Best Monsieur Poems
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - the foggy night
As dark a night that's hidden Paris streets
from prying eyes, fell on the city cold,
there came I to the setting fog, that greets
the cobble stones layed in the days of old.
With naught to fear from Gendarmes in the night,
I wandered through the dark, just searching for
someone who's lost at life and love, and might
be ready for what this night has in store.
And near me, walking by the River Seine
face turned into her hands, to hide her tears,
a beauty bound to stop the hearts of men,
in days of youth or getting on in years;
I knew at once her love was drawing nigh
so set my path to where she met mine eye.
A welcome sigh from deep within her breast
breathed from her lips and begged my company,
so strolled we through the fog, and made a quest
of finding what was love, what could it be?
And reasoned she, that love was just a game
that men have made the rules and set to stone
and my requital was, our love's a flame
that burns as much as anything that's known.
So as the fog hid ev'ry thing from sight
we set about to find what love might show
then loved we through the cold Parisienne night
down by the Seine, where only lovers go;
and when I sank my teeth, I heard her sigh,
that love must be the only way to die.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.
What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions' fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?
Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?
All evil justified and made in haste
is evil just the same as any waste.
I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.
But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.
Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.
Invited for a night of talk and wine,
I settled in with a new friend of mine.
And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone
and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.
Quite suddenly the groan of engines' roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the fallings lights lit up just ev'rything.
And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
what ending all their world was coming to.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
ARTERIAL BITE ---- MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE
Has not my love been welcomed in delight
when no one else could woo the heart of thee,
so what recourse has moved you to this night
of holding back the love you promised me?
No mere bloodsucking's what I have in mind
but like the finest wine--appreciate
what love has layed here at your feet to find,
enjoy-- or when you cum, you'll cum too late.
No jugular has put out all this much
to princes of the dark, forget their claim!
now I place no demands on you as such;
to choose my love, you've but to say my name.
So lay you down, and bare where I should feed;
your artery, where flows the blood I need.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
BACKSTREETS OF PARIS - MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE
One spring and sunny day I set my sight
behind my darkened lenses, feigning night,
so I might stroll in my own way
and see what's life in light of day,
my thread put to my back, I travelled light;
when Paris comes to all its greenery,
there's not a sight that means so much to me
as flowers holding to the hair
of Mademoiselles out ev'rywhere,
and laughing children, that's how life should be.
The beat of Paris leads a steady pace
and if you stop, you're holding up the race
there's not enough time in a day
to walk all of Champs Elysees
and so you miss the smile of ev'ry face.
But there are places few would care to go
with streets so narrow, darkness is the glow,
where yesterday's not in the past,
but here and now, and here to last,
with cobble stones laid many years ago;
a world of silence, far from natures care,
a place of echoes, snapping here to there;
the signs of life flow past your feet
and to the Seine, just down the street,
but leaves its scent, it's with you ev'rywhere.
This is a time, more than a place to be,
the soul of Paris few can ever see,
the very secrets of her heart,
where light of Paris had its start,
and left here for the very likes of me.
You hear her whisper in the mid of day,
or you might hear a concertina play,
but all that's Paris surely lies
right here for you before your eyes,
and it's the dream Parisians want to stay.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.
What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?
Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?
All evil justified and made in haste
is evil just the same as any waste.
I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.
But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.
Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.
Invited for a night of talk and wine,
I settled in with this new friend of mine.
And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone
and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.
Quite suddenly the groan of engines roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the Christmas trees lit up just ev'rything.
And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
what ending all their world was coming to.
© ron wilson aka Ron Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Dolestown Poet
DEAD EYES - Monsieur L'Vampyre
I looked into the eyes of Death
to see if she is you;
so dressed in magic of the night,
like time can only do;
there in our dream where life is real
as written in the Word,
became our haunting Melody,
the sweetest ever heard.
Her invitation was to die,
becoming Born Again;
there in her pleading was the truth
as it has always been.
Deep in her eyes remains a place
I found to sleep and hide,
secluded from all things I've known
back on the other side;
while life the constant dream goes on
as if there is no end,
until we meet her face to face
and know Death is Our friend.
And she will show you all you've been,
then kiss it all goodby,
so you'll forget, except for love,
not knowing how to die.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Monsieur L'Vampyre INVITATION
I pray thee cast thy lot into mine own,
becoming dead, as I've become for thee,
to walk the night, to know you walk alone,
forever, lest you come and walk with me.
Or someone else, who's melted to your charm,
who sorely needs what only we can give,
the curse of life, forever free from harm,
not knowing death, but only how to live.
To sleep the day, and rise up in the night,
to suck the blood of those we've barely met,
all in the name of love, we make the bite,
and in a pain too soon we all forget.
I pray thee lay thyself down to my fold,
relinquishing your right to growing old.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
A Paris Love Affair - MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE
I must confess to nights of indiscreet
but Madam, my intent was having fun,
and now your eyes tell me, as sure they meet,
what you desire is more than love has done;
does not your heart lean to a burning flame
as much as what your life's accustomed to?
