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The Best Paris Poems

Details | Paris Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Leaves of the Dead

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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Letters from Paris

I wrote a letter
With teardrops from my heart
I walk the streets of Antoinette
My mind dances with Baudelaire
Love flutters as the pigeon’s wings on statues
I see them, so close and feel the emptiness
Like the cold stone upon which their wings rest

My wine glass is empty
Then full
Then empty
My veins are red like bloodshot eyes
I am tired
Confessions made
I cried

As I walk across the bridge of god
Over the seine
Notre dame stares back, am I insane?
Have I been alone all this time?
Perdu, in time, perdu inside my wine
Hidden words and lost letters
You shall never see
Tossed thoughts in salad dressings
Away away as the river decides to run

I look back inside black and white photos
How did I become this way
How did I become the stray?
Fallen spirit, burning heart
Completely and utterly torn apart

I stare at the Eiffel tower
A mighty spear, that pierces me
Into the million lovers of gay Paris
Angels weep, pain flows
The blood of time, the blood that becomes the wine
The pain, inside of me
For all the lost letters
Mother and father never did see

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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May I Caress Your Heart

Alone, in Paris
The flowers sing
Le jardin du Luxembourg
I look at all the pretty ladies
Which one of them pray tell 
Is you
The one who wishes for that sweet caress
The one whose painting hangs on the wall
The one who knows beauty runs deeper
Than a river running to kiss the oceans swell
The grandest of castles with candles dim
There in the damp night would bonds begin
If only you would listen to my whispers deep
Forgiving the scars I have suffered
As in the night I have wept
Napoleon marched forth across great lands
I the knight have lesser demands
If only you, whoever you are
Would take hold of me
As we dance away our eternities
Sur le pont de Avignon
Where the river flows
Like poetry

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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French Revolution PARODY

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

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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018

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The Theft of Ones Self

The paintings where discovered in an old barn
The crime of the century
All six paintings masterpieces
All the locals where questioned at length and width
No one had but a single clue
Except for the local art dealer
He whispered to the inspector
I saw a very colorful van
Drive off in the night
It was not someone from around here inspector
The inspector asked Theo, did you hear anything?
The art dealer replied I am hard of hearing you see
Upon which he proffered a flask from his breast pocket
I think Vincent lives near there, off you go and ask him
When the inspector sought out this new witness
He was no where to be found
They suspected it was his van
In conclusion
Vincent Van Gogh
And was never found

Notes: In America we pronounce his name Van Go, not Van Goff

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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Death - Remember me Tomorrow

Death – Remember me Tomorrow

Votre amour est tout ce que j'implore
Angels took us from France's shores
To the promised land of lady liberty
Hollywood glitter enticing us lovers with mystery

Living the past in a cinematic telling
Ironic that love was sourly spurned
By Bogart’s charming quilted misgivings
Madeline, later would sadly sing

La Marseillaise, while lovers embrace
Paris after dark, they disappear with no trace
Trains to death and boats to freedom
As Casablanca tells of romantic tales

Je suis vieux, est je suis seul
The beautiful one misses the past and you
All the ships have sailed and gone
It’s the cemetery now where I rest under lawn

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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 if you are reading this with a face non-pale.
       and you think of nothing to tell or to re-tail.
                      not a plan to go to Paris or Shanghai.
                      not a voice in your head, annoying buzz
              asking you why?if you keep mixing tea and cola.
                                              if you don't care, a bus or cab.
                                  nor about that poor who might you stab.
                                                you ain't welcome to read my tale.
     I'll find someone who's worth the breath, who's worth my death.

                                  if you are reading this with a face non-pale
                                  and you think of nothing to tell or to re-tail
                                           not a plan to go to Paris or Shanghai
                                      not a voice in your head, annoying buzz
                          asking you why?if you keep mixing tea and cola
                                                      if you don't care, a bus or cab
                                      nor about that poor who might you stab
                                                you ain't welcome to read my tale.
I'll find someone who's worth the breath, who's worth my death.

