Christoph Girard

Poet, Yoga and Tantra Teacher

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Hi! Long story short: I got Long Covid in 2020. I couldn’t focus on writing poems & turned to yoga. I practiced every day since 2020. I completed a 200hr training in 2021 & 300hr in 2025. I teach tantra & yoga in LA. If interested, find me on Instagram at https://t.co/1r5FCWE0by.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Tantric Metta Meditation (Thich Nhat Hanh)

May I be juicy.
May I be tender in all the right places.
Firm where it counts,
& soft when it matters.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

It was the trees as trees ignite under the sharp crisp tooth. It is a touch removed, its river crossed. Another cold directive bed, a vineyard, pulls the tides near the forest, aspires to look like a farm. Beds to gas in or out of the chamber, clothes perspire, tributaries off.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Somewhere in the city by the wave leaves the boat honest soup. There is the garden cropped like this poppy waxed. Persisting today to which the still dust summits. Be it the leaves, a better rig, to shelter blue honest sword. Fiery, just like a solid piece of asthma to the swamp.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Merely a flame to this softened thought
a crack lifts farther its ties
adding a tier to danger. Stray portions
aging the river. Last patient looks alive
during an epidemic. All of the elevator
words held far, frail without being taken
built a force further to persist alone.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

The gray old world, wise to a better been.
All the greatest fields had leaves to rise.
Watch the timeless virtue
fabricate like a silent said. Told of the
widow bulb, turned to machinery.
The clarity of this destruction, as starlight
to bark, makes the plum tender. #septet

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Still leaving a slipping past, its
decade unfounded in present. Wax
secreting into solidarity of winter.
Icy follicles blue until the year
caved in. Fade into them
with a trickling morning flow. Fiery
quiet emblem recesses rain,
singing hymns to remove its cube.
#triolet

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Was this water like a dream
gnawed out? Would this computer
extend its virus to holes?
Put down again. Doors swelling.
Has this blaze been breathing from a tree?
Bring it over, farther in one direction.
Bigger tree, over a lifted shawl
rinsed in barrels, floating through—

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Hi, a chronological selection of 400 of my Twitter poems written between 2011-17 is available from DEATH-SPIRAL. $40 for a limited edition set of 20 pamphlets of 20 poems or $2 for any 1, yr choice or chosen for you. Msg composer @_mark_so_ for more info: https://t.co/q8x7Wm5cuA

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

I dread alive dread, floating thought
its doom flame hurdled in wind.
Forget that thought. Floating growth
glows past the loud panic. A denial
left withstanding on both sides.
Myself on one side: Gloating word
searching for hunger, having
a locked gate for an eye. #triolet

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Although terrain
plain & seen through new arrival
undivided for a city
that can folly, bearing onto barren
the end of doom clearing,
a lofty tune like this salvage.
Have at it, undivided feet
coarse & flat on both sides.
There is a clearing, a
complicated idea of protein.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

The wisdom of the mountains is like a dream of rice.
Even with this great wave of tide-turning, un-submerged
voices become the woolen scars. Curdled
to a written mesh, there's nothing more pancreatic
than sticky cube. Stuffed down, left hard,
amassed along the way. #sestet

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

The one who yells back
exhausts it all, goes to pasture.
Too much credit with the past.
A cold for immortal warmth
unites to keep on rising, a reason
often not downstairs. One form
that exists or another crumbles
orphaned corner, but to so many
little things just a river.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

First of life, so willingly few
channels from the open sound
w/ air comes vinegar, empty meteor
breaks free from the mountains.
Ten years held at an angle, as sharp
as age cuts certain appearances.
Uncertain startling, looks up
at that lap, exists a camel's boil. #triolet

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

The alps billowed to a misleading settlement / magnifying the drain that had stopped / from baths compounded in cracks / a lake would rise.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

A barren tree murders eye.
Very soon, a very nature
passes the mainland upward.
More than any death
held cold, worn by atlas. #gogyohka

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Iteration leads to an ideal
abandoned, some of them, holding on
to a type of net. There's chanting
at the old house. At last, last year.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

It descends, vast letters.
Smoke to land on golden dawn.
The pleats, tethering periods. How does
paint clear to make the mouth
pink now?

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

Crossed the long shore clang
visited from disbanded glass it seems.
Fled from the dead, clenched
to the deaf on foot, storage to a pulse.

[Christoph Girard @ChristopGirard]

More valves
than bright flakes
lapsing shallow hollow.
Fish suspend in air pocket
flow too low. Bone thinking
bone thought under broth.