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Thursday, 2 October 2014

Bollocktics! - Power, Politics, Banking and Corruption - Trev Creative Quotes

Trev Teasdel's  Facebook creative statuses, quotes and flashing fictions 2008 - 2014 Serious and humorous and poetic and responding to the news.


Trev has taken the world into the garage. The carburetors thick in crap politics - no wonder it wasn't working!

Curved Politics

Politics and economics are like hurricanes - they make a huge noise, create a feeling of terror, destroy all in their wake and leave the punters to cope with the mess and blame it on a scape-goat and bank the profit!

Political French kissing on the streets of Marseille, Toulouse,  Nice,  Paris, Clermont-Ferrand....deep-throat cuts across Europe - Mordor rising - the one ring of debt to bind them all!

Marseilles - City of Culture - where bin men play the art of politics - evoking the senses and challenging the aesthetics with their stuff of trade. 
Inventive protest over which tear-gas has no effect! 

The Age of Rubbish Politics!
From Daily Mail.

Volcanic dust cloud shuts down UK politics. Clarity of policy was at an all time low. MP's were grounded and all flights of political fancy cancelled.

...the whole wild washed up monetary system lay shivering on the beach of human potential where golden dreams of harmony, cooperation and creativity shone over it's cold, iron and unimaginative heart...

Trev is planning a January sale, everything must go. Incompetent world-wide governments, corrupt stock exchanges, fox hunter-gatherers, global warmers, outmoded ideologies, war barons, bent bankers and all things surplus to requirement. World creative workshop sessions begin in February to formulate plans for new people-friendly approach.

The world is a theatre where corporate scriptwriters pen social blockbusters of mass destruction.

'The great trick', said he, "is to inspire a nation. Inspire a nation and your work is done for you. Find out what makes them tick, what lights up their eyes and hearts, what brings them together, what makes them want to care a damn and then, then they will be creative, inventive, cooperative and insightful." 
He moved closer to the camera "But coerce them, bully them, dictate to them and everything will be done begrudgingly, under force, under a cloud of great depression, without care, without heart and only last as long as the forces of coercion last." "Empires crumble - this is the lesson that need to be learnt. Coercion is no way to run a nation" said He, moving off the stage, into the crowd.....the cloud of selfish power gathered in the sky, whispering, moody with storm clouds but the sun look down on them, looked through them, biding its time...

A 'Hung Parliament!' they say. Hmm..give them enough rope..!

"All evidence of the Con party have been wiped from reality" said a spokeswoman for the Infinite "they were an experiment that went badly wrong"

Pity our government doesn't 'shut down at midnight', pack up and go on a long hike to Mars and play austerity games with Mars dust! Would we miss them - not a lot!!

Politics is snowing budget flakes that crumble before they land and everyday people watch living standards slip and slid down frozen life-paths. No woolly hats or scarves can warm them towards glimpses of cosy log-fires at the end of the tunnel. The economic forecast remains bleak with absolutely snowballs and soothing rain is too dear. Life is an igloo with a broken chain!

News Updates: - "A whitewash of politicians, bankers and food corporations will cover the land. Despite hyped up fuel costs, no guarantees against gas failure. Their policies found to contain high levels of horse manure. Coercion sees the nation's economy and its morale freeze. "

To rule is to motivate, not coerce - those who don't understand that will slide down the black-ice of history when the sun shines again!"

When the powers that be push the people out of mainstream society, the people will push mainstream society aside. There's always more than one way to do things. When the chips are down - people get creative.

It comes to something when the lawmakers have to be given lessons on ethics and honesty - maybe some of them are in the wrong institution!

Austerity - enough is enough - I'm now charging for free speech on my site. Free thinkers will have to pay three pounds a thought for their comments and as for a free lunch - no chance and if you want to free the world, I charge for that too! I will now honour your human rights enshrined in the phrase "Free to pay"! Does that make Cents? Send a payment with your answers!

