Examples of poems published
Flow by Arista Mejia Perla, CIMF, 2012
Flocks of free flyers flee away,
And above the clouds stay.
People express feelings,
Birds do their singings.
Nature communicates through rain of words,
Wind comes from different worlds…
Language is in the Sky and Earth:
A spring flower opens up for others to follow;
With its tremulous petals she shakes the mirth
Of the awakening messages to its fellows.
Day and night, they their dreams shed
Just as humans their ideas spread .
My Letter to the President by Benoit Bichara, SA, 2012
10 years the same street’s being repaired
What are you? Visually impaired?
Money ain’t everything
We pay taxes
What do you give us in return?
2 million dollars on an artificial lake
2 million hungry and freezing on the streets
Money ain’t everything
So stop putting it in your pockets
And start saving lives
10 cops harassing an innocent minor
No one’s saving the one getting raped at the other corner
It’s like we come from different worlds
You’re the only one important in yours
Open your eyes, stop acting blind
Lie to our eyes
You think we’re stupid
This ain’t a game
Where do you get to restart when you destroy half your country?
The rich live, the poor die
But in the end, who will be living in the sky?
Miseries by Jean-Philippe Lacroix, SA, 2012
A lifetime of fear I resent
Filled with tears and regret
Given to me as a poisoned present
By an accursed false prophet
Running through a maze
My world is set to blaze
I fall into mud
Get stained by my blood
My days are full of despair
As I am haunted by the empty stare
Of those people I used to cherish the most
I sail away from the safety of my coast
Out into open and brutal water
As I become my own martyr
I am a monster, a thing,
A puppet under a string,
Engulfed in misery and lies,
Confined to never open my eyes.
I follow and become hollow,
As I lose myself in my echo.
Take a Moment to Look Around by Mary-Ann Shehata, SA, 2012
The inevitable truth can no longer be ignored.
Wealth and power are ruling the world at ease,
Brainwashing anyone who believes
That peace and justice need to be restored.
Man is not learning from his mistakes,
And this is leaving the sanity of humanity at stake.
Every blinded human soul needs a serious shake;
Seeing misery is giving me a heartache.
Has it ever occurred to you
That you need to change your point of view?
Young children die of hunger and thirst
Whilst others die to have the Iphone 5 first.
Have you ever tried to save what is left of humanity?
Showed to a stranger a sign of mercy, compassion?
Have you ever willingly done a good little action?
Or simply ones out of obligation, formality?
Have you ever thought that your situation is not the worst struggle?
The second you step out of your selfish bubble,
You take time to listen to other people’s trouble.
You thought you were pressed to the ground, yet to the floor they crumble.
Mystery by Rhea Coriaty, SA, 2011
Mystery, why is it that I fear so much the unknown?
Lost, empty, curious, slender does my heart feel.
But today, don't I have everything I need?
When the future becomes my present, I am always looking for more.
More truth. More explanations. More love.
Imagine if I stopped
To trust the destiny given to me tomorrow
That embellishes every given detail of the story called life.
Mystery, one might say the unknown is what helps me survive
Hoping for tomorrow, dreaming for tomorrow,
Always wanting to foretell tomorrow.
Imagine if I stopped.
What would the use of my dashing attempt to face the future be?
Hollow in my life shall I feel
When forever more the shadow of faith darkens my path.
Should not I believe that tomorrow is my purpose to live for today
As today was my thirst to live yesterday?
Mystery, strangely intriguing
Should I waste a lifetime trying to figure it out?
Or await a whisper hinting at what is to come?
Untitled by Nicolas Synnott, SA, 2011
The air you breathe ignites my throat,
Your heartbeat tightens my lung,
Your blood soothes my veins,
Your thoughts atrophy my brain,
Your scent asphyxiates my snout,
Your voice shatters my ears,
Your claws pit my skin,
Your spirit spooks my gestures:
You are terrifying, my soul!