Copyright © EBRAHIM SHARIFAT | Year Posted 2013

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In Memory of Paris the 13th

Battle Clans

They came in the night
Like twisted ninja’s
Selling their honor for terror and fright
Blood spilled on Mohamed’s hands

The Tower of Paris stands tall
Art and culture they shall never fall
They wounded the bodies
They murdered the babies

The symphonies of horrors in the key of D
Replaced by waltzes of harmonies in C
We bow in sadness to the wounded and dead
We never shall forget, the cowards who spread red

Tears have been shed,
Liberty for a day became stale bread
No one shall stain our integrity
The fraternity and flag shall always fly free

We shall mourn
We shall cry
We shall bring the devils their justice
We shall in the end forgive and never forget

For we are the humanity of all of France
Laying flowers at the last dance
Je me souvien

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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The Anatomy of a Horse

The Anatomy of a Horse (written for children)

Horse's feet have a hoof, the hard part which he can pound, 
back of this is his frog, bottom part that stays off the ground.
Between his hoof and his leg is a coronet, not like a crown
it blends into the pastern the start of his leg, now don’t frown.

Next is his fetlock, sort of an ankle, not a real lock.
Horse's rear ankle turns backwards and that it is called his hock.
His fetlock has a callous called an ergot,  can you see?
Then comes his harmless cannon, just below his hock or knee. 

On the front leg, it's a knee between forearm and cannon
His hind leg has a hock which joins gaskin to his cannon.
His elbow in the front and his stifle in the back, no fibs,
connect his upper legs to his barrel which is our horse's ribs.

Topside of the barrel, where a rider sits, twixt tail and head, 
highest part of horse's rump is called a croup instead. 
The dock is the soft part from which grows his tail, what the heck;
above his high shoulders are withers, right beneath his neck. 

Behind his ears is a part called his poll, close to his brain?
From his poll, hair makes a forelock, back down his neck, a mane.
We’ve finally reached his head and the last part, called his muzzle,  
his jaw, his nose and mouth.  A horse can be quite a puzzle. 

written October 28, 2016 for Shadow's contest, Horses

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2016

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There is always a Next Time

There is always a next time...

Sometimes we lose a change
Sometimes we miss an opportunity
    Sometimes we fail to achieve the target
    Sometimes we lack in honesty

We try our best to reach the target
we make efforts to complete our aim honestly  
     Yet we have to give up for some reason and
     We look at the lost chance very seriously

We decide in emotion 
 Not to try again in the life time
      But we forget the fact that..
      There is always a next time.

One lost chance 
 should not affect the future 
       Prepare yourself for the next time
       Which will prove to be much more better

  Try to overcome the weakness
  and do the hard work honestly
           put in that extra effort,
           so you don't require any sympathy

  We forget that whatever happens
  it happens for good and happens fine
          Give another try for the efforts
          because there is always a next time.

Thanks and regards,

Prasad Korade

Copyright © Prasad Korade | Year Posted 2013

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Friday Thirteen --Paris Attacks

Yes, they too believed in love,
Yet became victims of hate,
Men hungry for destruction,
And with vicious mindset,
	Fired deadly bullets around,
	Lifeless bodies fell on ground.

Pain touched every heart,
For some, life won't be same,
Laughter transformed to cries,
Happiness changed to grief,
	Merciless sinners did it all,
	At concert, café and football.

Flesh and blood piled on roads,
Obedient bodies stayed silent,
Many were counted dead,
Others were counted wounded,
	And some waited for last breath,
	Paris mourned the gruesome death.

written on 17 November, 2015.
Any Poem Meaningful To You - Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
(Received FIRST PLACE in the above contest)
Contest Judged on:  20 April, 2016.

