Best France Poems

MEMO for Destroyer Poet A Linda: 3. 20 p.m., 23rd April 2013 – Paris, France
  
If you are Red   I am Brown
If you’re not 
Then as one concrete painter using phonemes 
          ...

Continue reading...

The very first time I saw you, you became a part of me. It was a priceless moment that I will never forget. A little Kitten that was everything that I wanted in my life. I remember taking you home and setting up your area,...

Continue reading...

We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.

Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.

Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small...

Continue reading...

My France, My France
How I weep for you
these tears are not of joy,
for you have let the enemy in,
they brought disaster to your shores.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
The pain you must endure.
For all those dead have,
come to you under burdening
skies.

My France, My...

Continue reading...

Café Terrace (Coffee House) In Arles, France

Beneath stars of heavenly grandeur,
In a café, romance prospects dwell brighter.
Patrons entertaining escapades of camaraderie,
Charismatically whisper away the evening.

Visible under the illuminating gas lantern,
Of sulphurous yellow revealing customers
Who say, “S'il vous plaît” to the French waiter.
As passersby stare at...

Continue reading...

Hungry in France

Garçon, garçon
bring hot soupçon 
bouillabaisse accent egu. 
Qu'est-ce que c’est, qu’est-ce que c’est?  
Sounds like I’m un peu coucou.

Sacrebleu, Sacrebleu 
what can I do? 
In French all I learned to say
was frère Jacques frère Jacques
and café au lait, olay!

Starving; I am starving;
I’m...

Continue reading...

“Contemplation of self” is an “Art and Love”
“water is life” and a “a walk in nature”
“Without you” i’m “Broken Hearted”
“I Can Be That Child Again”to enjoy my “quietus”

“without you” “The Pen in My Hand” prevaricates
“Essays on Eternal Pages” until  “a door opens”
“changing and shifting”...

Continue reading...

They Riot.
They revel in frank spotlight, 
getting drunk in a boozy blitz. 
You can find them wrapped in the lush covers of pure linen on Sunday mornings, 
their madness of headaches and chills covering their aching bodies as they skip the early mass. 
They’re boys...

Continue reading...

Ecclesiastes 3 King James Version (KJV)
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

Time passes as the lay of the land calls 
the tread of the seekers and penitents.
The sun God Apollo reigned overall,
beauty, wisdom, healing bought him acclaim.

The...

Continue reading...

Walking down to cemetery
with their pretty chrysanthemums,
the people talk their way to graves.
They hang out, if they want, all day.

With their pretty chrysanthemums,
they do make a pleasant picture -
one for Selfies if they have brought
cell phones up to cemetery.

The people talk their way to graves,
but...

Continue reading...

This is my humble tribute to our dear Soup member Constance La France, using some of her poem titles. This is, again,  inspired by the "Title Wave" contest that was sponsored by our Soup member Richard Lamoureux last year. Thank you Richard Lamoureux for...

Continue reading...

I balance my illicitly obtained bottle of absinthe from a man who knows a man, for an exorbitant amount of Euros, on the worn wooden windowsill of my topmost room at the rundown pension overlooking the harbour. Next to it, I place my well-thumbed copy...

Continue reading...

When Toby removed to Paree
The people all called him Tobee.
   “That’s not me,” he’d plead,
   Then finally concede
To be, not to be not, Tobee....

Continue reading...

Paris Down Under


I heard the thunder
all the kangaroos hid
children screamed in fear
the witch, her brew asunder

I calmed the innocent
peace is within my sphere
I danced with a Wolfe
Birds took a glance at philosophy

A druid mumbles
give peace a chance
I swallowed a lemon
said are crazy Sheilas in sanity?

Life...

Continue reading...

January’s snow flows stealthfully through my fifth-floor apartment window, flung wide open to welcome in the new year.  The half-drawn curtains bellow with brisk salt air blowing in from the North Sea.  A distant foghorn groans in a resigned, forlorn resonance, guiding ships...

Continue reading...