By blowing the candles. Poetic Letter

Jolliantte JASE-BEEP

Dear readers,

After a few weeks, writing of the series, and the fantastic tales, this is the last Poetic Letter of the year,

entitled “By blowing the candles.”

Happy Holidays

By blowing the candles
In these days of feasts
By blowing the candles
Give several gifts
We express our wishes

By stopping the pangs
Helping each other
The large variety of heart
Is without religion, without fear

Is made of the benefit
Our beautiful diversity
It is free to listen
If love and respect (…)

The rest of this new poetic letter is on the site of poetry: The free thoughts

Publications fantastic tales are underway, as well as series.
I will keep you informed in this New Year.

This is the calendar:
Calendar of joelleauteur

I wish you a wonderful holiday season.
Thank you for your loyalty.

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Fall in Chicago


Fall in Chicago was the most picturesque setting I have had the pleasure to see. All the trees were ablaze in red and gold, with thick blankets of leaves littering the ground. There were birds and ducks everywhere, and little squirrels burrowing into the ground.

The wind was really strong and when the sun was down it would get very cold, but these are the only things that would mar the beauty of fall in Chicago.

Here are some of our most favorite pictures!

Fall trees






Fall colors

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SUNDAY JAZZ CONCERT || MILES DAVIS QUINTET live at La Salle Pleyel, Paris, 1969

Jazz You Too

It’s Sunday Jazz Concert time! It’s hard to imagine a Miles Davis concert. This quintet is absolutely fabulous: Chick Corea on electric piano, Dave Holland on bass, Wayne Shorter on saxophone, Jack DeJohnette on drums and Miles Davis on trumpet. It is also an important document from extraordinary musicians playing together!

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Devil Girl Diaries – 2 (The Breakup)

The Lonely Author


Every man has that one unforgettable woman that will haunt him until his final day; the girl that got away. Allie detested television, vanilla ice cream, and missionary. She explored the depths of her sexuality; while I discovered the heights of my pain. My muse had a nickname. I called her Devil Girl. I write these words to ease my sorrows. My name is Andrew.

This is our story.

Standing outside the food court

My wobbly knees barely supporting me

Two construction workers approached her

what kind of foolish game was this?

As one reached for her hand

I stormed out of the mall

burning cheeks scorching everything around me

I refuse to share my girl

I refused to play this game

We didn’t speak for days

Ignored her texts, calls, and messages

then I accidentally heard one voicemail

she wept like a baby

I called her, promising to visit…

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