Poetry

Under the old fort's walls flashes past the moray.
Its fair body is tanned by the salt and the sun.
Did sun light upset you where reaches no more ray
Or some fit of fever prompt you to this rash run?

Buccaneers once looted there where dwelt the moray.
One might the craggy cliffs climb up to their fortress.
But to sap walls of hate who would go on foray,
With a kiss force open this white enamelled mass?

Oblivion now covers the realm of the moray
And mere silt ebbs and flows watched by rusty bombards.
A skull on a pale in no mood for amore
Challenges my banners, my flags and my standards.

LA MURENE

Sous les remparts -éclair- cingle la murène,
Beau corps bruni par le sel et le soleil.
Est-ce au soleil faute si je te mus reine
Ou d'un appel à quelque fièvre pareil.

Le boucanier pillait où fut la murène
De ses fortins escalader les redans.
Mais quel piton pour jeter bas ce mur haine,
Planter la langue au blanc massif de ces dents?

A pris l'oubli la cité de la murène.
La vase bat sous la garde des canons.
Au pic brandi tournoie un chef, hure haine,
Pour remplacer mes bannières et pennons.