First Place Only - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo

Copyright © Meenakshi Raina | Year Posted 2016

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The Light

It was supposed to be an ordinary day,
And I couldn’t have it any other way.
I kissed my mother goodbye with her smile so sublime.
I didn’t know it would be for the last time.

That evening was sweet with my dear friends around me,
Bright and breezy in such a pleasant company.
The music and the mood uplifted my spirits so high
I felt I could just spread my wings and fly.

I was young and free, though decent and sensible,
And strived to make my ways so respectable.
But so abrupt was my young life taken away
By the hands of men disturbed in their evil display.

With such noise, fury, fear and pain,
Life was looked down in wicked disdain.
In quest of arms and shoulders to grieve and cry,
Our family and friends kept asking the question why.

All that is left is the enduring memory
Of a young heart with a noble destiny.
But don’t let broken promises and unheard laughter
Be the sign of your life to live forever.

Remember me as being grateful, honest and happy,
And we’ll all cherish our bonds through eternity.
Time will go by with no birthdays or Christmas wishes
We used to share with mummy’s lovely dishes.

Please carry on living and loving as I watch over you,
From above with the angels watching with affection too.
The time will come when we see each other again,
And eternally stand as the unbreakable golden chain.

We’ll share the smiles, the laughter and the tears of joy
And you’ll reminisce all about your favourite boy.
We’ll forget the sadness, the pain and the fears
And you’ll finally dry the few remaining tears.

Though short and broken, you made my life cheerful, 
Now seek to make yours content and peaceful.
I was gone too soon, but not alone nor afraid.
For my demise you cried and for my soul you prayed.

I am still in your hearts, so seek to cry no more,
For you will stay in mine, just like you’ve been before.
So, when you look up in the sky, by day or by night
Care to disregard the dark and you will see the light.

Copyright © Youcef Belhaoues | Year Posted 2016

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Pour Juliette Girardot

Note: This is not a poem, just a riddle :)

Pour Juliette Girardot

Si vous me donnez 1000 essaie
Si vous me donnez 1000 valses
La réponse que je donnerai
Ca sera toujours la même
J’ai besoin mais une seule essaie!
Jacques Brel

La chanson "La Valse a mille temps"

Je pense qu'il n'y a pas un poème lyrique française, ou un poème, ou sonnet dans toute la République française, que je ne sais pas!!!!

Maintenant, une énigme pour vous!

Je suis un Steak
Je suis originaire de Bretagne en France
Je suis le père de la romance
Je me suis cassé le bras à Niagara Falls au Canada
Mais je suis mort, un pauvre homme à Londres
Les paroles que je parle
Sont d'outre-tombe
Qui suis-je ?

Copyright © Etienne Lariviere | Year Posted 2015

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Eternity never seems to last
Viewing life through misty windows
October winds wrapping fears
Love dancing with lonely tears

Lost in dreams
Other illusions scream
Voyages all but gone
Eternal voices, lay me to rest

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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pink lips, golden hips,
this beauty makes me power trip.
i am aphrodite at the after party
sipping golden apple martinis by the pool.
chosen by troy, i am the fairest of them all.
even your best friend called me a goddess.

Copyright © Evelyn Rose | Year Posted 2016

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Death Of Marie Antoinette

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

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2017

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An Absinthe Eventide

I sauntered in an evening mist
   A midnight's heaven, magic-kissed
      Lamp-lit raindrops pattered, awesome
         Shining city turned violet blossom
            Enchantments I could ne'er resist.

Adrift upon the Paris, proper
   Wandered I, a Yankee pauper
      Until a Latin damsel's ride
         Paused, as she pulled me inside
            (Not that I had mind to stop her).

Away, into another world
   She and I were thusly hurled
      A night of excess, spinning fast
         Absinthe sweetened our repast
            As did lips, and tresses, curled.

Club-to-club we smartly hopped
   More green nectar if we flopped
      Pushing tenders to their rations
         Just to fuel our backseat passions
            On-and-onward, 'til we dropped.

