Best French Poems
Starbright
As I gaze into indigo skies,
Stars are brighter tonight,
Twinkling in the darkness
Of a new moon.
Orion's belt enchants
My impassioned heart
As my thoughts of you soar
In a dimension devoid
Of Time's constraints.
Let me feel the warmth of your
Strong arms wrapped 'round me
As we breathe in the scent
Of night blooming jasmine.
You are my summer nights—
In my dreams of us
On cool cotton sheets
While Bach serenades us in
Rainbows of ribbons~
In a symphony of sounds~
Your skin glistens,
And I am lost in love.
8-21-22
(French translation)
Starbright
Comme j'ai regarder dans le ciel indigo,
Les étoiles sont plus lumineux, ce soir,
Scintillant dans l'obscurité
D'une nouvelle lune.
Ceinture d'Orion enchante
Mon coeur passionné
Comme mes pensées de vous atteindre
Dans une dimension dépourvue
Des contraintes de temps.
Je voudrais sentir la chaleur de votre
Bras forts enveloppés "autour de moi
Que nous respirons le parfum
Fleur Jasmin de nuit.
Vous êtes mes nuits d'été--
Dans mes rêves de nous
Sur des draps en coton cool
Bien que Bach sérénades nous dans un
Arc en ciel de rubans ~
Dans une symphonie de sons ~
Votre peau scintille,
Et je suis perdu dans l'amour.
8-21-22
~Second Place~
The Meaning of Love Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
____________________________________________
7-22-2016
~First Place~
Best Love Poem EVER
Contest Judged: 8/27/2016
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
Door to Nowhere
Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges
Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams
The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s
The lonely have open doors
To nowhere
I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment
As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope
I with no rope, fade away
Leaves of the Dead
Les feuilles mortes
They fall like dead soldiers
Dreams knifed in the dead of night
It is as yesterday
Once more
Where love was kissing my cheek
Where hopes had dreams
One could see the blossom of loves desires
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
Ah now I am holding a cane
I have all but forgotten yesterday
I have no lovers
My friends have all but gone
To their designated places in the ground
Piano keys in soft lit lounges
I remember the vodka stingers and sultry singers
Telling me life was jolie oh so jolie
If only there was love…
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
At 3am, with burnt cigarette butts
If only there was love
When the metro finds it’s unwitting end
Reality and cubes make ugly paintings
There are only drunks
Dreamers and bums
Thief’s picking pockets of your final instructions
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
If you can sober up and face the poverty
Of your empty aspirations of hope
Come to the bois de Vincennes
Where Kings and Queens danced and dined
What better place
To splay the butter
So that the knife slides smooth
Whilst the sun fades kissing the seine
Autumn leaves will fall
Dead again
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
Today I will be happy,
Happy all day long.
I won't think about my problems.
I'll fill this day with song.
I won't worry about world affairs,
Or ask the reason why,
Some folks do the things they do,
And wring my hands and sigh.
I won't worry over hurtful things,
That people sometimes say.
I'll ask The Lord to bless them,
When I bow my head to pray.
Petty things that just annoy,
Of these things I won't speak.
I'll be happy as a little bird,
With a french fry in my beak.
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Translations
Allons-y = Lets go, pronounced similar to Alizee
Magasins = Stores
N'est pas is written on sound should be "N'est ce pas"
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri = Eat your macaroon cookies my love"
C'est ton droit et ta liberte = Is your right and your liberty
Lusting the passions of a secret desire
Unwinding the mystery of my needs
Funerals are for the future
Internment I ask be deferred
Timeless is my youth
Useless is my request
At seeking eternity or at least eternal rest
End of times may seem long away
Beauty we know fades, it will happen some day
So I dream of youthful moments
Isle graveyards were far away
Holy wars and loveless scores
That a soldier must endure
A desire for peace escapes this generation and more
External forces and internal woes
Death dances at my door
Dedicated to Sara Bernhardt, who slept in her coffin amongst all her love letters.
French Bread
Your index finger
draws figure-eights
in the dusting of flour
on the counter top
where you lean
quite casually,
watching as I make
a loaf of French bread.
Then, laughing a bit,
you insert your powdery finger
into my right ear.
I’m startled...
I was so very focused
on assembling ingredients
that I wasn’t aware
of my surroundings,
at least not enough to see
your finger inching its way
toward me. I laugh too,
realizing the intimacy
of your floured finger.
Somehow,
I don’t believe
your interest is in my baking,
but I proceed on to
proofing the yeast
in warm water,
watching carefully
for the always-shocking
bloom’s suggestion
of the possible,
our palates fine-tuned
to the perfume
of earth and damp places.
Thus begins the slow tango
of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salt-taste,
elements bound together
by the slippery
until there is inseparable oneness,
deep warmth in the joining,
the inevitable rising,
swelling seeking relief.
But not yet, oh no...
First there must be a pause,
a relaxation of the engorged,
consummation delayed,
then the pressure of my hands,
pressing-on,
pressing and shaping and pressing.
