There's a sweet young lady named Jill
for whom travel is such a big thrill.
She sees many places
and lots of kind faces
in Asheville, Nashville,
Seattle and Seville,
Belleville, Louisville
and Copacabana, Brazil!
My dream vacation is to Paris, France,
I want to explore the avenues and hidden streets;
it is a beautiful city full of charm and history,
and at an outdoor café I will have some wine.
(And people watch)
I will gaze at famous monuments,
go to the top of the Eiffel Tower for a great view;
listen to street opera that breaks my heart,
and at a museum I will admire famous art.
(It could take days)
I want to drift down the Seine by boat,
see mossy tombs in cemeteries overflowing;
walk the cobbled boulevards in a raincoat,
go to Parc de Belleville to see the flowers.
(It will be magical)
_______________________
March 09, 2022
Poetry/Imagism/My Dream Vacation
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1437-643-09
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, My Dream Vacation
sponsor, L MILTON HANKINS, Judged 04/01/2022
Tenth Place
Oh, where I want to go is Paris, France,
to explore the avenues and hidden streets;
it is a beautiful city full of romance,
and at an outdoor café I will have some eats.
I will gaze at famous monuments and art,
the Eiffel Tower and nice architecture;
listen to opera that breaks my heart,
at a museum I will attend a lecture.
I want to drift down the Seine by boat,
see mossy tombs in cemeteries overflowing;
walk the cobbled boulevards in a raincoat,
go to Parc de Belleville when the wind is blowing.
It will be a magical and amazing vacation,
because this destination is my mind's fixation.
______________________________
February 20, 2017
Poetry/Sonnet/Paris, My Destination
Copyright Protected, ID 17-877-896-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
Each morning I wake
eager to search online;
the latest news,
messages from friends,
funny videos on U-Tube,
or love notes from relatives living
in Belleville, Casper, or Sausalito.
The top-drawer of any morning
is listening to a familiar voice
pronounce names of notable writers,
born on said date, and list
their quirks, achievements,
titles of books written, etc.
Each day, he reads a poem
chosen to inform, comfort,
or entertain his audience,
the timbre of his voice as soothing
as a soft rain falling on a canopy.
I wait for his closing message,
and my voice joins his farewell
as we say these words together,
“Be well, do good work,
and keep in touch.”
No morning is complete
without The Writer's Almanac.
I stole Milne's painting,
now in photographic film, splayed
on a foreign screen,
in a landscape void of life,
and hey- I'm not too proud of it.
But who would be?
of an image within an image,
a facsimile of vision,
and a breath of death,
exhumed with other bones:
those scattered remains
of Great Canadian Poets,
and I shudder at the name-
"A Country North of Belleville…"
untouched on the page,
and never the same,
as uncovered
by that beer-drinkin' man,
stumbling through the trees
like trylobites, like bones,
like soft outlines of fading beige
turning brown
as long fallen leaves,
entombed under a siege of snow,
expressed, under careful scrutiny
almost a century ago