Best Vivant Poems
the light breeze
cooled the morning sun
daytrip Venice
had begun
vantage views
from a vaporetto
inch-by-inch
the skyline began to grow
St Marks cameinto view
etched on a sky so blue
tourist scrambled
from the boat
sensory feelings inside emote
ambling along piazzas wide
campanile renaissance
a city's pride
byzantine palaces bridge of sighs
facias painted
in pastel dyes
gothic churches candles ablaze
carvings to draw the gaze
depicted ceilings vivant tableau
golden bedecked reredos
pizza italiano barolo red wine
relax chat then dine
'neath parasoled
courtyard shade
as gondaliers anchor
to quayside arcade
homward along canal grande
below balconies
overhanging sun-tanned
houses emulsioned terracotta bold
kaleidoscopic memories
made manifold
Un oiseau a volé
Je rêve
La fleur rêve
Rêves qui tombent du ciel
Amer est le miel
Toutes les fleurs se sont noyées sous la pluie
Moi, je ne sais pas qui je suis
Sauf que j’ai été perdu toute ma vie
Mort ou vivant
Tous les rêves ont disparu
Même toi
Unswallowed lumps of lobster immodest
Crustacean returns to pincers persimmon
Waitress whisk indiscernible clears linen
Custom of one equates her eight hour day
Has It All Paul wipes away gourmet residual
Exhaustion frightened by frothy latte
Fingers in pies finance necromancer denies
Bulging funds fail to complete, coins conflict
Periphery rebuffs, enough is finite, endless leers
Goblet of gluttony grape broth overflow inflicts
Victim of vanished virtue, bon vivant declaration
Transmutes rules, outruns consequence
Guidance glued in buttery dough glides rhetorical
Yacht reined in quay quiver, another arrow for Cupid
Entertainment timed to change with shifting tides
Inglots tossed overboard drown in debauch
Drunk playboy Paul while vulnerable divulges
Disdain for greeds' steep scrag, perpetual pursuit
Outdo, prove prowess for those who never realise
Incongruent grapple for further forgets to cherish
Partners relent, resources force caucus to submit
Patronising Paul procures boardroom obedience
Inundating debt retards bombastic boon reward
Promise of association silences indulgent sin
28th June
Plenty Stimulates
Candid and fully exposed as the theatre’s light dims
She stands poised, dauntless disciplined and statuesque
A stance both stalwart and defiant yet supple are her limbs
Mango hued flower, shoulder's thrown back thrusting her breast
He sits rapped by intrigue as he studies her movement
A silver fox and raven mane is neatly brushed regally back
To beautify him further would take divine improvement
Only to be bathed in her impassioned embrace does he lack
Swirls of sangria red fabric charge like El toro spark undulating trails
Laced in pearly white with azure blue print mesmerize and highlight
And flow about her generous hips in a rage of billowing canvas sails
Flamenco dancers firm legs are revealed in fish nets that boldly invite
Whilst her furtive glimpse ignites his cavalier bon vivant smile
She bewiles with onyx eyes that glisten and fingers splayed for effect
He connects in a flash with a performers come hither guile
Upon times eternal river this fiery night's tryst they shall reflect
Since the bloody Battle of Hastings
When 'Arold got killed by French Bill
We've seen an endless invasion of French
And I've just about had my fill
Don't we have enough words of our own
In this wonderful language of ours?
- To seek and find le mot juste
Dunt take much linguistic power
It seems using French has been with us forever
Passed down as a fait accompli
Have we ever really tried to change that?
Or have we always said "C'est la vie"?
But, to think that some long-dead bon vivant
With a certain je ne sais quoi
Used his chic tour de force to put words in our mouths
To me, it's a shameful faux-pas
So, I think we need a tête-à-tête
To form a clique, to mount a coup
Working together, en masse, as a team
We'll swap "Bonsoir" for "How Do"
Then (haute couture) won't be setting the trend
We'll watch racing, not the Grand Prix
No more art nouveau, or cordon bleu
And say "Enjoy your meal", not "Bon appétit"
I never have the soup du jour
Prefer prawn cocktail to poncy pâté
And I'll sit in a coffee house or caff
But never go in a café
Some say I should let it go and relax
Say choice of words is all laissez-faire
But can I stay calm on this bête noire of mine?
No, mes amis ~ au-contraire!
At British Wimbledon let's use "40-all"
Instead of being at deuce
And what's wrong with nil instead of love
Or am I being obtuse?