Job Vacancy: Wanted - Filthy rich person with guilty conscience to share their bank balance. I promise to lie to you everyday about what a good person you - we can help each other!

Not The News - Central bankers were sent to a remote prison in Russia. Huge Tory cull after they've badgered citizens for their very last penny. Pussy galore blamed for global warming. America to be given back to the Native Americans. Mars Rovers land on Greece by mistake and discover a bleak atmosphere. Today, the news was caught lying and was sacked by the Romans (once again!).

Home Rule: - New rules on social housing are pushing people into the private market or homelessness and yet in the private market today they announce "A total of 36,200 homes were repossessed in 2011 - the lowest annual total since 2007 - It's expected to go up this year via more unemployment". All homes should be socialised but with more rights to do the house up and individualise it. Rents from older properties could be used for repairs and create more jobs for plumbers and contractors. Everyone should have a secured home in a 'civilised society'. Homeownership - who actually 'owns' their home - unless it's paid for outright. At best its a savings account - soon absorbed by other debts.

I've been appointed President of the IPA (The International Piggybankers Association), and will applying for multiple bailouts for all Piggybank users, along with a couple of really useful Prime Ministerships.

'World leaders' but where does that lead us?  I don't follow!

Trev has abolished money. It was a bad idea to begin with!

Trev has abolished money - You now have to write a poem or song or do something creative for what you need. It was a mistake of history anyway!

Political Circus. Ring Master Cracks his Whips while the Lions Roar Outside. Fee Fi Fo Fum...Political days to come..

"Nude protesters marching against the weather have assets frozen" TT News

The world is too serious - the Government is a Public Service - so I bought em out! I'm cutting back on work, putting everyone on a pleasure scheme and declaring this a long weekend And Don't forget to vote for me!

Wall Street
The wisdom of civilisation!! 'Stability' v ' Sentiment' - They are just like poets really - they work largely from emotion not science or reason. They have fleets of fancy, unrealistic, called speculation followed by great depression; they sleep in shop doorways or churchyards like bargain hunters & the homeless and bet on financial horses.

In the continued absence of politics I have established a dictatorship of artists poets musicians and creative human beings. Poems are currency and bankers financiers and politicians will be told 'to go back to Uranus' from whence they came by way of an immigration policy. The poem is written on the wall.

In this liberal fascism conservatives continue to labour the point. It's enough to turn one green.

Politically, there's nothing that inspires or motivates me. A bunch of quack politicians with limited duck-pond vision, talking duck-shit in a dried-up pond economy. I want politicians and policies that inspire not piss everyone off and repress them. There's a better world to be had- the dreams are age-old. I expect politicians to be fishermen for a better world. Sack these phonies!

The Theatre of Puppets! It's clear from last night's election Mass debate that not one of the parties have got the guts to abolish the national debt and make the financiers / banks who caused the crisis pay. The people have already paid with repossession, debt and loss of incomes. Punch and Judy politics continue!

Planes on stand by, trains going slow, motorways abandoned, panic in the shops. Tories telling lies, Brown's fighting for his job, BNP love the snow - it's all here on the Human Comedy show!

"What news of the world bud?" "It's shut down!" "The world has shut down?" "Yes" "That's awful - where is this then?" "Nowhere" "We are nowhere? It looks much the same" "It's now called News From Nowhere - we live in Murdoch's utopia" "You mean they now hack minds instead of phones?" " Exactly, you read my thoughts!"

Sky News of the World - the Sun has gone into liquidation (it only rains now) and the Times they are a changin - more details in the Daily Phone Hack - Your secrets are worth millions - it pays to talk!

A vote for the Alternative Monarch is a vote for me. I am your new King!
Every family in my kingdom will have its own palace.

One day mermaids will rule the world!

When you look a the state of the world - makes you ashamed to be one of those human beings. Never seen a monkey with a nuclear missile. If mankind really is superior - Buck up bud - yer head's up yer ass! Where is the love...

