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Happy New Year 2011

To all my friends bloggers, I offer my best wishes for health and happiness for 2011.

And to put you in the mood, I offer this song Muriel Millard.

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Happy New Year 2011 The elf of Santa

Acrylic on canvas

I'm taking the challenge Violet to write a text containing the following metaphors:

Stitches in

is sewn with white thread

Give a hard time

Take the tape

soundly

every angle

Mount hairpin

Cut a suit

The breadcrumb

The elf Santa Claus

This year, Father Christmas is overwhelmed. He brought Casimir, his most trusted elf, to announce his approach.

thing led to another, it does go up in rank. After a long history in stitched white thread, he announces that his workers to Casimir gave a lot of trouble and that production is delayed. So that everyone has his gift at Christmas, he needs help with delivery.

Thus Casimir will move up the ranks. It is reliable and beats all other soundly. He often accompanied by Santa Claus and knows the destinations from every angle.

This story has been whipped up around the factory of Santa Claus. Of course, there were jealous. Especially that Casimir would be cut a suit tailored for the occasion.

The common thread of the story is now settled.

Merry Christmas to all!

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The bird and squirrel

pastel from a photo of Oiseaubird

I'm taking the challenge Violet to use in order, the following metaphors:

Fresh as a roach

Proud as a cockerel

as thick as thieves

Have the dog

Stubborn as a mule

Make the heels

pancake flat

Pull towards the nose

Pour crocodile tears

mute as a carp

The bird and squirrel

This morning I saw him, fresh as a roach. He hopped on the edge of the tunnel when the female arrived. He started strutting, proud as a cock. And I saw them move to the feeder, thick as thieves.

When the squirrel appeared, I saw what it was like to have the dog. Stubborn as a mule, the bird was facing him, while the squirrel was kicking his heels, waiting his turn.

I could tell it was flat as a flounder, but even pulling me towards the nose, I could not explain what this expression. You make me weep crocodile, that I would remain silent as a carp.

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New Flower of my street

News from my street

Today, my street has regained its festive air.
Snow falling for two days was dressed as a married.
In each entry, people go there and shovel their comments. It grumbles
to form, because in the background we like that.
is the woodsman who awakens in us.
Tonight, Christmas lights have more luster.
Yes, my street is beautiful swathed in white.

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December

Acrylic from a photo of Canelle56

Flower of December

time of flowers is finished
The fire crackles in the fireplace
Advent rings the last days of the year The purchases will begin


Food, Meetings, decorations
Everything is marketing
To create the illusion
be happy is: buy


But it would be interesting that this time it's different
Qu'aujourd ' Today until New Year's Day
We found our soul child

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Grandfather Noah

Get back to childhood, with the acrylic and this rhyme.

Grandfather Noah

is our grandfather Noah Patriarch
worthy
That God has kept
To plant his vineyard.
He made a boat to
To preserve water
Who was his his his, who was re re re,
Who was his, which was re,
Who was his refuge during the deluge
.

When the Red Sea at the troupe appeared
black

The Israelites believed that he must drink. But Moses was
finer
He said this is not wine
He not not not, it sa sa sa,
It's not, he sa
He spent all
Without a drop to drink .

is at the bottom of a glass overflow
Whether you lose head
This is not a good Christian
to look so stupid.
He who drinks too much, man will
In
hangover in my my Take my, take in pa pa pa, in my
Take, take in pa
Take my word for it, And cowardly
vial.

(Author unknown)

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African Dance

African Dance

There, for four weeks
Thursday evening I show
In a studio on the second
To of African dance

All students are Girls On percussion we
s'émoustille
African or Caribbean Rhythms
Prof. front, my daughter

Should I follow his advice
Not too force the camera
For all these bees is
I am the oldest

Now that I said You know my folly

And here we go again I'm having fun in marmoset

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Time

I do not have time. A phrase that often comes up in conversations. However, time seems to vary. For a child time is long, the Christmas holidays and endless arrived.

is when they work to restore that teenagers are too short on time.

parents see their children grow old too fast. And grandparents do not have enough to retire to do everything.