For any fool to play this losing game,
they've got to need the bite as much as you;
and so you choose to look so very deep
to raise the heat in me, and make me know
that what you want's a love you will not keep
more than a night or two--and then you go.
What is it you desire? I must submit,
or all my life I'll be regretting it!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
HEADSTONE (Monsieur L'Vampyre)
All through the day my soul doth sleep
layed to the dark and out of sight
not thinking how my soul may keep
nor if I raise up to the night;
I rest in dark that's cold and deep,
my casket's lid sealed up all tight
my only prayer is death for me
although I know, it cannot be.
The curse of life forever more
was put on me and all my seed,
it shackles me to life--the bore,
and makes blood all I ever need,
except I also hunger for
the heat of love where-in I feed.
But underneath my casket's stone
I sleep all day, and sleep alone.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa
(Attempting to get enough new Monsieur L'Vampyre poetry for my next book, MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE MEETS THE WEREWOLF. Yes, Monsieur L'Vampyre indeed knows how to spell "Le Vampire," but he also knows how to spell his name, and his name is L'Vampyre.
COLD NIGHTS IN PARIS
There's never been another dark on earth
quite like the dark of Paris under snow,
where love, it comes and goes, for what it's worth,
and no demands are made, when time to go.
Where lovers slip into the hiding night,
oblivious to cold or freezing rain,
anticipating love, that surely might
warm up their lives for just a night, again.
And love's a little warmer, from the cold;
it makes two hearts to join and keep a beat;
and warms the lives of both the young and old,
who find their love with-in their body heat.
Though easy comes the love--they hold it dear,
without it cold is something they would fear.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
THE FAMILY TREE Monsieur L'Vampyre
I'd only been astir and on the move
into the night, while Paris makes its play
on lovers as they meet and make their groove
and come undone after a frantic day;
and I made weak from penning all day long
anthologizing favored kith and kin
to hand it down, a blood line deep and strong,
but adding just a bit of fiction in;
when there she smiled and made it plain to me
that God is real, and blesses those who wait
who keep the faith that love just has to be
beyond the measures metered out by fate.
And so I set my pace as she did will
and made my move with all my loving kill.
In little time the Seine gave off her light
and shined like all the stars that Heaven's known
she made me laugh and smile all of the night
and cherish every moment love was grown
there in the bliss we made my family tree
one more the number than had been before
and promised she, to call him after me
if I'd reveal what un-dead has is store;
so then I bited to her deepest vein
and suckling that I be, I breathed her soul
into my deepest heart, again! again!
til all we were was one, and love made whole.
And took she then my son some other place
as I prepared to never see his face.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Loyal… I saw and built the ground
For Journeymen walk the pillars round
A Maypole covered where played the clown
Ring Master stays… and the Rings are sound.
Elegant bows on the trunks of the proud…
Removed for the show and thrown outside
and there in the street a rose petal strides…
Making sweet beats right before our eyes.
”... the Jesus spoke in Parabola
and Parabolic I so told ya…
It’s a reflection of proportion
and a distortion of the Parable.
How dare.able. are we? ...” ;)~
One leg two legs
Hop to the beat
Never mind what others say
I sometimes like to cheat
On the tree I like to stretch
and bask in color green
Yet on a branch I simply doze
in dismal color brown.
My puny size and fleet of foot
confuse people’s eyes
They never know where I am at
So illusive I am.
I sing sweeter than cicadas
In an octave higher too
Even birds look at me with envy
Except the cuckatoo.
Heh, heh ….. Boo.!
Death Of My Lover - Monsieur L'Vampyre
Out of my bleakest darkest memory
that I'd endowed to what must be
there came a burning to my mind
as cold as life to me.
For all the will I had, and how I tried,
to find a place my soul could hide
where I'd be safe from all alone;
short of my lunacy.
In all the secrets of my love's desire
that first showed with her love for hire
I never knew her failing heart
would take her life from me.
In mine own madness when she died away
the tears I shed were night and day
in search of where she might have gone
where life just doesn't see.
There's not a thought I didn't call to mind
as possibilities for me to find
the place she died into that day--
and there -- love might send me.
© Ron Wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE les émotions
My time flows like the Seine down to the sea
except there is no ocean ending me
and like a river I must keep
emotions running ever deep,
as I go on through my eternity.
How long's omega into where I go?
Much longer than the Seine will ever flow,
and through the visions failing death
that ends all things, in just a breath,
and through the end of everything we know.
I must not let my mind to come unfit,
by dwelling on these things--not for a bit;
no matter how bad things may seem
to think on them, I'd have to scream
not knowing how I'd come to live with it.
And so I must forget where I have been,
whom I have loved, and faces I have seen,
and lay all friends to yesterday,
for love of them would make my way
more difficult, than if I wiped it clean.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa