My life is like a song,
A Magic World, where I belong,
I’m the Savior of all Dragons,
And I can fight many Demons,
Can’t be sorry for my loss,
‘Cause, for them, I reserve my Chaos.

It’s not real, it’s just Magic,
Can’t bring me back my Mick.
True, it is, I’ve moved on,
But, in the End, the emptiness won.
I haven’t friends like my kind,
And no legacy to leave behind.


13 (English & French)


Thirteen years, one hundred and fifty-six moons,
Since, the house is full of empty rooms,
Not here anymore, you’ve been murdered,
About time, this poem is for you, father,
So, yes Daddy, you passed away,
Even now, I can’t find my way.
My grandmother said, one time or two :
« When they buried your father, they buried you too. »
Well… Maybe it’s true…

« Je me raccroche à qui ? Tous mes héros sont morts. »
– Indochine, 13 –


Treize ans, cent cinquante-six lunes,
Plus de photos, plus jamais aucune,
Lâchement assassiné, tu n’es plus présent,
Ce poème est pour toi papa, il était temps,
Oui, tué lors d’une nuit sans fin,
Encore aujourd’hui, j’en perds mon chemin.
Ma grand-mère a dit, sans ton sec :
« Quand ils ont enterré ton père, ils t’ont enterré avec. »
Sûrement vrai… Je le suspecte.

19.12.19 / 30.12.19

Godric’s Hollow (English & French)

Godric’s Hollow
(English Version)

It’s was a challenge. 
I supposed to read my own Christmas/Yule poem at my writers session.
The thing is… I didn’t have any. So, before the session, I tried to focus on the Christmas time and I wrote that…
Enjoy !

It’s Christmas, I return to Godric’s Hollow,
I bring my tears and my sorrow,
The snow is falling in the graveyard,
Here, I’m not the only Wizard.
I hear the song : « Silent Night »,
And the clock strikes midnight,
Finally, I find the tombstone,
The cold and me, we are alone,
My parents are here, below the ice,
I want to do for them, something nice,
I take my wand and cast a spell,
Christmas wreath and sweet silver bell,
And then, I say to mom and daddy :
« Merry Christmas to you, my family. »


Godric’s Hollow
(Version Française)

C’était comme un défi.
Pour mes séances de lectures/écritures, je devais lire un poème au sujet de Noël.
Sauf que… Je n’en avais aucun…
Alors, avant la séance, j’ai essayé de penser à l’esprit de Noël et j’ai écrit ceci.
(Traduction Française de mon poème en Anglais)
Bonne lecture !

C’est Noël, je retourne à Godric’s Hollow,
Avec mes larmes et la baguette de Sureau,
La neige tombe dans le cimetière,
Où reposent Sorciers et Sorcières.
J’entends au loin : « Douce Nuit »,
Et l’horloge sonne enfin minuit.
Voilà… J’ai trouvé la pierre tombale,
Recouverte d’eau changée en cristal,
Mes parents dorment sous ce gel,
Je veux laisser ici, un cadeau éternel.
Je prends ma baguette pour un sort blanc,
Une couronne de gui, une cloche en argent.
Maintenant, je murmure à maman et papa :
« Joyeux Noël à vous et à nous trois. »


« Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. »
– Professor Albus Dumbledore –

I Have Magic

My first prose poem in English !
A BIG thanks to Marguerita, who worked a lot on the correction !
And to Johnny, my first reader.
Enjoy !

I’m not sitting at my desk. I’m fighting Evil. With my Dragon : « Brisingr ». It means « Fire » in our magical language.
No, I’m not at my computer, working for Humans. I work for myself. It’s hard. But I like it. That’s my true life. I’m chasing adventures.
I don’t take the bus. No. Because, I fly with Brisingr through the air. My white Dragon. White like the snow. Like the old winters in the Vikings’ mountains. My white Dragon can breathe fire like Hell.
It will be a cold day in Hell.
I don’t eat in the canteen. I take my lunch in an old and strange tavern, in the middle of nowhere and I don’t drink Guinness either. No, I drink Hydromel. Sitting close to the fireplace, during the night, with strangers all over the place. Drinking, singing and whispering.
I don’t have a phone or keep a track of time. Time is nothing. I watch the stars to know the days, the years and the hours. It’s not about one month, it’s all about one full moon to the next one,
I don’t live in the real World.
I’m a Writer. I have Magic.


Tell Me

You are by my side, and I keep my ring,
We have our song, the one we sing,
You don’t need money, or a true beauty,
At least with you, I’m always happy.

Tell me that love, will never stop,
And, by the bad guys, we can’t be caught,
Tell me your feelings, will never leave you,
And you still want maybe a kid or two.

But you need to understand, I’m very afraid,
For the girls like me, those who feel so dead,
It’s so strange and frightening,
To see the World shining.

Tell me the bad times ar over,
And the Moon will rise in the night forever,
Tell me we will have our house in Laytown,
With very big walls, maybe blue or brown.

Tell me we will pickup shells for the rest of our life,
And tell me one day, I’ll be your wife…


Ode to the Violin

In the « Drogheda Writers Group », one of the writers gave me a challenge : Writing a Sonnet ! 
So, I did ! My first one. And I enjoyed, so maybe, next time…

My violin, you inspire me to sing,
How I love the way you create and play,
Always searching about the perfect string,
Invading my mind night and through the day.

You have many names, as I remember,
Maddie, Luna, Aithusa and more,
Playing with you from January to December,
If I can’t, my heart is so sore.

I’m dancing when I play with you,
You are my Magic Powers inside of me,
My happiness and my dreams too,
Fighting all the Monsters I can see.

In my nightmares, you’re always dying,
Sweating in my bed, where I’m lying.


Princess Of Darkness

First things, first, I’m gonna shout,
When winter comes, my demons cry out,
Because of me, the World will be torn apart,
I know for fact, I don’t have a heart.

Second things, second, I just feel my pain,
The cold in my veins, the frost in my brain,
Lost in the middle of the stars and black hole,
I know for fact, I don’t have a soul.

Third things, third, I’m the evil in your dreams,
Frost Giant, Trickster, it’s me and I’m your Queen,
All Heroes of the Universe can’t break my flood,
I know for fact, I just have a cold blood.