Bravest Sons of India – Neuve-Chapelle, 1915.
(Linking Pin Sonnet – Dr. Joseph Spence Sr. Style)
India’s sons marched where guns roared in flame,
Flame lit their path as the Lahore men onward pressed,
Pressed with the Meerut through wire none could tame,
Tamed only by hearts in brave Garhwal dressed.
Dressed for the storm, Gurkha steel cut the way,
Way through the fire where the Kaiser’s men stood,
Stood firm for the flag in that Flanders day,
Day paid in blood for the world’s greater good.
Good men they were, yet no grave bears their name,
Name clearly carved instead on memorial white,
White stone in France tells the tale of their fame,
Famed in the East, now in every nations’ sight.
Sight holds their valor where red poppies still sway,
Swayed by the winds, they march with us today.
© USA Goodwill Ambassador, Professor Dr. Jospeh S. Spence Sr. August 12, 2025. All Rights Reserved.
MAID OF ORLÉANS
Poem written for and submitted to “Myth and Memory” Poetry Contest, Vanya Evangeline, sponsor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A warrior saint came from the plains of rural France,
a beautiful maiden named Joan, dressed in simple clothes,
not of noble lineage, but of modest beginnings
her faith unmatched.
Shielded by heavenly whispers,
she took up a religious cause~
mounted on horseback, brandishing God’s mighty saber,
she fought for her country in the name of the Lord.
Unscathed from battle she emerged,
waving her banner of courage throughout the land,
but treason and betrayal
would one day bring her untimely end.
Alone she stood in the court of politicians,
falsely accused and forsaken; yet,
in the face of pain, Joan’s faith and resolve
would not be contained, her spirit and fortitude remained.
The humble shepherdess warrior, was bound to a stake
her body consumed by fire, her valor inspirational.
This humble warrior saint, later canonized and martyred,
continues to embolden and enthrall.
happenstance or happy stance?
fate so great, I do a dance
magic of day makes me prance
gorgeous day to live in France
An amazing structure stands for centuries.
Icon of France in Paris, the Eiffel Tower.
Gem of the paintings, portraits and poetries.
An amazing structure stands for centuries.
To feel its beauty, replicas in many countries.
Stands tall to enhance the tourism power.
An amazing structure stands for centuries.
Icon of France in Paris, the Eiffel Tower.
- S. D. Tiwari
On the day four beasts fell…
Their tails whipping the sky in smoke
Consumed by their own fire
Such commerce
Brought down an ancient spire
Little did the beasts care
A mighty success 5 years prior
When just one was saved
From confusion and mire
For as the cock crowed
In a mourning flame
If they would’ve recognized a sun
They would’ve known when thearthwon
April 16 2024
April 15 2019
All the best to France, may her people stay strong
Egalat'e and joi.' I wish you all the best
From here out and on.'
There was a man from France
Who was quite a handsome man
Pursued by a cougar
He tried to lose her
But she still got in his pants!
A room full of optical illusions
Hypnotized Sue, who shared her delusions
Screaming ‘I’m the Queen of France’
Clothed only in underpants
Revealing her twin buxom protrusions
How lucky we are the Olympics
Will be starting, this Friday, in France!
After all this political trauma,
We can wake from this terrible trance.
We can focus on swimming and tennis,
Gymnastics and polo and track.
Cheer for volleyball, diving and cricket
And not listen to pols talking smack.
There’ll be fencing and judo and hockey
And sailing and golf and lacrosse.
Once the athletes march in, all that fanfare
Will remind us there’s life after loss.
How does it sound when Rimbaud rocks and Baudelaire has got the Blues?
When Verlaine vibes to the beat and Apollinaire to arpeggios?
Bistro Bohème tries to answer these questions!
We are a French poetry band, all living together in the same Berlin flatshare.
Please check us out on Spotify or YouTube :)
Love,
Bistro Bohème
Perhaps I was too weary, perhaps I slept too long,
Now I must find my Army, but every turn seems wrong.
"Where's Nancy?"
My head is hurting, my feet are sore, and I really don't feel well.
All I want is to find that river, the one they call Moselle.
~ but~
"Where's Nancy?:"
I don't know why they left me. I know where they must be.
They're fighting Germans far to the north in a town they call Nancy.
"Where's Nancy?"
I finally find the river. I hear the bombs loud noise.
Sacre' Bleu. I see my team. I can join the Army boys.
~And best of all~
"Here's Nancy".
*Nancy is a town in France. American forces
had a skirmish there during WW2.
She walked along the promenade
Joined by her dog
She was so awfully glad
Here, there were the rollerblades
And all the tourists out in cascades
It was down on the beach
Where they joined the tide
And the tumultuous heat
Never, ever, left their side
From the road
There was a view
That of the sea
Its water - rich and blue
The lifeguard went about his day
No problems yet
What else could he say?
To many, success was rare
But on a day like this
Who else would still care?
For the sand was warm
And gone was the storm
That had plagued
The ice cream sales
Yesterday.
The most romantic city in the world the passenger next to me said
Her girth had oozed into my seat too, for she was super corpulent
I will fall in love, marry a rich Frenchman, live a life of luxury she said.
I was eating a donut in the lobby of the airport when someone sneered at me
American! He said, "are such pigs." I weigh a hundred and forty-two pounds.
Another person walked by and glared. I heard him belittling me in French.
Not sure what he said, but I did know one word, and it was piggish.
I am now wondering if my seatmate’s dreams will come true in France.
Or will she have to travel to Portugal or Mexico for love?
Two men tried to get into my rented flat when I unlocked the door.
I was horrified and turned horrible – yelling, screaming, kicking.
Americans! One said. Horribly nasty fat Americans. Paris is not for me.
luna moth followed his favorite butterfly to Paris
She said it was the only place to be in the spring
they fit in well
turquoise and green
colors of France
Will of Tudela
Whose zeal burned for the white wolves
Against Languedoc's black lambs
Nameless soul of gold
Guided by heaven's muses
Pitied the southern pastures
Poem inspired by The Song of the Albigensian Crusade, a medieval epic poem written by two authors who had contrasting views of the crusade (explored in this Sedoka poem).
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