Augustus Young       light verse, poetry and prose
a webzine of new and unpublished work

1. English/ Français


Momentum Vita
La vie est une comėte,
et nous sommes net-
tement sur la queue,
et on sillonne un piste
justque ặ ce que nul n’existe.
Dit donc, avant ca
nous nous eclairions  
la nuit,
et tout etait brillant
pendant un instant.
(Life is a comet
and we are on its

blazing a trail
into which we fail.
Still before it’s spent
we ignite
and all is bright.
for a moment.)

Un Brin de WB Yeats 
‘L'homme qui a vielli n'est qu'un pauvre pantin,
un manteau dechirẻ sur un baton, a moins que
l'ậme tape des mains et chante, toujours plus fort,
pour chaque chiffon de son vệtement mortel.’
(‘An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap it hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress.’)
Apres ‘Spleen’ par Baudelaire
Je suis un roi dechu dans son royaume rėduit a nėant.
Les touristes en passant me regard avec les bouches bėant.
(I am a deposed king in a derelict kingdom.
The tourists come to gawk at me in my ex-dominion.)
Nature Mort
Dans la nuit un lėger pansement en neigė.
L’arbre anonyme sans feuilles est enragė,
comme la eventail de la sage-femme figẻe
de trop vin rouge, l’hiver ce matin est nẻ.
Café L’Insolite
Lite pour lumiere.
Sol pour le soleil
L’In pour L’In-

2. English

Follies by the Sea After the Bac
La lēgērete d’une àme lycēenne
à la veille de juillet
Petaled limbs.
Raspberry smiles.
The young things
summer beguile.
Who would ever think
they weren’t young before.
The arms link.
The laughs roar. 
Losing Contact through Old Age
Sure, I could telephone
for a mutual moan,
but I fear I’d blunder 
on a voice, ‘Dead number’.
Asking Directions in Dublin
Plastic in the ear.
Plastic in the hand.
My query, I fear
they won’t understand.
But there isn’t a need
to worry. People lip-read.
Homage to M. J-C Amen
Watchmender, Port-Vendres
And so be it.
Time is a bit
of wire with spring.
Hear it ticking.
To Delphine Salome
Opulent she
whose bounty store
filled us with delicacies,
thrilled us with spices.
Alas, no more.
You’re Leader Prices.
Life is Death
‘La vie est la mort’, says Lacan.
What can he mean ?
The something in between
is lacking.
Omos 1919
Brave Miss Early of Effrinagh, Leitrim,
who went back to the Sheemore ambush scene
to fetch a hanky left behind in case
the sniffer dogs picked it up, and gave chase.
Poster Boy
Christopher Logue, O Christopher Logue,
you changed the world so you were in vogue.
The swinging Sloanes loved your pomes,
‘Better than a snog’. ‘Julie is a dog.’
Then you gave us Sir Homer plain
without the poetry. And achieved fame. 
My formal hat
has fallen flat
on occasions.
I lack patience.