Poetry and Novel

Poetry, poems - Philippe Rovere

Writing and saying poetry is magical and powerful !
A way to rediscover the joy of our emotional language, the one that makes the link between us and the world, the one that gives us the power to express ourselves entirely. It speaks, it sings our feelings, our desires, our dreams, our soul, our flame, our presence to life.

You can read some excerpts at the bottom of the page
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poetry - Philippe Rovere

Fly away

Fly away light,
Curled into the coiled high clouds,
Wild voluble soluble bubbles,
Fly away, frivolous and ethereal.

Fly away light, rise cleansed,
Released, freed from the bounds,
New bird, young bird,
Fly away light, rise, cleansed by the sky.

poetry - Philippe Rovere

She is not dead, poetry !

She is not dead, poetry.

She shows her fangs, her claws,
She has faith, she believes, creates her own laws,
She sneaks in, makes a primal scream,
Follows the forces of life’s dream !

She invents a world in her image,
She releases herself from the cage,
She plants the future seeds
And with those fruits, she feeds.

She is not dead… poetry…

In the night, she captures the moon’s echoes,
On the back of the dunes, she sweeps, she blows,
She is not afraid, she is linked to the core,
She peddles, claims the soul of the world knocking at her door !

She moves or not…
She stands, she hops !
Look, look and see…

She is not dead, poetry !

poetry - Philippe Rovere

Close to the fire

The fire seized me,
Blazed my heart as if I were a tree.
No way to resist,
No way to escape,
I was stuck to the fire’s landscape.

Feeling tremendously big,
Tremendously secure,
Tremendously free,
With the fire, my friend,
Free to breathe and love the world
And let it be.

The forested smell of smoke,
Cracks and swishes,
All that invites me to be mild.
Mild, wide and wise,
Wise, wide and wild !

How many fires at once burn on earth ?
How many houses, families and hearths ?
Stars and memories twinkling ?
Eyes and bodies trembling ?
How many entwined stories ride the nights ?
… flickering as candles, roaming as knights …

No way to resist,
No way to escape.

No way further on to be the one
That I have never been.
No way to mistake the plan
That leads me out of spleen.

From this time on, close to the fire place,
The only way to be, will be to be
The cat, the cat poet purring of poetry !


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