My deeply buried ardour
Impetuously assails the dam,
Weakened by crevices,
Leaking tears — obscure, malicious.
Falling down are plaintive cries;
Saturated with illusions and odium are clouds,
What symbiosis, mired in morass:
All hopeful vibes hopelessly swooned.
The Geese by Cedryck Lessard, SA, 2011
Will you go over the see
On the wings of The Geese,
singing, swinging your head over the melodious sound of wind?
Will you go?
Will you listen to me when I cry?
Life, overall, is a crowded place that lives at its fast pace.
Pacemaker. Peacemaker.
The untellable story, the miracle of blood,
flowing in our interior rivers, slowly making its path towards the ocean.
Boom. Boom.
I hear it, booming like a bomb!
I feel its pulse, I feel it living its life, no matter what happens.
I cannot speak, I cannot hear anything but you now,
feeling you, being you, merging with you into the unknown.
Ephemeral beauty by Cody MATHIEU, CIMF, 2010
Every morning as I rise from the fog, you await me.
With a smile you say hello
Keeping me company, staring at me silently
We don't need to talk even, though you have so much to say
Hello, how are you today?
Across the table your colorful attire inspires me
I could sit there all day, gazing at you
We don't need to talk
Your arms spread apart, ready to embrace me, to embrace life
But you can't, fragile yet beautiful, you rest, for this is your day.
I am sorry I can't stay.
At noon you are weak, by the time I get home you have faded, wilted, fallen motionless on the table.
Now you are gone, now it is time to sleep.
Like my inner clock, you symbolize my mood and represent an ideal philosophy
The only way I could honor you is by making every day a rebirth.
You have died, I sleep.
When the fog lifts, I see you staring at me from the table.
Ready to introduce yourself, like every morning, you look the same but have never seen me before
You bloom is beautiful,
Hibiscus
Grandma by Thomas MARTEL-PLANTE, CIMF, 2010
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
a quick giggle,
then came my response as I tried to wriggle away,
she held me with a firm grasp, close to her heart,
simply protecting me, and smiling
that smile, that comforting smile
We both sat there,
on her wooden chair,
wobbling to and fro,
staring up at the damp set of trees as the leaves came falling down,
both of us happy,
until it went dark and it was time to go.
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
trying not to hear her, I climbed higher,
it was the first time I climbed that big damp tree,
she watched me, closely, smiling as I looked back at her,
that smile, that comforting smile.
We lay down in a pile of leaves,
wet leaves that had fallen that autumn,
both of us, staring up at the sky,
she held me close, protecting me, caring for me,
until it was time to go.
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
smiling back at her, I played the next card
but she would always beat me, beaming up at me,
telling me I had a lot to learn,
that smile, that comforting smile.
We both sat there, next to the big damp tree
watching the leaves fall all around us,
but she still kept me close,
teaching me, inspiring me,
until it was time to go.
It was so, until she fell sick,
I went to see her,
there she sat, wobbling to and fro on that wooden rocking chair,
radiant as she always was, .
the disease yet perceivable.
I slowly sat next to her,
“You’re a beautiful boy, what’s your name?” she asked
“Thomas,” I answered, holding her quiet gaze,
she still smiled, that comforting smile.
Then for the last time, she kept me close,
as I did, both of us together,
watching the leaves fall from those old damp trees,
until it was time to go.
An International Bastard by Lea CHEBLI, CIMF, 2010
Where do I come from?
I’ve been asking myself this question lately
Can’t seem to find an answer, really.
From exiled parents, I was born in a cold city
They decided to leave: I was not even three
Grew up in the middle of the desert
Between sand and man, love and hurt
The wind blew strong, the sun was high
In this strange country, with its red sky
Far, far from the place my parents called home.
I lived in my little world of silver and chrome.
Whenever we’d go out, people stared
From their insisting gaze, I knew I’d never belong
So I lived on.