As I missed this last time, I thought you my heart four shots.

Meredith 3 months

Beatrice a year and a half

Arnaud 5 years

Ingrid to 14 years

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Streets

Acrylic from a photo of Fanfan

to bring some happiness to these days dark

Streets

My street is deserted tonight.

few leaves fall from trees in a slow waltz. They will join those already fallen and not yet picked up, because all wet.

A moonless sky. Only the lamp emits a dim glow.

The swing, naked without his pads looks sad in all this.

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Halloween

Halloween

Witches, monsters and skeletons out of your hiding

Today is Your Day
Pumpkins are the windows

All costumed children from door to door
will cheerfully
To ask the biggest
Candies s'mettre teeth into

And now I guess
You say "what kid"
That made it draws
A witch for Halloween

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Ageism

Pastel from a photo of oiseaubird

Ageism

In my diary Regional this week, there was talk of ageism. According to a survey of seniors for the Seniors Day on 1 October, 81% of elders say be victims.

The blame that occur most often is that seniors are expensive due to retire and take up too much space in hospitals. But they have paid for their retirement and they are not entitled to the benefits of the health system they helped build?

It ignores that many seniors are involved in the community by volunteering in hospitals, nursing homes, schools, etc..

I think we value the contributions of seniors to the community and stop saying in the media that all the evils that happen are due to aging of the population. Not true, there are several other factors involved.

You do not know, child, what Holy Mystery,
In pecking around, filled the bird thinking? Small
are in the tree at the bottom of the nest joyous
For you, it's a bird, but for them it is a father!
Alexandre Dumas, son

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My haven

Pastel from an original photo of Margaret Mary

(My participation in the challenge Colette )

My haven

It is a place worthy of a king

Where I enjoy myself In return
quietly
A piece of Paradise
Where I be free
Under the old willow at the end of the garden
A wooden bench, my old friend is sitting there
I My
composed texts in prose or rhyme
Nearby, a beautiful apple
And many plans
raspberries to decorate everything, some flowers
Violets, hydrangeas and sweet peas plum
Three complete the package
is not Peru, but here
was here long ago
When I lived with my parents
Burned in my memory
And some nights I go back

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Alchemy of mob

That any activity is converted into work.

That nothing is beyond trade.

That is never raised the issue of employment of life.

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the bit teeth

picture of a street of St. Ubaldo, a village in Quebec

I'm taking the challenge Violet in order to use the following metaphors:

Chew life their teeth

Having long teeth

cringe

Lying through his teeth as

break teeth

Tighten teeth

Se rust teeth

Being on teeth

Have a grudge against someone

When pigs fly

Do not loosen teeth

rehashing his teeth

chattering teeth

The Rounders

As time goes fast I
lives life with gusto
Do not think one second
That I long teeth
There are things obviously
That make me cringe
Example As one who lies
his teeth

I start a course in African dance rhythms
Because I certainly hope

drag me Do not break my teeth
As my mom said
Dark and clenched teeth
After an effort
is said to have rusted bones
But that now means
The term rust teeth

A friend told me recently
Have a grudge against someone
I told him very nicely
What he and I do forgive formions a
She claims she
When pigs fly
And all this of course
Never loosen teeth
is a very bad decision
What between his teeth to chew

My story is stitched with white thread
And for good measure I took my temperature

Behold, my teeth are chattering

You will not be surprised if I tell you That in my pharmacy

drug
In fact I'm armed to the teeth

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October

Acrylic on canvas

October

woke up early
As I do every day
To do my walking, when suddenly grabbed me
Cold , well, well ... It

October that there was welcomes
From're mourning
And most have good eye
To see the leaf color

Yesterday, Apple went with my friend Simone
Ai
met a handsome young man
Ouch! my heart banging

also bought a pumpkin
For Halloween, make a nice mug
Am not return empty handed
To my husband I sang Puglia

Y jelly rooftop
is a sign that it's cold My eyes
me I'm cold watery
old nutshell

Walking along the path
My thoughts fly away in the daily
Returning
This gave me fresh air hunger

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Older kids

pastel from a photo of Canelle56

The title and text of this letter is written from securities Lyrics Serge Reggiani.