I know that we'll get nowhere
I sense there's no going back
That it's like being stuck behind burning sheep
Trapped in a cul-de-sac
But I suppose that it is nice to share
Good ideas and a word or two
Like Liberté and Égalité
And that feeling of déjà vu
And with le weekend, le booking, le check-in, le spam
And countless more, I say with a grin
That when we look at our counter-invasion
Even the French agree that we win!
bon vivant Gaston
precocious carefree Gigi. . .
courtesan or wife
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Published 2018 in "Hollywood Haiku" via wattpad.com
Little did I realise when I swung
Into the car park at Calder Glen
That by the end of that week in August 2009
My days of teaching would be over.
It all began so well
Meeting an old colleague right at the start
Archie ,a jovial bon vivant
From an earlier placement.
No fault could I find with the well disciplined pupils
Hanging attentively upon every word
Or giving the impression of doing so.
No, the fault lay within me.
My outer self sounded the same
Inwardly the elan had flattened
And I felt my energy draining away
With every lesson and every class.
Was this imposter syndrome?
Or maybe it was the way footballers
Experienced that their time in the game
Was finally over, spent and burnt out.
By the time Friday of that week came
I just knew that I had taught my last lesson.
Just before I went to the office
To let them know I would not
Be returning, I was buttonholed
By an assistant head
Who regaled me with the kind words
Archie had said about me
And requested my return.
It was not easy to tell him
That I no longer felt up
To the demands of the job
And that I felt like a race horse
Which had just run its last race
And was longing to be sent
Out to pasture
In its own sweet way.
Meandering silently on this warm sunny day
Past the artists with easels perched.
Oil paints, scenery, still life, it all,
Taking it in, on the Rive Gauche.
The brush strokes capture the beauty
While life on the left bank goes on.
I wander past, hands in pockets,
Appreciating the beauty of Paris’ sun.
The nightlife in Paris is as they say;
Burlesque, lively, bon vivant.
But, Paris by day, walk face to the sun
Shows a side more intelligent than fun.
Appreciate the art, the culture, the joie de vivre.
It is here for all, the Louvre, Notre Dame, la Tour Eiffel.
Take with you your thoughts as you wander the city.
Leave, then, with more thoughts and culture as well.
© Ben Burton Feb 5, 2014
I view beauty with desire
But am seen through abstract eyes
Which begats a mystery
For I don't try to be that kind
The shattered pieces in my wake
As tea leaves wither in the brine
Leave only scarves to pacify
The punctured seal can't be revised
No posturing through symphonies
With trebled horns, but for the one
That is and was and shall remain
While hearts still beat and rivers run
Should I not come before I go
Indulgence can't be quantified
For every itch that is not scratched
Becomes a casualty to time
Yet, with decorum I imbibe
Without deception at the core
Or abrogation of the vow
Unto myself, no spawn of spore
And without mirror to reflect
The bounder from a boundless shore
Inspectors at the terminals
Will fruitlessly try to record
But DNA will not impeach
The gene which flawlessly imparts
Abilities to cherry-pick
The naivete of hopeful marks
So, to ourselves we need be true
From courtesan to bon vivant
And though restraint may be pursued
It will not kill the will to want
Le monde à l'envers,
Où tout le monde peut voir,
Que le ciel est ici, vivant,
Dans la ville de mes rêves.
The world upside down,
Where everyone can see,
That heaven is here, alive,
In the city of my dreams.
(continued from part 1)
But we’re all witnesses here,
Right from the very start,
Veiled from conception,
Driven by Heart.
Dieu vivant grâce à vous et à moi,
You ever think to wonder,
Who it is that smells the rain,
Or really hears the thunder?
Take for a moment,
Whose wings we’re under,
Witnessing from across the vast open sky,
A mumuration of starlings,
Unrehearsed, yet in unison,
What humanity’s intentions should exemplify.
We can all be absorbed in our own self-interests,
Dwelling on the sum of our parts,
We’ve all bared witness,
Yet, in heaven’s sweet disposition,
The whole seems what’s greatest,
No matter the situation,
This life’s an experiential syndication,
Existentially drawn from Love,
It’s primary objective.
Mending wounds, touching hearts,
Believing in the greatest gift of all,
Right from the very start.
Depicted internally,
Revealed in time,
Be it more a celestial experience
When I am gazing upon you,
Your heart,
A vision from within mine.