Get real ye tyrants, money Lords, Ministers and sinisters, We're all just passing through. You don't take your power and property and egos with you. School bully mentality in adulthood is not appropriate. Be nice to each other - we're all temporary guests here! Don't smash the hotel up!

Just because a Super Moon brings it closer to Earth tonight, the Man in the Moon has made it clear he won't be doing any arms deals with western leaders. "This is the planet of love" said the luminous Mood-leader "and our many wine rigs will make it a haven for lovers of all kinds tonight"

Looking at the news - just how many dictators can one world have!

Why would anyone need to watch a soap opera? It's all there in Government - sex scandal, phone tapping, embezzlement, lies and leaks, smokescreens, manipulations, exits and entrances- cliff hangers - the full ambit! The media write daily scripts around it!

The Human Power Circus - there's a much simpler, fun and cooperative way to organise our selves as human beings on this planet without the pomp and ceremony and power games & vested interests. Rip it all down and start again.

The oil is leaking, ash in the air - the thunderbolts of economics - political despair
the truth is leaking, no cash for care, the politics of comics - corruption stripped bare.

My suggestions for cuts - sell the Houses of Parliament & Downing street - hold sessions in a pub room and rent bedsits and sell the Royal palaces or just plain abolish the National debt and send financiers to Titan. And while at it - abolish politics and money!
Feeling rebellious -

In the beginning was Money and money created servants in its own image and saw it was good and gave credit to everyone it saw and enslaved them in money-tin cities where credit-reference wardens beat them and whole countries with rumours and threats and took away their bare-essentials leaving them in the Garden of Eden ,naked and homeless...Just then....came along... and...

In the absence of a clear decision I declare myself your leader. Cuts - Oh yes - Money, banks, loans and other toxic waste in the tub. We'll start again -top to bottom - no shite this time - oh and lots of chocolate to help you celebrate! I am He!

Trev is starting his own country.

Governments whose policies force more and more people into homeless and then legitimise anti-homeless measures in cities are not working for the people on any level. Everyone has a right to live somewhere, it makes no sense to create hoards of displaced and desperate people in a 'civil' society. This being so, mis-managing society in such a gross and inhumane way, the Houses of parliament should perhaps be sold to make homeless flats and the MP's should meet in a pub like other committees!

The Poetry of Finance! The media's personification of financial Financial markets have 'bad hair days? - seemingly!

Wednesday, 1 October 2014

SNOW - Quotes, Photos and Flashing Fictions by Trev.

SNOW - Photos and Quotes and Facebook Status Updates by Trev Teasdel

Attempted snow! Another whitewashed conspiracy falling on the roof and gutters of nowhere land.

Snow Storm on the Sun

The snow is back - kipped out on the streets and roof tops like the homeless.


The grass in the garden's wearing Jack Frost jackets as people walk by in double-wrap-packets.


Snow's now been kettled down the drain by the
 truncheon bearing rain!

Snow has been demonstrating in our streets tonight, occupying the tops of cars, but nothing that a hot kettle won't remove!

winter is a wonderland of wonderful snow topped trees and icicle keys and wind in gales with drumming hailstones and clocks that go back or forth and reindeer's that ride along chimney tops and furry coats and iced up boats and leafy lanes and candlelit nights and cats on the prowl and lights in the dark is winter time

It's snowing - Mammon's whitewashing Monetarism again!

Ok - Who stuck a reindeer in the chimney? - Not funny!
Stood in for an icicle at the busstop for an hour while the icicle stood in someone's Gin and Tonic in the pub, to warm up and get nicely pissed. The things we do for icicles!!