Many years later we returned to the cold city.
What a difference: not the desert country!
Although nobody stared, I still had that feeling
Knowing that I have no sense of belonging.
The place that ought to be home, the one my parents call so
A beautiful place, was never mine, I know.
I never really wondered-we traveled much, went everywhere-
How do you feel when you come from nowhere?
I’ve been asking myself this question lately
Can’t seem to find an answer, really.
Mother Tree by Lyakout Mohamed Saïd, CIMF, 2010
I‘d been setting my roots deep down into the earth
So my feet could swallow all the pearls of water
In the warmth of this humid clay, - this living mother earth, -
breathing, eating, drinking; it’s nonsense, however.
You are blood, to my sap, and flesh, to my wood.
So, then, if there is something I have understood,
It‘s that love is just a selfish self-sacrifice.
I swear, would air be water, your face as ice,
You, frost, would certainly kill me, tearing my bark.
This natural order of things, it is indeed.
I had sucked life out of this fertile soil, so dark.
You can do the same to me. If that’s what you need.
I must die so that you can see the world and grow stronger.
I remember your birth. It was not a long time ago;
Your face seemed to be my own image, would air be water.
Child, bitter seed, tender fruit, you will bloom and soon will glow.
Untitled by Isabelle Sokolnicka, CIMF, 2009
They say it kissed her mouth of wine
As thunderstorms in agony.
She drank their soul and thrilled their mind -
Souls of Caesar and Antony.
They feared she’d walk victoriously
And feared her shadow on their stars
Humming their brutal symphony
Tuning the trumpets of their wars.
Her foot slid only through your lips,
Her hand caressed your naked arms,
You drew your world around her hips,
Fierce emperors of glorious realms.
They say she saw her dream collapsed
They say she sensed th’emerald snake
The deadly ring around her breast
She shut her lids, forgot the ache.
The Nile is blood on Sinai’s lands.
Full in the sun, Rê hides the crime.
Sharp glints of light on golden sands,
Inside her palms, the sands of time.
Mermaid’s charm by Nelson Roubert , CIMF, 2009
I feel the soft breeze of the mermaid’s charm through my body, invading everything.
Her captivating spell only arouses my deepest inquisitiveness and draws me in.
Her lure enlightens the sky of all mysteries, gloom and sorrow.
As I stroll further and further into the blinding light, few things occupy my mind.
I never ask myself why or how she enchants me, all that matters is the pleasure.
Her spell seems resilient; whatever I do I’m lost in her palpable enchantment.
My only desire is to be consumed by her lustrous charm.
Like an injection of gold rapture, I feel a rush of pure existence
I become her magnetism, I am because she is.
Dependant, as her charms dilute till disappearance, I am left begging
The enlighten skies suddenly fade to grey, leaving me caught by her womb like curse.
I have heard her songs, seen her infinite beauty, what am I to do?
I must hear more, I must see more, I must feel more.
As I have nothing left to guide me, I blindly listen to her decaying melodies.
Her curse devours the little hope left in me, that once glorious, now oppresses.
My blood unequally spread in my body: I am nothingness.
Red stains fill my eyes leaving me staring at my own death.
She is the bringer of life, destroyer of souls, - a paradox of life.
It only left me in the grandest state of withdrawal, why such suffering?
I never realized that such beauty could exist.
It only meant pure evil.
Hate by Alexandra Malhamé , CIMF, 2009
A muffled cry, a silent sob,
A backhand for a shitty job,
He doesn't care, she doesn't say
They've both learned to live this way.
People stare and people ask,
And people glare and people gasp,
But neither speaks, both choose to hide,
The hurt, the shame they keep inside.
He never tells her how to do,
Just to do it, through and through,
She never speaks, not to complain,
For that she knows will bring her pain.
He can't control it, doesn't try,
Has failed too many times to cry,
She doesn't get it, all the hate,
She doesn't know, she's only eight.
