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| Children Artists Writers Musicians Choreographer Poet |
Talents Corner
Poet Corner |
| Dr Jacques Guiteau •Dr Maxime Coles • Dr Carl Gilbert • Dr Jean Serge Dorismond |
Reynald Altéma, MD • Marlene Apollon •Louis Bernard Antoine MD |
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| Dr Jacques Guiteau |
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| Dr Maxime Coles |
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A ma mere: Claire Laurent Coles…
Maxime Coles MD
4-28-19
Le jour ou tu m’as donne vie,
J’ai cru sentir mon coeur vibrer
Alors que je humais la premiere bouffee d’air.
Tu m’as legue cette envie
D’ exister pour te glorifier.
J’ai vite decouvert ce sourire
Qui a toujours apaise mes angoisses.
Tu m’as fait partager tant de joie,
Et tu m’as berce d’un amour
Que nulle autre femme a su dupliquer.
Tu as guide mes premiers pas
Vers le chemin cahoteux de ma destinee.
Tu m’as protégé d’un bouclier humain
pendant toutes mes plus jeunes annees.
Tu as souffert avec moi
A chaque fois que la maladie me terrassait.
Encore, tu m’as berce d’un amour unique,
comme tu l’as fait pour chacun de nous.
Tu m’as appris a briguer mes peurs.
en incitant mon coeur a deborder de tendresse.
Je ne peux pas briser ce lien
qui nous unit pour toute une eternite.
Tu es partie pour ne plus revenir
laissant en moi,
cette hantise de te revoir.
Maman, tu es mon premier Amour.
Merci de m’avoir appris a Aimer.
Tu seras toujours dans mes pensees.
J’ai joui d’un Bonheur
que beaucoup peuvent envier,
Et a tes cotes,
J’ai su profiter d’une immense tendresse.
Merci Maman de m’avoir berce et nourri.
Bonne fete des meres.
Maxime Coles MD
4/28/19
PS: je dedie ce poeme a toutes les Mamans du monde. MC |
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A mon Papa
Maxime Coles MD
6-11-19
Comment pourais-je encore, te faire revivre
Ce role primordial que tu as joue
Dans notre vie de chaque jour,
Ce chemin que tu nous a trace
Sur cette chaussee cahoteuse de l’existence,
Cet ideal que tu as su nous imposer.
Je sais que tu aurais voulu feter, sur une des plages
Que nous avions si souvent visite,
Dans les saccades de tes brasses,
Au rythme des vagues houleuses et menacantes,
Comme pour affronter cet horizon lointain,
Tel un defi quotidien a surmonter.
Mon coeur est meurtri de ne plus t’avoir a mes cotes
Meurtri de ne plus pouvoir compter sur ta presence,
Meurtri d’etre incapable de te serrer dans mes bras:
C’est le temps des “Papas”,
C’est le temps de partager cette tendresse
Dont tu as su nous couvrir, aux moments propices.
“Bonne Fete des Peres”, Papa,
Le vide que tu as cree, en partant, est abyssal.
Pilier de mon existence,
tu as joui d’un charme irresistible,
En imposant ta ferme poigne et ton savoir-faire
pour m’aider a ouvrir les portes.
Tout resonne encore en moi,
Car tu sembles etre cet ange guardien
Qui continue a me proteger.
“Bonne fete des Peres”, Papa.
L’amour que j’eprouve, est sans mesure.
Homage a toi, magnifique et gracieux.
Maxime Coles MD |
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Cuba, cette ile enchantee
Maxime Coles MD
7-28-19
Debout, pied-nus, sur un sable gris, fouete par des vagues houleuses,
J’observe cet l’horizon que Varadero, Cuba
Nous offre a l’infini, dans un coucher de soleil.
Je suis a la recherche d’un indice qui me permetra de decouvrir
A quel point ces quelques kilometres de mer qui nous separent,
Me permettraient d’observer de loin notre terre natale d’Haiti.