Older kids

Tonight my love, tenderness break. The old couple, the fifties, the Italian wife of Bordeaux. A taxi passes

... Tell me about where you take me? This, street dreams, Hotel des Voyageurs. Go away knowing why. Gabrielle, and then in his eyes, ashamed to cry. It should not.

This love, first love, against all odds.

It takes almost nothing: the table, the bouquet of flowers, seafood, cream pie, the melancholy of tango, the benefits of the moon.

is after it happens, the great circus. And the party continues, we love each other. Life is really very well done.

As she goes on to die my youth!

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You go

You go

After three years of good cooperation.
Earlier this beautiful autumn season.
While preparing to leave all these warm tones.
Now that the garden has to be prepared for winter.
That should contain everything that has adorned our summer.
When there's so much to say.
You leave me alone with my drawings and you go, inspiration.

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Excuse me Miss, I watched the ghosts pass

The doors opened into a violent gust of wind. I still had his eyes downcast. Three seconds earlier, I admired the plates on the floor with some nostalgia. But my hair flying around my head made me see a little bit higher ... There was a smell of old ice floating in the air. The places were dark and foggy. It was so cold. Neither fear nor confusion, or curiosity could not affect me. I could only see the event, attend a ringside seat to this amazing spectacle.

Murmurs. Half-votes. Laughs, cries, tears, words, too, sometimes. English words, many French and, above all. I could hear excerpts from the distant past, but also a time closer. A puzzle that seemed to take shape before me. Amid all that noise, energy passing was intense. So much so that in the mood of the scene opaline, stood out forms, filaments of this substance in light who took the subtle breezes. I was completely paralyzed. I do not know how long I spent well. Time stood still.

A stampede in my back coincided with beams of light green, blue, pink ... And immediately became the techno beat. People passed, pressed, doors were opening all around me about the shops, the walls were offering me movies. Time for a breath for all this and I turned around. An elderly man put his hand on my arm and ask me to forgive him, it was he who had struck. "Excuse me miss. I was watching the ghosts go !..." He said, before walking away slowly towards the relics of the center ice, removing his hat.

There is always a strange atmosphere at the old forum. But on the eve of the first playoff game centennial pilgrimage took me a whole new meaning. Ghosts of the Forum have awakened. Did I dream this man? The fullness momentary the old auditorium has not hit me. He saw it too. In his eyes that saw everything, saw everything that I have to see. I think the ghosts were just packing up. Leaving a few minutes later, I can swear to have crossed these ghosts, en route for Washington.

I do not think the Canadiens win the Cup. In fact this year I do not believe in anything, I only see what happens. But I admit that passage, there's moments like this that make me smile. I know not whether it is ghosts or just a good momentum, but frankly I spend quality time series until now. A magic floating in thin air. I hold my breath, lest it disappears ...

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An end

There's little pieces that stick
I think not but it appears slyly
Your face comes alive one second
On the smile in the eyes of a passerby.

I do not want to forget, but i do not think I
probe my soul to take off then
These reflections of you, the music of your voice.
I test or exorcise? I reformat.

Yes I remember, I remember living
I found dead and since it seems so old and living
What this far, this doubt and mystery
Mysteries fly, unhooked my words. The

défripent autumn leaves is far
The falling leaves falling into oblivion
I still think about the loneliness of the wind in the trees
But summer soon erase the memory. I

erases you a little time helping me, finally!
The traitor ... it does not often play in my camp.
You're just pieces, crumbs of the crumbs that remain
If silence was written, I would have been the end.

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The shirt

I hung the shirt
She had bad habits
Whatever, nobody sees
It no longer exists, the shirt.

I put away a hundred times
The cursed shirt Then I
resumed my gesture
And the leaves fall to the ground.

I hate it and I want
She lies and me I turn off the pesky memories
white stain
Who cursed the white shirt.

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Yes, but why?