Flocks of free flyers flee away,
And above the clouds stay.
People express feelings,
Birds do their singings.
Nature communicates through rain of words,
Wind comes from different worlds…
Language is in the Sky and Earth:
A spring flower opens up for others to follow;
With its tremulous petals she shakes the mirth
Of the awakening messages to its fellows.
Day and night, they their dreams shed
Just as humans their ideas spread .
My Letter to the President by Benoit Bichara, SA, 2012
10 years the same street’s being repaired
What are you? Visually impaired?
Money ain’t everything
We pay taxes
What do you give us in return?
2 million dollars on an artificial lake
2 million hungry and freezing on the streets
Money ain’t everything
So stop putting it in your pockets
And start saving lives
10 cops harassing an innocent minor
No one’s saving the one getting raped at the other corner
It’s like we come from different worlds
You’re the only one important in yours
Open your eyes, stop acting blind
Lie to our eyes
You think we’re stupid
This ain’t a game
Where do you get to restart when you destroy half your country?
The rich live, the poor die
But in the end, who will be living in the sky?
Miseries by Jean-Philippe Lacroix, SA, 2012
A lifetime of fear I resent
Filled with tears and regret
Given to me as a poisoned present
By an accursed false prophet
Running through a maze
My world is set to blaze
I fall into mud
Get stained by my blood
My days are full of despair
As I am haunted by the empty stare
Of those people I used to cherish the most
I sail away from the safety of my coast
Out into open and brutal water
As I become my own martyr
I am a monster, a thing,
A puppet under a string,
Engulfed in misery and lies,
Confined to never open my eyes.
I follow and become hollow,
As I lose myself in my echo.
Take a Moment to Look Around by Mary-Ann Shehata, SA, 2012
The inevitable truth can no longer be ignored.
Wealth and power are ruling the world at ease,
Brainwashing anyone who believes
That peace and justice need to be restored.
Man is not learning from his mistakes,
And this is leaving the sanity of humanity at stake.
Every blinded human soul needs a serious shake;
Seeing misery is giving me a heartache.
Has it ever occurred to you
That you need to change your point of view?
Young children die of hunger and thirst
Whilst others die to have the Iphone 5 first.
Have you ever tried to save what is left of humanity?
Showed to a stranger a sign of mercy, compassion?
Have you ever willingly done a good little action?
Or simply ones out of obligation, formality?
Have you ever thought that your situation is not the worst struggle?
The second you step out of your selfish bubble,
You take time to listen to other people’s trouble.
You thought you were pressed to the ground, yet to the floor they crumble.
Mystery by Rhea Coriaty, SA, 2011
Mystery, why is it that I fear so much the unknown?
Lost, empty, curious, slender does my heart feel.
But today, don't I have everything I need?
When the future becomes my present, I am always looking for more.
More truth. More explanations. More love.
Imagine if I stopped
To trust the destiny given to me tomorrow
That embellishes every given detail of the story called life.
Mystery, one might say the unknown is what helps me survive
Hoping for tomorrow, dreaming for tomorrow,
Always wanting to foretell tomorrow.
Imagine if I stopped.
What would the use of my dashing attempt to face the future be?
Hollow in my life shall I feel
When forever more the shadow of faith darkens my path.
Should not I believe that tomorrow is my purpose to live for today
As today was my thirst to live yesterday?
Mystery, strangely intriguing
Should I waste a lifetime trying to figure it out?
Or await a whisper hinting at what is to come?
Untitled by Nicolas Synnott, SA, 2011
The air you breathe ignites my throat,
Your heartbeat tightens my lung,
Your blood soothes my veins,
Your thoughts atrophy my brain,
Your scent asphyxiates my snout,
Your voice shatters my ears,
Your claws pit my skin,
Your spirit spooks my gestures:
You are terrifying, my soul!