Nous etions pres de 375 au rendez-vous de la AMHE,
Un record d’attendence pour nos activites scientifiques,
Avides de connaissance et pres a decouvrir un pays qui nous a beaucoup aide
Lors de catastrophes naturelles.
Un people cubain qui a su partager nos deboires a travers une histoire tumultueuse.
Nous avons decouvert la fierte d’un people qui se bat,
La beaute d’un pays pauvre mais combien riche,
Ses realisations en depit d’une cinquantaine d’annee d’embargo.
Nous avons observe leurs habitats, leurs fermes. leur facon de faire des cigars
Nous avons pavanne dans leurs champs de canne-a-sucre.
Nous avons vecu a leur facon,
Dans la simplicite de leur existence a travers leurs musiques et leurs dances.
Nous avons contemple leur ingenuosite a reparer les anciennes voitures
Puisque l’embargo les empechent de se procurer de nouvelles.
Nous avons ressenti la fierte d’un people resilient et determine.
L’Association Medicale Haitienne a releve un defi
Que nous sommes pres a revivre.
Longue vie a Cuba, Terre de la revolution.
Jamais nous oublierons ce sejour
Sur cette terre que Fidel et Che ont faconne au nom de la Liberte.
Maxime coles MD.
15 Aout 2019 |
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Dream of Passion
I dream of you half naked,
Like a belly dancer in her attire,
Bared breasts hanging to gravity,
Body shining in a golden light,
Hair resting low on the shoulders.
In the dark, your eyes bursting like in a vision,
Help me hear the wind whispering in a melody,
The tender notes of passion,
While I wait patiently for your touch,
In a spirit of Love and Devotion.
May we sing and dance like two swans,
Swimming in a tango of desire,
As we become forever enlaced,
Solemnly as King and Queen
In our own kingdom of Love.
Maxime Coles MD
11-7-19 |
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As I remember your tears
Maxime Coles MD
I saw you tears for a man you never Loved
I felt your sorrow for the one you married for a green card
I saw the way you were most affected about his death
I cried your bluff when you collapsed at the church.
I witnessed your screaming and jumping like your mourning a father.
I pity the way you lost it all, for money,
I listened to your lies for years, until he passed.
Your mother had her doubts about him
But you fake not listening to her.
A mother is always right and you bear the consequences.
He abused you but you enjoyed his taking care of the bills
He never loved you but you bore his children.
You mistreated him and he stayed at your feet.
He may have been your passport to citizenship
But you forgot that you married him by necessity,
Out of love, just for the sex in your solitude.
Yes, indeed, he took care of you and became your slave.
At his death, you felt a guilt for destroying his life,
And the life of others around.
You did not care, unless the money kept coming at satisfaction.
Your patience bore fruit and finally, you got richer.
Nothing else matter. you have your kids
You have your castle and your misfortune.
You are free of buying new car and travelling.
Your Mom surely read all the way your heart.
This business arrangement brought you satisfaction,
You do not need any more to play the divorcee.
Stop leaving for others, stop your double life,
You can now carry with pride his name.
Redemption is yours after the role you play at his funeral
Beautiful eyes, Beautiful lies
Your life was always planned and you look at your best.
I saw your eyes and I swept your tears.
You used to scream my name,
I realized you were surely screaming his as well
During my absence, and now during his absence.
We always were three to tango.
Woman like you come once in the lifetime of men,
Who dedicate time to take good care of your finance.
You do not need Love, you need money.
You do not need affection; you are in love with your image.
Beautiful eyes, beautiful lies,
you are the shadow of an unfortunate widow
incapable of Love.
Yes, indeed, beautiful eyes, tears of lies.
Maxime Coles MD
12-04-19
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The virginity of a princess
Maxime Coles MD
Like judgement day,
Being ready to become a woman,
At twenty, facing peer pressure, Indeed, she has chosen the moment.
All was planned,
Like always.