One’s experience may not be yours but His,
Your spirit’s the vehicle,
Accumulating and proving,
A feigned Elysian,
Under the sun,
Solely God’s introspection.
Just know you’re here for a purpose,
You’re living proof what Heaven on Earth is,
Your life’s truly a blessing,
Embrace it for what it’s worth,
Becoming truly immersed.
Never neglecting loving you first,
The weak prey on the weak,
Rest assured, it’s just love they thirst.
Life’s about being that someone,
You come across so rare,
Aspiring others to want better,
Even at their worst,
Even if they'd be fooled by despair,
Life’s an unrehearsed soul search.
And we’ve all our crosses to bear,
So be genuine, be forgiving, and loving too.
Témoigner du fait que votre esprit envoyé de Dieu.
~Sealion
A better gentleman there never was
Kind loving and generous man
Bon vivant and lavish tipper
Articulate, meticulous and dressed to the nines
Phoned his mother every Sunday religiously
Never a bad thing to say about anyone
It was a Friday after work
Celebrating the end of the week
More exuberant than usual
Spring was in the air
The days were getting longer
And the breeze warmer
He loved life till the very last minute
When it wasn’t baseball
It was Texas Hold’em
Then that fateful Friday afternoon he said
‘Tell my family I love them’
Just like that
We buried him on St.Patrick’s Day
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon
I’ll never forget that one final glance
That one lone sentinel by his grave
Standing guard
Up on that hill against the setting sun
A fitting tribute honouring
A man who had lived and loved
Every blessed day of his life
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
I wonder now,
If the life of an elephant is worth less than the life of a man,
Men are so vulgar, wicked and vicious,
Men are so inhuman, poor country,
Why shouldn’t an elephant be allowed to breathe?
Allowed to live upright, to love the savannah?
What happened to our past adventures?
What happened to our deepest desires?
The elephant is noble and valiant, courageous,
The sun shines for him as much as for us,
The elephant also knows that he is alive on this earth,
Let him enjoy the view, the life, the day, his children,
His soul is probably more beautiful than ours.
Je me demande désormais,
Si la vie d’un éléphant, vaut moins que la vie d’un homme,
Les hommes sont si vulgaires, méchants et vicieux,
Les hommes sont si inhumains, pauvre pays,
Pourquoi un éléphant n’aurait-il pas le droit de respirer ?
De vivre debout, d’aimer la savane ?
Que sont devenues nos aventures passées ?
Que sont devenus nos désirs profonds ?
L’éléphant est noble et valeureux, courageux,
Le soleil brille pour lui autant que pour nous,
L’éléphant sait aussi qu’il est vivant sur cette terre,
Laissons le profiter de la vue, de la vie, du jour, de ses e
A bon vivant lyfestyle
of the Bohemians de Paris,
has always saddened and deluded me...
by seeing it in someone's happy smile.
Mademoiselles and jeunne hommes,
exchanging artistic and poetical ideas
at the Cafe' de Flore, or at the Les Deux Magots...
with coffee aroma on their breaths.
Living in legendary and vibrant Hollywood
is an honor to be seen with the admired and respected wealthy;
and whoever struggles, can't keep up with any of them...
whose only desire is the glitter of money.
And steadily dreaming of a bon vivant lifestyle with an aloft
imagination, I let this want often disrupt my peaceful sleep...
not being able to accumulate, quickly enough,
fortunes and stand on that pedestal of greed.
So snap out of fantasy and don't peruse into La Dolce Vita
of Hollywood! Stay away from those extravagant fashion shows!
And at the Cannes, Capri or Venice Film Festival, avoid contact with movie stars,
stare at them from far...they are as contagious as influenza.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Dark angel baring broken wing,
you’re the crier at night, days scorpion’s sting
Sybarite bon vivant emersed in rituals
Facetious and obscure devotions.
An angel banished from heaven,
for craving omnipotence at all costs
Hell's indelible denizen in
Dante’s Inferno or
Milton’s Paradise Lost,
Kundalini Serpent, Astaroth, Azazel,
Beelzebub, the morning star
Tainted love you’ve tired of
Lies and deception, your friend and foe
Deserving of this not you and so
heil the magik that ills and pains
although your nature has jaded
you perform the morality play.
Pal owl perched on glove wise bird
see more, less spoken, hears her muse recite
replaced by ravens her ghouls delight.