When I was little, I discovered that politics in Quebec is a matter of heart. Y'avait smell like a referendum, which floated on the country. We were all affected by the question, Y'avait tension even among elementary students. I was in 4th grade. Worse in 4th year in Quebec, we learn all about Native Americans that have marked the history of Canada, then Quebec. It was really intense. That year I made sure of years of success and material facilities that I see in high school. It was in the thick of it. All year. With the story of the arrival of the white man, I understood what it was a country. What it can mean for a people. It was not cut into borders like that, just to be nice on the big globe with all these colors. It's a collective identity and can not escape it unless every person on earth really be willing to unite and follow the same laws to the letter without exception. It is still far off and remote travel increases as and when it is propelled in the opposite direction. Well, that was certainly not opine these words, but basically it was about the tension. It included, so young, the magnitude of the situation.

In each family, when it was time for supper, we discussed the possible referendum. Some were for, one not sure ... Then in my family every night, same ending. My mother told me not to talk politics with my friends. Never tell which way I was. Which side it was pretty. , She would vote NO. For some reason beyond. In the family of the mine, blue until the family soul, she loved her country. I always suspected of dubious stories of youth, adventure sloppy hippies. A small check mark in the belief family. Or simply to contradict everybody. This is my mother after all! She was the only family not to watch the Canadiens. She loved Chicago. With the Indian head on the sweater. That I had the right to speak, but I speak it. I found it rather shameful way. But politics, I understand it. Why she did not like Quebec? Because the Canadiens are a team in Quebec? I found it a bit odd.

One day, whereas the faculty as a reliable, having all the answers the world, I asked my teacher what would be his choice. We also never spoke to our class. I thought people wanted to avoid conflicts at work because of it. Taboo. She would not answer me and gave me the arguments on both sides. Arguments I had heard so often on television, or in my family, my mother and others. They were the best. When I got home for dinner, I talked to my mother. She told me that my mistress would vote no. Because when you vote no, you say it. It was like a disgusting disease, vote no. Since that day I never understood then why there were some who did.

People were, in real life, just like what we saw on TV. In the demonstrations and riots. The yes, Quebecers enthusiasts indulged in the blue wave of emotions, proud to call home. Non them, silent. It was like a shame, a perjury ... A betrayal. But for them, I think that deep down maybe it was just assumed wrong. There was graffiti everywhere. Nobody spoke, but speaking. Signs, huge and blue, the tiny, red and white, with writing black. They were almost severe those. People wanted to stand out. On large concrete blocks near the school, people had written "yes" to the aerosol red on each of them except one. A "no", in very dark green on the penultimate.

We all know the outcome of the referendum. We all know we have not really lost, but we did not win either. I look forward to my generation ale the same choice. I trust. When I saw my mother's mouth to get drunk for the first time in my life, with tears in his eyes was the announcement of his "victory" when I realized that there might be reasons for his "no" but basically, she believed in his country. Now she celebrates St. John, she loves Canadians as much as its heads of Indians. Today, if we return to this park, at the end or beginning the street and looking at the concrete blocks white-gray, we see that the first, there's still a big yes with a red hook next. Seems that there are even urban legends that circulate among school students about the provenance of this yea. That may be the ones who go through over a day with blue paint to mark independence. Because basically, it was perhaps no words, a second "to next time ... "

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Chance

In the scientific world, chance is the source of many things." majority of scientists use it to explain the inexplicable. Among believers, chance does not exist. Everything happens for a specific reason, a purpose just as accurate. As if the story was already written, but we can not change that. Fate, whatever. Coming from a very scientific education, but also very religious, I do not know where I stand. I believe in many things which are inexplicable to science and science contradicts many of them. Yet I still believe. And yet also, for the same reason, I refuse believe in many things. What chance?
Francis Cabrel said: What looks like the chance often, is an appointment.
He may be right.

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Silence! Tell me who you are.

I like mysteries and you're all a worry! You're a mystery and I want to break borders. I know that you're not, but I want to be your friend. I would like to know what you do with your life, what your desires? Tell me about your fears and your doubts, who are your friends? Do you sing in the shower? How you were when you were little? Y'avait monsters under your bed? And now I see you here, you have not said anything but I can read your unsaid. You isolate yourself, why? Who are you? I was told that you were not like that before. But now if, and I wonder how to break your isolation ...