She passed the day preparing
To get impaled
By someone, she did not care about,
The ones she loved, did not want her,
She had to settle
And chose an executor.
She needed all day to prepare herself,
Showering, tanning her waxed and golden body,
Perfuming in suave lotions Timidly, she walked to the bathroom.
As fast as possible
Completely alone,
She took off her clothes
To put her favorite bra and panty.
She smiled timidly
And she dressed in a sexy attire.
She needed to look at her best.
Nervously, she typed on her phone to know if his parents were gone away.
She was ready.
She hesitated to cry
Avoiding to ruin the make-up.
She tried to calm herself.
Grasping deep air.
She talked to her mirror.
Her bright green eyes shot at the clock.
She did not want to be late at her rendezvous.
It was now or never.
She waved at her mother
Like she was living for a trip.
She slammed the door, behind her, determined.
And walked away from the house,
To look for the bungalow.
Suddenly, she did not feel right inside,
Her heart was pounding, when she stood on the porch.
He opened the side door
And she stepped into his room.
His touches felt so rough on her skin,
As he kissed her, she went stiff.
He run his hands all over.
The dress strap came off the Shoulders.
Silently, in the room’s Candlelight, she wanted
To change her mind.
He became persistent and
Convinced her to give up’.
He did not want to lose the opportunity.
He took off his pant and took off his shirt.
He unzipped her beautiful dress
She was obviously shaken and looked pale. He did not want her to change her mind and lanced:
“Hey babe, are you ok?”
She was out of words.
She won’t look at him not even a glance, while shrugging her dress.
Nor she remembered taking off her bra or panty.
She sledded under the sheets, naked to cover her body
Asking in a serious note: “Do you love me?”
“For sure babe, you are my everything”.
She gave it all to a man who did not care.
The pain you suffer
To satisfy his bestial desire
Remains indelible.
You may have been under peer pressure, but
You lost it to a nobody,
Stubborn, fighting your maternal wisdom.
You were forgotten the next day after that infamous afternoon.
As one of his conquest and
The preservative used
to burst into your intimate parts,
May still be a trophy in his collection.
The painful pleasure you gave him in losing your innocence
Remains the topic of his Favorite conversations with Others, in the crossroads of his Neighborhood.
Maxime Coles MD
11-18-19 |
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| Dr Carl Gilbert |
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Voeux prémonitoires (11 janvier 2010)
Ce soir je veux te dire que Je t'aime avant que ma Voix ne s'éteigne
Une dernière fois au Lendemain dans une Clameur infernale
S’élevant des gouffres de La terre à 16:53:10
Ce soir je veux te prendre Dans mes Bras avant que Les affres de la mort
Ne relâchent au lendemain Mes Membres à 16:53:10
Sous le poids de notre Demeure Conjugale.
Ce soir je veux trinquer ce Vin à nous Deux avant que Le destin
Ne nous sépare à jamais Demain après-Midi à 16:53:10
Dans un cliquetis à nul Autre pareil.
Ce soir je veux te faire L’amour
Avant que la terre ne M’ensevelisse
Au lendemain à 16:55:10
Deux secondes après
Pour m’emporter loin de toi Vers les Gouffres Inexorables de l’Eternité.
Carl Gilbert
A l’occasion du 10ème anniversaire du séisme d’Haiti |
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| Dr Jean Serge Dorismond |
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AYITI, Le Pays que j'ai connu.
J'ai vécu le fameux temps des joies pures et saines,
Où la morale et les convenances mondaines
Etaient raisonnables et la société sereine,
Où l’on ne redoutait ni l’effort ni la peine,
Où la vie communautaire était une chaine,
Où partout l’entraide était : garantie certaine
Et la solidarité : vertu souveraine.
Le Partage allait de la montagne à la plaine.
On affrontait dignement les menaces vaines
Des cyclones venus des distances lointaines,
Sans l‘aide d’étrangers à la grosse bedaine.
On luttait contre le malheur qui se déchaine
Sans jamais mendier des pays aux poches pleines.