Reports of Wooly Mammoth's coming into the village off the North Yorkshire Moors are not greatly exaggerated! All the same I wish it would snow coffee instead - save me a trip to 
the store!
More Whitewash leaking from the sky, a polar bear paradise!
We went walking on the hills today and two humans in fur coats told us we were extinct. I said look in the mirror bud! We had fun on the bank top watching all the wretched bankers scuttling out the drifts with all their ill gotten gain. We all blew hard with our trunks and watched all their banknotes float away over poverty hill - that was a real Christmas bonus! Being extinct has its advantages, no one believes their eyes and so we helped ourselves to a Christmas tree. Our family goes back a long way - to times when we'd skate-board race Dinosaurs down into early hominid clans - we still sing of those days. We live deep in the hills now and keep ourselves to our selves, venturing out sometimes for frolics in the snow. Over the millenniums we have learnt to teleport ourselves around the universe - we are a legend in places you've never dreamed about. This habit has led to us being considered extinct just about everywhere. I love the look on their faces when we reappear! Anyway the others want to blog their picturesnow so i will have to get off here. Watch out for us on the hills and if you believe in us, we'll believe in you - but not until!
With the snow forming a dog-collar around the streets it somehow feels like a Sunday
"I wanna know How deep is your snow" - 
Deep as a banker's wallet here! 
Invasion of the White Army. 
The home guard are armed with fluffy hats and shovels. 
Harrying of the North by Lord Snowflake! 
Global Refrigeration!

Snow is descending like students 
on the whitehall of my house 
and the treasury of my garden. 
spokesman for the Cold Front said 
"We intend to snow here until you restore the heating and 
allow those left out in the cold to be warm again"


The hills roundabout have emerged from a bedcover of snow, dragged themselves out, made coffee and now stand naked in a shower of rain. Later they will go hill-walking and drink 
Black Sheep ale with the locals and stagger back through low cloud!

"Happy Christmas Eve" Said a slinky snake. "I won't give you that famous apple just yet -ignorance of nakedness is bliss in this snow!" "But one day" continued snake "You'll have children and your children's children children will all be on Facebook. Just then Adam came in with "Do not disturb" written on his back "I've a world to populate!" he cried. 
Santa, seeing Adam's good work, said "let there be presents"

I'm dreaming of a commercial Christmas, where money flows like snowflakes in a till, where people send the same tired cards, socks and slippers, with the worn out grooves of 70's songs. Where people crush in the last minute slush, get slooshed and bloated, hung over and sore throated. I'm dreaming of some originality!!

Warm snow would be cooler if you get my drift!

Looking out of the window, the snowmen have colonised the hills. It won't be long before they ride down into the valley causing a snowflake-frenzy and paint a Christmas card 
landscape. The sun is sleeping off another hangover - it's not feeling too hot today.
Some alternative words and phrases for snow!

White water petals
Poetic water syllables
Skier’s delight
Sledge roads
Woolly hat drops
Glove-food /
Polar bear playpark
Global shivering

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Undressing for the Drones - New Song by Steve Cooke and Trev Teasdel

Steve Cooke - Stockton on Tees

A songwriter based in north-east England who perform live, regularly, deploying some unusual and attention-grabbing musical instruments as part of my stage including keyboards and Keytar with sharp- witted lyrics and new wave rock, sleazy funk and electronica.

Undressing for the Drones - lyrics by Trev Teasdel - Music and performance by Steve Cooke.

Undressing For The Drones

All the pubs are closing down

And there's a peep show in town

Watching you in a crowd

Watching you all alone

Undressing for the drones

Movement is restricted

District to district

And if they feel inclined

They watch the pictures in your mind

Undressing for the drones

They're working undercover

Spying on each other

They'll be making arrests

For all this corporate burlesque

Undressing for the drones

Words by Trev Teasdel

Music by Steve Cooke

© Cooke/Teasdel 2012

More by Steve Cooke on Sound Cloud

Sunday, 21 October 2012

Ebenezer Elliott (1781 - 1849) Corn Law Rhymer & Poet of the Poor

Ebenezer Elliott (1781 - 1849) Corn Law Rhymer & Poet of the Poor

Stop, Mortal! Here thy brother lies,
The Poet of the Poor.
His books were rivers, woods and skies,
The meadow and the moor,
His teachers were the torn hearts’ wail,
The tyrant, and the slave,
The street, the factory, the jail,
The palace – and the grave!
The meanest thing, earth’s feeblest worm,
He fear’d to scorn or hate;
And honour’d in a peasant’s form
The equal of the great.