We sip our wine,
talk quietly, anticipating
the inevitable increase,
saying between us,
“We’re ready for the final phase:
the heat that binds,
coalesces the disparate ingredients,
yielding at last to the
inevitable delectable finish.”
Later, cooling as it always must,
we can’t resist
nibbling still-warm bits
dipped in melted butter,
feeding them to each other,
transcending words,
finding new ways of seeing
one another.
Written November 23, 2013
for Charlotte’s Scorchers.
Time is fleeting when love's guise becomes sweet
When eyes bow before beauty's silent pose
To feel the soul emerge and not retreat
With such fragrant scent from a lover's rose
When hands clasp so tender a blushing face
To search quiet realms of expectation
And kiss in dim-light from a candle's trace
And reveal ecstasy's exaltation
With a breathless pause as lips are unbound
Where eyes again will lift their eyelids slow
And share breath's softest sighs of welcomed sound
When passionate tongues give gifts they bestow
To feel palms grow warmer as they perspire
When lips are kissed from surrender's desire
8/31/21 contest Anna and the French Kiss
sponsor Mystic Rose Rose
Darkest of Confessions
Voices in my head
Dancing abreast with the abstract
Shattered glasses and shattered dreams
History repeats many a lovers’ defeat
I demand a duel
With my heart
I welcome the sword that shall draw first blood
Ending the torment of duel nationalities
Kissing lovers and slaying love
The ménage a trois of all duels
The sword, the heart, the opera of nothings
Graveyards hold the court, from dusk to dark
Lovers return
Some are loved
Some are slayed
Regrets in my diary of misery
Hold me true
I shall sing of you
In my darkest confessions
As my sword pieces your heart
You can bleed in tranquility
With your last breath
It’s I Mademoiselle de Maupin
That laid you to eternal rest
Julie d'Aubigny 1670Aprox–1707, better known as Mademoiselle Maupin or La Maupin, was a 17th-century swordswoman and opera singer. Her tumultuous career and flamboyant life were the subject of gossip and colourful stories in her own time, and inspired numerous portrayals afterwards
THE DEATH OF MARIE ANTOINETTE
(MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE)
Songwriters set their words about her style
and artists make pursuit to paint her smile
but all the light that's Paris, shows,
her heart and soul to only those
who come to fall in love for just while.
But knowing this, my wondering still lies
as I recall Marie, her face,her eyes,
and she is just a memory
though what I'd have to always be,
if time was mine and not a thing that flies.
I trace my blood and line of ancestry
down through some troubled times of history
or is it that I've journeyed long
from when my life went all so wrong
but it's so far removed, my mind can't see?
These questions rake my mind and leave me cold,
Am I my father who's still growing old;
and who is she, to go away
to deju vu--to yesterday,
or has she layed our love to times' unfold?
I guess I'll find her on Champs Elysees,
or in the Champ de Mars, where children play
or where one day the guillotine
cut life away, and cut it clean,
but this is now, and that was yesterday.
O! I would lay my neck under the blade;
if there would ever be a diff'rence made
to end the pain she left in me
and stop the love for my Marie
but love--this love for her can never fade.
And so, as other loves they come and go,
as Paris says, and Paris makes it so,
I wait and wander by the Seine
but know not where, and know not when,
for love of my Marie, she'll come, I know.
© RON WILSON aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
I
held the
hand of a
stranger lying
face down with flying
bullets spraying the room,
killing, striking so many
innocents frozen in terror.
As I fled I realized she was
dead from terrorist's merciless melee.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Note: I wrote this about a recent story on the news that
touched me deeply. I am praying for all those who are suffering.
Waterloo Clerihew 23-Skidoo
Napoleon Bonaparte
1769 Corsica is where he got his start
One of the greatest commanders in history
His manner of death a 200-year-old mystery
Napoleon played it close to the vest
With his armies he was always the best
But 'twas nothing he could do
When he met his Waterloo
Lived his last few years under house arrest
Napoleon drank the water and headed for the loo
He did nothing different than you or I could ever do
Be kind to your skin and protect your bone-a-parts
Remember that's where good hygiene starts!
elle pleure de plus en plus
et ça ne change rien
elle le sait
de jour en jour
elle voit sa santé détériorer
elle pense
aux belles années
partagées
une douceur au coeur
mais dans la gorge
un goût doux-amer
Translated from my poem MOM CRIES
Posted on May 14, 2021
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Sheer black lace ~
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Incense and candles aglow
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Perfumed sweeet Nectars
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Between Her silkened lips...
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Parting their pink wetness
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Upon my Loving tongue ~
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... * "French Kisss" * ...
Skies falling, upon the ragged heart pasquil
Tranquility ripples across the lake in plethora
She is there, in my heart, a sweet delusion
As I cross the waters wishing I was omnipotent
I drop my oars on forest floor, seeking Aurore
I run along the earth clad pathways towards the cloister
Praying that accrued love still has her beholden
Kneeling on one knee, I look up with a glint of promise
The Lantern reflects back the softness of her eyes