Les rues, bien propres, étaient, sous rigueur d’hygiène,
Bordées d’arbres en réservoirs d’ombre et d’oxygène.
Les pêcheurs labouraient l’eau d’un bleu homogène ;
Un soleil de feu brillait sur leur peau d’ébène ;
Leur repas venant de la mer, l’immense scène
Où ils voyaient danser Erzulie la Sirène.
Dans les temps de fêtes, on profitait de l’aubaine
D’aliments cuits, parfumés à la marjolaine,
De la Soupe de Giromon, en prime de veine,
Quand il n’en restait plus que quelques gouttes à peine.
On buvait, sans retenue et à perdre haleine,
L’eau sucrée de coco comme l’eau de fontaine.
Le Tambour, âme de la musique païenne,
Faisait danser cœurs et corps sans aucune gène.
Raras et clairin mettaient le feu dans les veines,
Libéraient les frustrations que les chansons drainent,
La foule, en délire, ressassant la rengaine :
<< Le Vaudou, religion inscrite dans nos gènes,
Arma Bookman, prêtre de culture africaine
Et Déssalines vers la victoire Ayitienne. >>
La Médecine des plantes traitait migraine
Et choc émotionnel au chaud thé de verveine,
Fièvre, infections, anticipait toute gangrène
Grâce au savoir éprouvé des sciences égyptiennes,
En s’accompagnant de rituels et de neuvaines.
L’éducation chassait toute pensée obscène
Á coups de chants et de prières quotidiennes.
Rien ne freinait l’esprit, ni montagnes ni plaines ;
Les lettres, la musique coulaient dans les veines
Du grand Théâtre : miroir des valeurs humaines ;
Et les jeunes, dont le rêve rompt toute gaine,
Transcendant et la peur de la mort et la haine,
Faisaient le Serment Solennel, à gorge pleine :
« Que AYITI reste, de son destin, la Reine,
Et que les générations présentes et prochaines,
Á l’image de la fière armée indigène,
Assurent une Indépendance toujours Pérenne. » |
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| Louis Bernard Antoine MD |
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Psychiatrist by day and artist by night:
Louis Bernard Antoine was born in Roche-a-Bateau, Haiti. After receiving his medical degree at the “Faculte de Medecine et de Pharmacie” in Port-au-Prince, he migrated to the States in the late 70s to pursue residency training ion Pediatrics and in Child Psychiatry. |
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| Marlène Rigaud Apollon, M.S |
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| Reynald Altéma, MD |
DE GUSTIBUS
Ma muse veut exalter ces victuailles
De notre cuisine tropicale.
Elles sont sans égales,
Éclectiques échantillons de notre patrimoine régal,
Et sont connues sous le nom local
De solobay,
Mielleuse locution pour les cordes vocales,
Délices gustatoires pour la cavité buccale.
Les haricots, ô si délicieux,
Comme de la manne tombée des cieux,
Pour notre éblouissement soutenu, sans tête ni queue,
Revêtent des éponymes géographiques tels que :
Congo, je nwa, France,
Titillant notre exubérance,
Ou encore pittoresques,
Sinon dignes d’inclusion dans les arabesques :
Languichatte, inconnu, shousse, boeu, Valète.
Et de leur cuisson nous restons en guète !
Ou encore mieux brossent un tableau multicolore :
Rouge, nwa, blanc,
Véritables joyaux versicolores,
Rutilants et dont nous sommes friands.
Venez me joindre pour un voyage fantastique,
Vous, détenteur de palais raffiné,
D’un odorat bien entrainé
Ou d’un appétit aiguisé,
Mais jamais épuisé.
Que vous soyez pauvre ou riche,
Généreux ou chiche,
Ce voyage remarquable vous laissera frénétique. |
SOLOBAY
Afiba kè m vle chante manje lakay
Eritaj natif-natal
Bout lò ki pa krisokal,
Ki pa gen parèy tank se koupe dwèt
Manje kreyòl, sa se bèl bagay nèt.