My deeply buried ardour
Impetuously assails the dam,
Weakened by crevices,
Leaking tears — obscure, malicious.
Falling down are plaintive cries;
Saturated with illusions and odium are clouds,
What symbiosis, mired in morass:
All hopeful vibes hopelessly swooned.
The Geese by Cedryck Lessard, SA, 2011
Will you go over the see
On the wings of The Geese,
singing, swinging your head over the melodious sound of wind?
Will you go?
Will you listen to me when I cry?
Life, overall, is a crowded place that lives at its fast pace.
Pacemaker. Peacemaker.
The untellable story, the miracle of blood,
flowing in our interior rivers, slowly making its path towards the ocean.
Boom. Boom.
I hear it, booming like a bomb!
I feel its pulse, I feel it living its life, no matter what happens.
I cannot speak, I cannot hear anything but you now,
feeling you, being you, merging with you into the unknown.
Ephemeral beauty by Cody MATHIEU, CIMF, 2010
Every morning as I rise from the fog, you await me.
With a smile you say hello
Keeping me company, staring at me silently
We don't need to talk even, though you have so much to say
Hello, how are you today?
Across the table your colorful attire inspires me
I could sit there all day, gazing at you
We don't need to talk
Your arms spread apart, ready to embrace me, to embrace life
But you can't, fragile yet beautiful, you rest, for this is your day.
I am sorry I can't stay.
At noon you are weak, by the time I get home you have faded, wilted, fallen motionless on the table.
Now you are gone, now it is time to sleep.
Like my inner clock, you symbolize my mood and represent an ideal philosophy
The only way I could honor you is by making every day a rebirth.
You have died, I sleep.
When the fog lifts, I see you staring at me from the table.
Ready to introduce yourself, like every morning, you look the same but have never seen me before
You bloom is beautiful,
Hibiscus
Grandma by Thomas MARTEL-PLANTE, CIMF, 2010
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
a quick giggle,
then came my response as I tried to wriggle away,
she held me with a firm grasp, close to her heart,
simply protecting me, and smiling
that smile, that comforting smile
We both sat there,
on her wooden chair,
wobbling to and fro,
staring up at the damp set of trees as the leaves came falling down,
both of us happy,
until it went dark and it was time to go.
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
trying not to hear her, I climbed higher,
it was the first time I climbed that big damp tree,
she watched me, closely, smiling as I looked back at her,
that smile, that comforting smile.
We lay down in a pile of leaves,
wet leaves that had fallen that autumn,
both of us, staring up at the sky,
she held me close, protecting me, caring for me,
until it was time to go.
“You’re a beautiful boy Thomas,” she would say,
smiling back at her, I played the next card
but she would always beat me, beaming up at me,
telling me I had a lot to learn,
that smile, that comforting smile.
We both sat there, next to the big damp tree
watching the leaves fall all around us,
but she still kept me close,
teaching me, inspiring me,
until it was time to go.
It was so, until she fell sick,
I went to see her,
there she sat, wobbling to and fro on that wooden rocking chair,
radiant as she always was, .
the disease yet perceivable.
I slowly sat next to her,
“You’re a beautiful boy, what’s your name?” she asked
“Thomas,” I answered, holding her quiet gaze,
she still smiled, that comforting smile.
Then for the last time, she kept me close,
as I did, both of us together,
watching the leaves fall from those old damp trees,
until it was time to go.
An International Bastard by Lea CHEBLI, CIMF, 2010
Where do I come from?
I’ve been asking myself this question lately
Can’t seem to find an answer, really.
From exiled parents, I was born in a cold city
They decided to leave: I was not even three
Grew up in the middle of the desert
Between sand and man, love and hurt
The wind blew strong, the sun was high
In this strange country, with its red sky
Far, far from the place my parents called home.
I lived in my little world of silver and chrome.
Whenever we’d go out, people stared
From their insisting gaze, I knew I’d never belong
So I lived on.
