE 1915

GLASSHOUSE 1915


"People in glass houses
Shouldn't throw stones"
There were many who
threw stones at you
venerable glasshouse
where the hot smell of summer
Entombs the tomatoes
grown by an
Invisible gardener.


From the valley
a century past you
vibrated to trucks
carrying the young dead
towards their never-ending bed.

Fortunately the Romans had
straightened out these
Norman roads, perhaps
anticipating the need for
The axis from Amiens to
Eternity.

Foutoux.

MEMORY

MEMORY by Foutoux

Yesterday breaths
Another breath,
A green, a blue that I no longer see.
Today has memories that
I don't remember
I am free but have
to free myself.
A shadow this morning,
Seagulls passing, a novel
lucid and distracted
I read.

LILIES

I follow you as

a Child towards

the Bouquet Champetre and

Sigh my "Thankyous"

Profuse...too profuse.

Cutting the lily which

Stains It is mid

Summer.

We have survived

La Grande Chaleur

and breath the after

Rain air

Grateful that the

Heat has left us.

We walk again

Amid a thousand

dead lilies

Cooked by the sun

Which waits and

fades us all

Day by Day, one by one.

Foutoux.  July 2015