Kokenn chenn kambiz sa yo, rele solobay
Bèl son pou vwa mwen,
Bon jan gou pou bouch mwen.
Pwa kwit nan peyi m tèlman gou
Se kòm lamann di syel ki pote l pou nou.
Se wololoy ak anpil tèt chaje
Pou bèl platt pwa ki bay plezi tèt kale!
Yo rele kongo, jenwa, frans,
Kou klas jeografi e se pa rans,
Ou byen langichat, bè, valèt, shous,
Ou ta di se yon tablo pèk mèl ak gwo pous!
Osnon, nwa, vèt, wouj, blan
Kou koulè soulye e rad ti jou dlan.
Tout non sa yo envite nou pran yon lòsiè,
Yon verite nou pa ka kimbe sekrè.
Vin fè yon flann avèk mwen
Si nou gen nen fen e kòn gou bouch nou
Vini avè m e an nou pran swen
Pou nou goute sa k bon kou dyòl loulouz
Ke ou se moun pòv ou moun rich
Nou pa nan fè chich,
Depi revèy maten make 12,
Vini avè m pou mande pwa wouj
An al pran yon bon lòsiè ki sot lakay,
Sòs pwa, pwa kole, pwa nan vyann, tout se bon solobay!
Se konsa nou gate zanmi nou.
Solobay, goute l e pou li wap vin fou! |
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Mango
No view certifies tropical haven better
Than this regal tree billowing in the wind with no fetter.
No simple pleasure rivals a leisure under its shade,
Siesta in a hammock or on a rocking chair,
Bare chested, with flair in open air,
Priceless rest of highest grade!
Or beckoning activities like playing dominoes,
Cards, a pick-up ballgame, while feted by cackling crows,
Aiding and abetting living beings; tree ubiquitous,
A being, easily grown from a seed, so fortuitous.
No sight equals the palate’s delight like its fruits filled
Branches, floating from stalks, bouncing with breeze,
Inviting epicurean frothing, drooling worth its tease,
When desire is fulfilled.
Magic fruit gifted of rainbow hues from canary
To burgundy and various shades of green,
In any permutation of tints and tones
In true colors plenary!
Splendid fruit, visual art piece, of renowned motif,
Of still painting by artists known and unknown.
Riveting aroma when riven from its stem,
Raw lust mixed with magnet of its sheen,
Simple natural bit of gem.
Mango eating, feast prized by its connoisseurs,
Best done with bare hands and sharp incisors.
First approach is the fruit’s scent and feel evaluation
Similar to the whiff of a wine’s bouquet, with first gustation.
Ripening stage has to be proper.
Under is not ready; over merits use as livestock fodder.
Informal setting best suited for enlivening zest of delectation,
Fruit’s zest or mild sting just a speck of irritation.
Its flavor titillates our tasting buds
With its luculent succulence,
Sharpening appetite’s vehemence.
When wallowing in scrumptious, delicious suds,
With syrupy fingers, entrenched into its flesh,
Craving begetting craving afresh.
Flesh, be it firm, soft or stringy,
Succumbs to teeth scalping fruit’s ripened skin
With a rhythm steady and swingy,
Never mind aftermath staining on clothes,
Caking on skin, strings-filled teeth, minor throes
For the gustatory satisfaction clamoring for more.
Satiety losing to voracity, like the fun of running a score.
Self-cleaning or preening thereafter far from being a chore
Is held to the altar, its allure, as part of the lore.
Mango eating, ritual sans pareil, heralded custom,
An inveterate wont, from our soul hard to eviscerate
An edict over which no need to deliberate,
May or June without this swoon is difficult to fathom!
Mango, king of fruits, of world renown
Pulse of chauvinistic passion,
From baron to mendicant.
Garnish of haute cuisine recipe
Or dessert of full or meager ration,
Allure self-evident,
Worthy not only of an elegy,
But worthy of its own crown. |
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