Many years later we returned to the cold city.
What a difference: not the desert country!
Although nobody stared, I still had that feeling
Knowing that I have no sense of belonging.
The place that ought to be home, the one my parents call so
A beautiful place, was never mine, I know.
I never really wondered-we traveled much, went everywhere-
How do you feel when you come from nowhere?
I’ve been asking myself this question lately
Can’t seem to find an answer, really.
Mother Tree by Lyakout Mohamed Saïd, CIMF, 2010
I‘d been setting my roots deep down into the earth
So my feet could swallow all the pearls of water
In the warmth of this humid clay, - this living mother earth, -
breathing, eating, drinking; it’s nonsense, however.
You are blood, to my sap, and flesh, to my wood.
So, then, if there is something I have understood,
It‘s that love is just a selfish self-sacrifice.
I swear, would air be water, your face as ice,
You, frost, would certainly kill me, tearing my bark.
This natural order of things, it is indeed.
I had sucked life out of this fertile soil, so dark.
You can do the same to me. If that’s what you need.
I must die so that you can see the world and grow stronger.
I remember your birth. It was not a long time ago;
Your face seemed to be my own image, would air be water.
Child, bitter seed, tender fruit, you will bloom and soon will glow.
Untitled by Isabelle Sokolnicka, CIMF, 2009
They say it kissed her mouth of wine
As thunderstorms in agony.
She drank their soul and thrilled their mind -
Souls of Caesar and Antony.
They feared she’d walk victoriously
And feared her shadow on their stars
Humming their brutal symphony
Tuning the trumpets of their wars.
Her foot slid only through your lips,
Her hand caressed your naked arms,
You drew your world around her hips,
Fierce emperors of glorious realms.
They say she saw her dream collapsed
They say she sensed th’emerald snake
The deadly ring around her breast
She shut her lids, forgot the ache.
The Nile is blood on Sinai’s lands.
Full in the sun, Rê hides the crime.
Sharp glints of light on golden sands,
Inside her palms, the sands of time.
Mermaid’s charm by Nelson Roubert , CIMF, 2009
I feel the soft breeze of the mermaid’s charm through my body, invading everything.
Her captivating spell only arouses my deepest inquisitiveness and draws me in.
Her lure enlightens the sky of all mysteries, gloom and sorrow.
As I stroll further and further into the blinding light, few things occupy my mind.
I never ask myself why or how she enchants me, all that matters is the pleasure.
Her spell seems resilient; whatever I do I’m lost in her palpable enchantment.
My only desire is to be consumed by her lustrous charm.
Like an injection of gold rapture, I feel a rush of pure existence
I become her magnetism, I am because she is.
Dependant, as her charms dilute till disappearance, I am left begging
The enlighten skies suddenly fade to grey, leaving me caught by her womb like curse.
I have heard her songs, seen her infinite beauty, what am I to do?
I must hear more, I must see more, I must feel more.
As I have nothing left to guide me, I blindly listen to her decaying melodies.
Her curse devours the little hope left in me, that once glorious, now oppresses.
My blood unequally spread in my body: I am nothingness.
Red stains fill my eyes leaving me staring at my own death.
She is the bringer of life, destroyer of souls, - a paradox of life.
It only left me in the grandest state of withdrawal, why such suffering?
I never realized that such beauty could exist.
It only meant pure evil.
Hate by Alexandra Malhamé , CIMF, 2009
A muffled cry, a silent sob,
A backhand for a shitty job,
He doesn't care, she doesn't say
They've both learned to live this way.
People stare and people ask,
And people glare and people gasp,
But neither speaks, both choose to hide,
The hurt, the shame they keep inside.
He never tells her how to do,
Just to do it, through and through,
She never speaks, not to complain,
For that she knows will bring her pain.
He can't control it, doesn't try,
Has failed too many times to cry,
She doesn't get it, all the hate,
She doesn't know, she's only eight.