But if he loved the rich who make
The poor man’s little more,
Ill could he praise the rich who take
From plunder’d labour’s store.
A hand to do, a head to plan,
A heart to feel and dare –
Tell man’s worst foes, here lies the man
Who drew them as they are.
The Poetry of Ebenezer Elliot

The bio of Ebenezer Elliott
Ebenezer Elliott was born at Masbrough, Rotherham (UK) in 1781. Early on, he developed an interest in nature & poetry. While working in a Masbrough iron foundry, he started to get the odd poem published & began a long correspondence with Robert Southey, the eminent poet. In politics & religion, he was a non-conformist who hated injustice & had an interest in the condition of the working man & poor people in general. After going bankrupt in Rotherham, he moved to Sheffield where he did well as an iron & steel merchant. The greatest interest of Elliott's life was in bringing attention to the Corn Laws & getting them repealed. His fierce indignation against the Bread Tax (as he called the Corn Laws) inspired his "Corn Law Rhymes" which made him nationally & internationally famous after their publication in 1831. He died in 1849 & was buried at Darfield Churchyard in the Barnsley area.

To the Bramble Flower

Thy fruit full-well the schoolboy knows, 
Wild bramble of the brake! 
So, put thou forth thy small white rose; 
I love it for his sake. 
Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 
O'er all the fragrant bowers, 
Thou needst not be ashamed to show 
Thy satin-threaded flowers; 
For dull the eye, the heart is dull,
That cannot feel how fair, 
Amid all beauty beautiful,
Thy tender blossoms are! 
How delicate thy gauzy frill! 
How rich thy branchy stem! 
How soft thy voice, when woods are still, 
And thou sing'st hymns to them;
While silent showers are falling slow 
And, 'mid the general hush, 
A sweet air lifts the little bough, 
Lone whispering through the bush!
The primrose to the grave is gone; 
The hawthorn flower is dead;
The violet by the moss'd grey stone
Hath laid her weary head; 
But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring,
In all their beauteous power, 
The fresh green days of life's fair spring, 
And boyhood's blossomy hour. 
Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more 
Thou bid'st me be a boy, 
To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, 
In freedom and in joy.


Here is a response by George Markham Tweddell, the 19thC Stokesley (North Yorks) born People's poet, historian, author, printer publisher and Chartist.

The Bramble" by George Markham Tweddell

Brave Elliott loved "thy satin-threaded flowers,"
Dear Bramble! All who appreciate those things
Of beauty which Nature as largess flings
So freely over valleys, plains, and moors,
Must share the Corn Law Rhymer's healthy love.
And who in Autumn does not like to taste
Thy pleasant Dewberries? There is no waste
Throughout the universe; for all things move
In strict obedience to the unchanging laws
Wisely laid down by Him who cannot err;
And He alone is His true worshipper
Who studies to obey them. The Great First Cause
Adorns our very brakes with fruit and flowers, -
As if to teach us all that happiness may be ours.

To read more about the correspondance and poetry exchange between Ebenezer Elliott and George Markham Tweddell, a special section of the Ebenezer Elliot site dedicated to it can be found Here -

A hub to the biography and poetry of George Markham Tweddell can be found here

Jeanne-Marie’s Hands (Les Mains de Jeanne-Marie) Arthur Rimbaud

Jeanne-Marie’s Hands (Les Mains de Jeanne-Marie)
Arthur Rimbaud

Jeanne-Marie has strong hands,
Hers are dark, tanned by summer,
Bloodless hands like a dead man’s
– Are they the hands of Juana?

