A Golden Light in Blackened Sea

The Sun Shining through the Fog, Claude Monet, 1904.

The chimneys spat roots,
Hiding the walking ground from the Sun.
Inhaled coal drained the souls
Living in this open-air cave.

He was walking down the street,
The face deepened like the Night Sky
By a dozen hues of grimness
Tainted by ovens’ sweat.

This is when he saw ‘em,
Five wee pals and gals,
Hiding at the corner,
Head above head,
Staring at the Bakery.

London Town, the black sea,
A reef of a thousand chimneys,
Home of Millions of Sharks,
Lost young fishes on their own.

He already knew which mischief They were on the brink of undertaking…

Your love

Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

Stars falling,
Lives fading,
Sole certainty,
Your love for me.

© Julien Mauduit, 2020. All rights reserved.

A Wonderful poem.

Image by Iván Tamás from Pixabay

Fellas had imaginary friends;
She had an imaginary world.
Legions of legends build by words.
Repealing each one of her dreads.

Her dear shelter,
A hidden land in her mind,
Where the impossible were divined,
Where each word sounded as songs to her.

Fearful against the burden of men,
Forced to play a game of pretend,
She met one last time each legend.

She left it on a branch, to Destiny’s will,
Leaving all the wonders, to meet the hands of a kid
Who she hoped, would dare to dream.

Thank you for reading!

Julien R. Mauduit is a Norman short story author and poetry enthusiast with some interests upon fantasy, thriller and sci-fi.

© Julien Mauduit, 2020. All rights reserved.

A free verse from the bottom of a scale

Photo by Matt Hardy on Unsplash

Beneath the sea line,
I am drowning.
Can someone throw me a lifeline
Or should I let the deepest blue take me?

O Poseidon, Lord of the Seas, is that you?
Riding your mount, dressed as a thousand scales.
Are you here for me, a trespassing soul,
Or to punish those who condemn me?

At last, I think I can see the reef,
The bottom of my soul, of my heart.
Is it where I shall relive all my souvenirs,
Or is it where I’m living my last?

O Ocean, Home of the Lost, please take me, Me and my…

One couldn’t be so brave

Image public domain, taken from the British Library

Only the sky knew for certain how many times they were inside the cave. The same sky they missed by being drowned among the darkness for too long.

Are we near yet?

Here, only shadows danced to the sweet caress of torchlights. The greyness hued by a taint of blue had ceded his place to the blackness for quite some time, and oh boy, did it frighten him.

To be fair, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the only thing he wasn’t afraid of was his mom’s arms. But he wasn’t the only one.

Hell, she was brave, but…

A Free Verse into Space!

Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash

Teile dé lumyires

Teile peinte par miles lumyires,
Souvenins d’eun pâssé oubblié,
L’s acauntaunt devers eune milleure veie
Yoù qu’i pouorrount vive de banoun.

Bilingual lexical (nrf=fr)

acauntaunt=accompagnant||veie=voie||de banoun= en liberté.

Canvas of light

Canvas painted of a thousand lights,
Souvenirs of a distant past,
Guiding them in a new path
Where they could live at last.

Julien “Rouoge-Fale” Mauduit is a short story writer and poetry enthusiast. He’s decided foolishly to perfect is Norman by translating and writing poems and short story. It’s the hard, the stupid but above all the proudest way (and dumbest). …

A free verse poem to leave the ground

Photo by Maria Bobrova on Unsplash

A Sky painted of a clear blue,
The Birds sang melodies of life,
The Clouds were off to the shore;
Heaven seemed to have come down on Earth.

Such a lovely day could make one’s mind lost,
All needed was a simple stare through the window,
Though she wasn’t absent;
Her mind was flying high in the Sky.

No one, nothing could fall upon her
Nor she could fall from up there
Except perhaps, this wooden ruler;
A painful scream resonated through the room.

He was red and angry, but mostly red Deep like the lava of Mount Vesuvius, Vivid…

A free verse in Norman and English

Photo by Ernesto Bruschi on Unsplash

Crainyiz lé Vent

Souos lés rêles d’eun Solé dé plloumb,
Raunçaé pa l’air câod d’étaé,
Eune âme achâlaée est entraé,
Queriaunt eun brin dé fraiche.

Il allis au frigo,
sortis eune freid boutèle d’cid’.
Il léqui lé jus d’poumes
Alcoolisé par lé temps
Dauns eun p’tiot godé.

Alors qu’il allait gouôter,
La réparti séque devaunt l’bec,
Un son fendit l’air.
Ch’tait la machène à prêchi.

Par sa main, il apprennit la mâovaise nouvèle:
Ch’tait l’fi du veisin,
I tait pa terre, sus lé revan,
Ébllâqui pa eun écoussin
s’étaunt mise à boulaer,
poussaé pa lé vent.

I cllanchit la pouorte, Ratouornaunt sous lés…

A quick free verse poem on Contemplation

Image par Stefan Keller de Pixabay

Seated on a Rock,
Contemplating in despair:
The desolation of a lost world,
The antithesis of an old Rodin.

Moons have passed,
But the vestige of Past stayed,
Feared by the mind of mortal men,
Dreading the Chaos if he’d breath again.

Here is the last of his kind,
Waiting for a new spring to come,
To finally retrieve the life and colours,
of a lost world, long gone and forgotten.

Inspired by Dascha Paylor

Thank you for reading!

Julien Mauduit is a short story author and a poetry enthusiast. To make sure to not miss any of his stories, don’t hesitate to follow him on Medium or Twitter.

© Julien Mauduit, 2020. All rights reserved.

Photo by Marita Kavelashvili on Unsplash

Eun Du Oubllié

Byin louen,
Dauns eun guant oubblié,
Eun vuul âbre i vivait,
cati dauns la hoellaund.

I tait graund, rouoya même,
Coume eune colonne appiaunt le Cyil.
Souos son brou épais,
I guettait la vie qui brillait.

Lé temps s’est évanaé
Et les lagues sount parti
Més l’âbre a pin laôdaé.
Où miteun de la hoellaund, i tait désseulaé
I guardait lé gaunt, achuqi,
Coume eun du oubblié.

Trilingual lexical (nrf=en/fr)

gaunt=forest/forêt || hoellaund=valley/vallée || rouoya=majestic/royal ou majestueux || appiaunt=supporting/soutenant || allosaer=told/raconter || évanaé=went on/écoulé || laôdaer=move/bouger || achuqui= standing still/immobile.

In English — Dauns aungllais

The forgotten god

Far away, In a forgotten forest, Lived here an old tree, hidden in…

Julien Mauduit

Ex-Writer on Medium — Has left for the better.

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