All seems dream now, in my mind
   Still, I'd swear that when we dined
      Famous folks from ages hence
         Were with us for our merriments
            And all the mischief we could find.

The best of writers in their day
   Zelda, F. Scott and Hemingway
      Gertrude Stein and Porter, Cole
         Pined, polemic, from their soul
            Life and love, the friendly fray.

No discourse was too far-fetched
   Others, too, who talked and sketched
      Pablo Picasso and Gauguin, Paul
         Dali and Man Ray, surrealists all
            On, the wilding hours stretched.

Ever poured the emerald potion
   Crazy cogs in constant motion
      Clouding, thick, the mental fog
         Far beyond the hair-of-dog
            Glasses raised for every notion.

Thus it passed 'til all went black
   Awaking days hence in my sack
      Believing now that all these things
         Were just a night's meanderings
            Or the ramblings of a maniac.

I set my mind to purge it all
   Grabbed my phone to make a call
      Then spotted on my bed, a note
         Within the pocket of my coat
            So I crumpled it into a ball.

You see, I recognized the write
   I'd seen it on that misty night
      When, with absinthe, we'd our fill
         And Hemingway had signed the bill.
            So I sauntered off into the night ...

Too scared to find out ... if I was right.

* FOURTH PLACE in the "Dreams" Poetry Contest, Nayda Ivette Negron, Sponsor. *

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Red Umbrella

We stroll beneath the Eiffel Tower,
          Caught amidst an autumn shower,
               Just my petite amie and me,
     Snuggled warm and dampness-free.

Bound to hear true romance call,
          Close 'neath our crimson parasol -
               Her little dog takes shelter, too,
     (Chance for a stolen kiss-or-two).

Oh, blessed am I to be your fella,
          Your lips, bright as our red umbrella,
               Juicy fruits, fresh from the vine -
     Succulent when pressed to mine.

So, let the droplets dance and spatter,
          Sweet its song, that pitter-patter,
               The bubbles in our day's champagne ...
     How wondrous, Paris ... in the rain!

Written and submitted on November 9, 2018
For the "Red Umbrella" Poetry Contest
Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2018

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Don't Get Crossed Up

No crossed legs
No crossed arms
No crossed eyes

No closed circuits

Poor circulation
Limited creation
From crossed parts
Let there be resignation

Copyright © Lara Wash | Year Posted 2018

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One Night, One Love

As I await, for my Lover to come to me. Visions of his kiss, feels me with ecstasy. Our love will explode, volcanically. Every touch he bestows upon me, affects me. Sweet sensations, seduces me. My heart beats, rapidly. As darkness begins to settle in, the stars are brightly shining. Hurry my lover come home to me, I willingly, wait patiently. At last, My lover is here next to me. As he caresses my entire body. His passionate kiss, captures my soul, I can not resist. Bound by his love, I give into, my lust, as we begin to make love, One Night, One Love. an etenal bliss, full of love, bestows heaven upon us. Our love deepens. We have no regrets, Together at last, forever we will be. A lovers bound,united us. Together and forever our love will grow stronger,never holding back. Our passion explodes deeper, conquering us. A web we have both spun, capturing our love. Now daylight has begun, The sun is brightly shining. I wake up in my lovers arms. A new memory has just begun. A memory, that bounded us. At last our love has bloomed magically. We will forever be one. Loving each other,eternally. From One Night, One Love, that has freed our emotions, our lust and captured our hearts.