Did they win their creamy-brown
Sailing some voluptuous sea?
Have they dipped in moons, found
In waters of serenity?

Have they drunk of barbarous skies,
Calmly on delightful knees?
Have they rolled cigars, wise
To trade in diamonds and rubies?

On burning feet of Madonnas
Have they thrown gold flowery charms?
The black blood of belladonnas
Wakes and sleeps in their palms.

Hands that chase the Diptera
With which the auroral blue
Buzzes, there, towards the nectar?
Hands that measure poison’s brew?

Oh, what Dream has seized them
In their pandiculations?
A wild dream of Asias then,
Of Kengawers or Zions?

– They sold no oranges these hands
Nor tanned at the feet of deities:
They washed no swaddling bands
Of eyeless and weighty babies.

They’re not the hands of cousins
Nor the broad-browed working girls
Brows that, drunk with tar, the sun
In woods that stink of factories, burns.

They are benders of the spine,
Hands that never work us evil,
Stronger than machines in line,
Than the horse more powerful!

Seething like the furnaces,
Shaking off each shudder,
Their flesh sings the Marseillaise
But the Eleison never!

They’ll grasp your necks, O evil
Women, yours, they’ll crush them,
All your infamous hands, noble
Women, white and carmine.

The glory of those hands of love
Turns the heads of ewes!
On their juicy phalanges
The vast sun sets a ruby too.

A stain from the populace
Browns them like ancient tits;
The backs of those hands the place
That each proud Rebel kissed!

They have paled, marvellous,
In the hot sun filled with love,
On the bronze of machine-guns
Across insurgent Paris moved!

Ah, sometimes, about your wrists,
O sacred Hands, there hung again,
Where our never-sobered lips
Trembled, Hands, a shining chain!

And there’s a sudden Lurch too
In our being, when, indeed,
Angelic Hands, they’d blanch you,
By making all your fingers bleed!

And in the original French - from

Jeanne-Marie a des mains fortes,
Mains sombres que l'été tanna,
Mains pâles comme des mains mortes.
- Sont-ce des mains de Juana ?

Ont-elles pris les crèmes brunes
Sur les mares des voluptés ?
Ont-elles trempé dans des lunes
Aux étangs de sérénités ?

Ont-elles bu des cieux barbares,
Calmes sur les genoux charmants ?
Ont-elles roulé des cigares
Ou trafiqué des diamants ?

Sur les pieds ardents des Madones
Ont-elles fané des fleurs d'or ?
C'est le sang noir des belladones
Qui dans leur paume éclate et dort.

Mains chasseresses des diptères
Dont bombinent tes bleuisons
Aurorales, vers les nectaires ?
Mains décanteuses de poisons ?

Oh ! quel Rêve les a saisies
Dans les pandiculations ?
Un rêve inouï des Asies,
Des Khenghavars ou des Sions ?

- Ces mains n'ont pas vendu d'oranges,
Ni bruni sur les pieds des dieux :
Ces mains n'ont pas lavé les langes
Des lourds petits enfants sans yeux.

Ce ne sont pas mains de cousine
Ni d'ouvrières aux gros fronts
Que brûle, aux bois puant l'usine,
Un soleil ivre de goudrons.

Ce sont des ployeuses d'échines,
Des mains qui ne font jamais mal,
Plus fatales que des machines,
Plus fortes que tout un cheval !

Remuant comme des fournaises,
Et secouant tous ses frissons,
Leur chair chante des Marseillaises
Et jamais les Eleisons !

Ça serrerait vos cous, ô femmes
Mauvaises, ça broierait vos mains,
Femmes nobles, vos mains infâmes
Pleines de blancs et de carmins.

L'éclat de ces mains amoureuses
Tourne le crâne des brebis !
Dans leurs phalanges savoureuses
Le grand soleil met un rubis !

Une tache de populace
Les brunit comme un sein d'hier ;
Le dos de ces Mains est la place
Qu'en baisa tout Révolté fier !