You're hiding from that night? The day you do not have a sound, you probably sleep, but yes! You must be a vampire! You expect the moon and midnight, you jump out the window and then you rodes, hounding you life. Or maybe you're a ghost who wants to be reborn as the dream of a kid. You appear, 5-10 minutes at a time then you is dying out, you disappear. Why? You're wanted by the police? Spun by ex? Maybe you just do the whims ... But tell me who you are!

When we talk at night, you say nothing of your plans. When you smile at me the night I see your lips regrets. But you say nothing, you know, express it feels good. But you're like me, I know ... Silence is the most beautiful choruses. And as you say nothing, I say not as much. You say that like you, see what I write. You read and I write, you inspire me and that's good, but tell me how to tighten the links? Go approach, say anything, let the silence speak. Do not bother with my loneliness I know, you can share it. A lonely town, you know there are ca. Lets say that you are silent, hast faith, the night guard secrets.

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that I listen to rock

-T 'plays what? ...
-Rap. French rap.
Ah, saw your style I thought it was rock!

I look like a rocker, a little jaded punk, urban, slightly skewed, cynical, I self-condemned. But I saw his throat, I'm emotional I can hardly realize that I was wearing my head at the stake. For that I burn, witch! Succubus! I've seen the air, I'm strong and insolent, I rock in the veins and rage in my stomach. Yes sometimes I tremble, I cry and I crawl. Is that under my false underground tunes, I'm just a girl who writes alone in her room.

I was wise, I went to the ballet, I was pure, I do that respect. But I wanted to life when I realized, when I admitted that I had messed up everything I had ruined everything, I had not understood. I lived off of all truth, I forgot I was another who I was. Y'avait the Devil has my ear he whispered. I whispered horrible things I Lay Dying. He wanted to sow doubt and I doubted. I'm skeptical, yes I admit, I wanted the concrete if it is not scientific is certainly not true. And I doubted I changed and I stopped moving forward. Yet life was smiling at me, the signs were raining, I was blind, I was confused the airwaves. All that sent me, I the silent. Unknowingly, I lived in shame. That of not hearing, not having seen, having walked the streets without opening his eyes, I lost the hearing, touch, sight.

Me I dreamed of romance, prince, an alter-ego on my scale. But I know not love, I closed my heart and I fell. Overnight defying death, alongside it. She hung on my conscience in my soul, I had my hand in romance. But I lost. I waited too scared, I cried I'm not killing. My silence was of arrogance, recklessness, as the wounded animal, condemned to suffer to die, ceasing to struggle. As they say "The Thorn Birds" did you not understand? I hid behind my laughter, I was jealous, moments of madness I lived, I would expire with a sigh. With tears in her eyes, I wanted to die with dignity rather than saying goodbye. I wanted to die.

I ran into my sacred shrine in this city that I so loved to see her, tell her to come. Give him my last battle, I have not said everything, I'm not big but not everything I screamed! Because yes it's true, I cry sometimes when I listen to my rock, my pop and then my punk. When I listen to my sweet violent music, when I jump, when I dance, when I shake my senses. When the guitar is slower I dance, I dance I can not stop, I am not seen I trembles. I'm not her, I leaped like a grasshopper, on the track. I do not like the indecency and I cried, I release my violence. When I landed, the j'amortis Cabrel, when night comes, I dream of the Eiffel Tower.

But Montreal had me once again I think I have not seen everything, it gave me confidence. I was a lost cause, without faith, without hope, but despite everything, despite my costume dark and mysterious creature, someone saw me and helped me to understand. And then I read, I began to understand, realize that I could defend myself. And I believed, I turn off ignorance. I would not see, I did not believe it. If I could not see I could not believe it. But I know I was so convinced of his long absence, that he could not exist. I doubted His presence. It was obvious to me but they are still spirits, spirits of evil. They whisper and they are now without consistency. They strive to make me come down, they would remind me that my regrets my regrets these respects conscience.Tous glued on the walls of a room. When I get drunk at night, with my soul brother, my brother tender. I laughed with him when I did not back down. He helped me he smiled at me. It was my first sign of him, he put in my path, a first sign of life. We repelled dementia together, my friend, I knew just enough remained strong thanks to him. Just strong enough to get here. To get to the end of my life, rebirth of my night, accepting his mercy. I tried, I found, I hope as an opportunity. Learn, reborn from my ashes, wait providence. Breathless, a nervous wreck, is there a renaissance?

I believe, I still doubt, I keep my girl image hardcore. But doubt was cast doubt had my doubts. My devils, and they bleed it away, they complain I know they love me. I offer the perfect backdrop, they like here, cry about it. But they cry "she" not me, I take possession of my body. They come out of my life because I keep it and even when night comes, if I just had to hold back tears ... It's not hatred, it may be that God speaks to me. And I cry, the volume to the mat. I live rock, there's the grunge upon my nights. And I heard him, and still I cry, I like punk, the Zarb. Well yes I grew up with Mozart, Paganini, the great concerts of the most beautiful symphonies. I was a quiet girl, romantic and classic. Was easy, then the other is born, a chaos undecided. And before they die and I'll kill to survive. Finally I found my truth.

Inshallah

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What Remains of you

What remains of you, the cool rain, a vague image. Photo lost in a strange vacuum. Detours in your streets, a t-shirt and laughs. Heat on the sand, secrets, the public benches. The guitars and vocals, acoustic tunes.
J'égare just what's left of me in the middle of what remains of your voice.
What remains of you, in a last look, a smell that comes from a long absence. A beginning of utopia and the eternal dance. An invisible cold, sort of a souvenir, that sounds more, miles. The fear of forgetting and will recover.
What remains of you, the chaos of your eyes in the inferno of my nights, sleep apart. Smiles defeated the Suns purple and hours in tatters. A name on a wall, epic characters, books and fools. A dream in smoke and then me and you.
J'égare a little what's left of me in the middle of what remains of your voice. I hate myself for me to hang up ca. What remains of that, a how a why. But I love you I have not forgotten you. And my heart is over there in the white snow, in the spectrum of fire as a ride. In remembrance happy with his arm from his lips, gold of her hair.
And my heart still remains a bit and I hung up a ca ... A large empty
vertigo is what I have left of you is what I have left me.

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Earthen-e-land I love you

I did not write you one day
write you, I can not tell you ...
write you I miss you often
What I regret my choice bitterly.

was Sunday, it was so beautiful
I wanted to hear your voice
But then I stifled a sob ...
is like that now, when we speak or we will see.

I listen to songs that you do not like
is absurd, but they make me think of you
Love always made me horribly afraid
I told you in the head, but also on the heart. I

your smile that haunts me
It is clear the mine sometimes.
I love your eyes almost gray at night.
And mine are filled with water again.

You, you're so down-to-earth, almost stoic.
You calmed my fears of dirty romantic
Tonight I am sorry, I think and I'm writing: I write
I miss you, miss you in my life.

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Is what I've told you how much I love you? Not only
how in fact. Just
I love you.
Is what I've already said "I love you"?

No, you tell me, no you never told me "I love you"
So I'll tell you, I'll tell you I love you.
Cause I love you. I dunno
never too how, but it's clear that I love you.

And you? You tell me. You, you know I love you?
So I'll tell you yes I know, I know that we love each other.
Because we love each other.
But what says love me? how we love each other?

Without a word you lower your eyes, eyes that I love.
And I say, finally I will tell you the words of people who love
I love you.
If I do not know how, I know how: simply. I love you.

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Yet

I miss my crazy life I had there not feeling
From Montreal to name gives me
You, you're my little urban time
You "metropolised" even the corners of suburban
But still ...

It has finally seen here, after all this time
Memories of the distant big city near us
We talk so often seems
We know each other better there than here!
And yet ...

Here we spend all our time
And there I dread to see you
It will be so natural, so electric both
Montreal is capable of triggering sparks
But still ...

I still febrile to think "you and me"
Because here or there, it's all the same
Our world we create, I wrote to us every time we
I wrote often, but still no "I love you."
Yet.