France Jodoin

Oils on linen

Inhale the different dawn
The evening on the day leans
The hills in purple syllables
Doesn't - always - move
So short a thing to sigh
The web of life is woven
An hour is a sea between you and me
A carriage awaits at 4 o'clock
Harvest of luxurious time
It will be windy for a while until it isn't
Like vaporous shapes half seen
Memory stirring with spring rain
Not knowing when the dawn will come
Seek not to save the future waves of time
Silence rows the songless gondolier
The little things in life were the big things
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
The sky which sews and drops her purple hem
Tripping by in high-heeled ribbon shoes
Wander like a breeze by sandy shores
What is not worth a little hour or more
When it is summer in the light and winter in the shade
With perfume and pride
Wonder is not precisely knowing
A boarder fantasy of branches and flowers
Across the sand shadows come and go
Before the useful trouble of rain
Dreams browse on from the shores of oval oceans
How softly sinks that trembling sun
I sleep till dusk is dipped in grey
It were folly fair dame
I would roam and play with the mermaids
Like red threads loosened from the sky
Muddy feet that press to early coffee stands
Noise of songs and clapping hands
No madrigals of field songs for my all reverent whim
Outside the window, leaning in, branches of a wisteria grin
Pour new seas in my eyes
Shadows lie like wine within a cup
The clouded forms of long past history
The first grey of the morning filled the east
The fog rubs its back upon the window panes
The little things in life were the big things
The showers beat on broken blinds
The sky tirelessly sewing, drops her purple hem
The sleepy rythm of a hundred hours
The thoughtful soul to solitude retires
Waiting for a knock upon the door
Your cup is rubby rimmed
A breath of pine and the woodsong fog
A flock of dreams browse on
In silence, memory is strong
Mornings have measured out my life with coffee spoons
The naming of dogs is a difficult matter
A print of a vermillion foot
After the novels, the teacups and the skirts that trail along the floor
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
If the lady and gentleman whish to take their tea in the garden
She smoothed her hair and put a record on the gramophone
Till the wind shakes a thousand whispers
A print of vermillion foot and more i cannot tell
After the novels, after the skirts that trail along the floor
Enough to take your step and find your foothold
Return gently at twilight, gently go at dawn
Towards the door we open into the rose garden
Where the merchants were the kings
Laughter tinkled among the tea cups
The golden fog that robs its back upon the window panes
Summer laid her supple glove
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
Put your shoes at the door and prepare for life
Que vous êtes joli! Que vous me semblez beau!
I have known the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase
Down silent courts and secret passages
I remember a slice of apricot pie and a bitten macaroon
The silken girl bringing sherbet
There is a time for the wind to brake the loosened pane
Inhale the different dawn
Between the ivory gates
Disturbing the dust in a bowl of rose leaves
Do I dare eat a pear
They glide like dancers into the wide hall
The notion of some infinitely gentle thing
Présence de l'absence
Run softly until i end my song
The shade of passing thoughts