Elles ont pâli, merveilleuses,
Au grand soleil d'amour chargé,
Sur le bronze des mitrailleuses
À travers Paris insurgé !

Ah ! quelquefois, ô Mains sacrées,
À vos poings, Mains où tremblent nos
Lèvres jamais désenivrées,
Crie une chaîne aux clairs anneaux !

Et c'est un soubresaut étrange
Dans nos êtres, quand, quelquefois,
On veut vous déhâler, Mains d'ange,
En vous faisant saigner les doigts !

André Breton - Free Union

André Breton - Free Union

My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with her rosette mouth and a bouquet of stars of the last magnitude
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with her eyelashes in the strokes of a child's writing
With eyebrows from the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with brows of slates on a hothouse roof
And with steam on the windowpanes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and the ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley of gold
Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent
With breasts of night
My wife with her undersea molehill breasts
My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible
With breasts of the spectre of the rose beneath the dew
My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days
With the belly of a gigantic claw
My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically
With a back of quicksilver

And the original French

Bio of Andre Breton
Ma femme

Ma femme à la chevelure de feu de bois
Aux pensées d'éclairs de chaleur
À la taille de sablier
Ma femme à la taille de loutre entre les dents du tigre
Ma femme à la bouche de cocarde et de bouquets d'étoiles de dernière grandeur
Aux dents d'empreintes de souris blanche sur la terre blanche
À la langue d'ambre et de verre frottés
Ma femme à la langue d'hostie poignardée
À la langue de poupée qui ouvre et ferme les yeux
À la langue de pierre incroyable
Ma femme aux cils de bâtons d'écriture d'enfant
Aux sourcils de bord de nid d'hirondelle
Ma femme aux tempes d'ardoise de toit de serre
Et de buée aux vitres
Ma femme aux épaules de champagne
Et de fontaines à têtes de dauphins sous la glace
Ma femme aux poignets d'allumettes
Ma femme aux doigts de hasard et d'as de cr
Aux doigts de foin coupé
Ma femme aux aisselles de martre et de fênes
De nuit de la Saint-jean
De troène et de nid de scalares
Aux bras d'écume de mer et d'écluse
Et de mélange du blé et du moulin
Ma femme aux jambes de fusée
Aux mouvements d'horlogerie et de désespoir
Ma femme aux pieds de moelle de sureau
Ma femme aux pieds d'initiales
Aux pieds de trousseaux de clée, aux pieds de calfats qui boivent
Ma femme au cou d'orge imperlé Ma femme à la gorge de Val d'or
Du rendez-vous dans le lit même du torrent
Aux seins de nuit
Ma femme aux seins de taupinière marine
Ma femme aux seins de creuset du rubis
Aux seins de spectre de la rose sous la rosée
Ma femme au ventre de dépliement d'éventail des jours
Au ventre de griffe géante
Ma femme au dos d'oiseau qui fuit vertical
Au dos de vif-argent
Au dos de lumière
À la nuque de pierre roulée et de craie mouillée
Et de chute d'un verre dans lequel on vient de boire
Ma femme aux hanches de nacelle
Aux hanches de lustre et de pennes de flêche
Et de tiges de plumes de paon blanc
De balance insensible
Ma femme aux fesses de grês et d'amiante
Ma femme aux fesses de dos de cygne
Ma femme aux fesses de printemps
Au sexe deglaïeul
Ma femme au sexe de placer et d'ornithorynque
Ma femme au sexe d'algue et de bonbons anciens
Ma femme au sexe de miroir
Ma femme aux yeux pleins de larmes
Aux yeux de panoplie violette et d'aiguille aimantée
Ma femme aux yeux de savane
Ma femme aux yeux d'eau pour boire en prison
Ma femme aux yeux de bois toujours sous la hache
Aux yeux de niveau d'eau de niveau d'air de terre et de feu.

Saturday, 20 October 2012