Copyright © Maria Feliciano | Year Posted 2018

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Disneyland Paris

We went on a trip from Telford to France
By car and by shuttle the views did enhance
An enjoyable trip to Euro Disney then home
To take our grandson Kieran on a trip just over the foam

Stopped in a hotel with a grabbing machine and a shop
Play till you win then drink loads of pop
Disneyland Paris great fun for a child
All the characters there so gentle and mild

We saw the duck the my grandson and me 
I don’t know which on of us was filled with more glee
At Disney land Paris Kieran saw them all
Got photos and autographs had him a ball

Bought a Mickey Mouse hat and a bag full of chews
Went all over Disney enjoying the views
A bus to travel to and from the park
Back to the hotel for our food before dark

The characters I can remember not all but a few
I wonder dear grandson how many can you
There was Mickey and Minnie Daisy and Donald
But highlight was finding a Ronald McDonald

The Chipmunks, Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum
Geppeto, Pinocchio just to mention some
Buzz light-years experience shooting laser Guns 
But I think you found best the McDonald’s burgers in buns

This poem was for my grandson who passed away five years ago, Oh how we miss you Our Little Angel, a memory of a happier time.

Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2012

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Gertrude -- Gertie -- Gertrude Stein

-- Re:  Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Rue de Fleurus #27, Paris --

What would Gertrude.What Gertrude.What, Gertie?Have thought.Have thought what
thought?Thought thought driving,forward,remorselessly.Remorseless Remorse?Forward.Never reverse;no reverse.No.No remorse.Remorseless,spurning reverse,seated.High!Seated high in Auntie.Then in Godiva seated. Looming.Enormous.
Looming enormous.Unsinister presence. Certain presence.Definite.Definitely not sinister.  Positively looming;enormous in brown.Brown,in brown corduroy,driving Paris.
In Paris,through Paris.Looming high in Paris in Godiva.With Alice, quiet beside her.
Quiet; always, Alice.Alice always. And zipping, about -- coming to Rue de Fleurus 27.
Zipping to Rue de Fleurus.To 27. And Alice so able.Able Alice, each a.m. transcribing.Able Alice typing.Automatic Gertrude.Typing Gertrude.Great Gertrude.GeniusGertrude.Talking Gertrude.Genius talking.Great brown Gertrude;Gertie to Alice.
Absorbing, talking, buying art --- buying Matisse.Absorbing Matisse.Showing Matisse.Banishing Matisse.Selling Matisse,collecting Picasso.Great Gertrude -- genius Gertrude at court, holding court at Rue de Fleurus 27.And Leo.Gone Leo.No Leo at Rue de
Fleurus.Not at 27 After Leo, after Mr. Stein, after brother Leo.But there was Alice.Alice
was there Among Braques.And Cezanne.(Not Matisse.)No longer Matisse, but Picasso.And Picassos, Picassos, Picassos!And Alice; alongside, was Alice.Next to, was Alice.Alice
next Gertrude,Gertie, G. --- Gertrude, Miss Stein. Genius Gertrude Stein Quiet Alice
always.And a great Gertrude.A great brown Gertrude.A leviathan. A passing ship; a
great leviathan.Gertie, a genius.A hugeness.A shibboleth.But to Alice, just Gertie.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012

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Little Paris

Petite Paris

A little love
A little kiss
A little death
In the arms of a lover

Un petit café
Along the Sienne
How I dream
How I wish for just a little

Of your love

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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Spring Waltz

Fragrances and bouquets
Morning dewdrops
The rising sun
Throwing promises
As Gaiety sings
Young lovers kissing 
As the rose buds bloom
Rain drops caressing
Memories floating
Past and present meld
In the coming of spring
A butterfly
Plays with my strings
Éclairs to savor
As eyes kiss eyes
I take hold of you
Dear spring
We twirl you and I
Young and old
Musical chairs 
Lovers wed and bed
I smile at the sweet scent
Cane in hand
Off I go
A blind man
Who waltzes in the spring

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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Although I seem distracted, my concentration is keen.
I'm telling you I have it LICKED on this SUBJECT. I 

BUT LATELY I'VE BEEN thinking OF a trip... to 
IS KEY! And PARIS is so distracting, with its SACK OF 

IN my own unique creation. THEREFORE I will not engage in such

Copyright © VAL BROOKLYN Rogers BLK PANTHER | Year Posted 2014