#Mme
Wells of my heart are ever flooding, ignite in me never cease to lit, greatness and gratitudes forever apprehend my reactions, to cloud 9, expressions in me, trigger rockets in my heart, feel ruptures in me, cracking and leaking self control, running loose, uncontrollable.
I am talking about a WOMAN, Statue of my soul, this hope in my breath, reason I live. Please don't cut my wings nor control my adrenalin, here I'm absorbed, by gratitude and overwhelm. I'm drowning in tender, motherley abstract sooth
I'm talking about a MOTHER, my MOTHER, blade holder, asegai of my amour, my survival, piercing through my thick and thin, casting stones of my better livelihood, like creation, remaining absolute to my being. PLEASE! GOD, keep her for us, we, her son's and daughter's, flesh of her flesh and bones of her bones, the pulse in her heart, that echoes in our strength, humans we are, reflections we are, her body that nurished us, forever in us, she lives, in dreams we share, common bond of our birth, we are commended, by God and heaven. OUR MOTHER! Mme.
#Poetic_Ink
I confess that these are false memories
as I’ve never been to the Paris’ and it’s
arrondissements, and these days, I avoid
air travel what with climate change.
Yet the name evokes places and times
which filled my imagination with wonder
at the tales of Mme. Cabot would tell our
high school French class on her good days.
All this has come back to me because
I’m in the Paris section of my online
cours de français, where I vacillate
between obsidian and pearl levels
depending on my work frequency.
And though you couldn’t accuse me
of Hypermnesia, the art, literature and
songs of Montmartre, pendant La Belle Époque
have seeped into my temporal lobe and
brightened my grey matter.
But with the war in the Ukraine,
it also reminds me that in 1940,
the Montmartre fuel depot bombing
inspired the people of Paris in their
resistance to the Nazi occupation.
H idden within its pages you will find
I mmense riches that will transform your mind,
D eep, buried deep is true wisdom refined,
D elve into its core meaning well-defined,
E nigmatic stories with lessons lined,
N ow within your reach, are you so inclined?
T eacher Divine, it is sure to spellbind,
R enewing your soul and all of mankind,
E xamples of yore that serve to remind
A ll this world will one day be left behind,
S tandards for everyone, 'tis mastermind,
U ncovering the fact that humankind
R equires God to open spirit's eyes blind,
E nshrouding us with precious peace of mind.
09.02.2021
Form: Acrostic monorhyme
10 syllables per line
For Kim Rodrigues' "Message in an acrostic 2" contest
Cinq à Sept
En Pigalle, Mme. Paradigm
Claims lust is a blessing sublime
To have it your way
Squat on her bidet
And get home to your spouse on time!
Les Gendarmes say, "'Tis a crime
For Madame is well passed her prime,"
To spend one's treasure
On one moment's pleasure
Defies all reason and rhyme!
n.b. RUE Pigalle!
Why did you do this,
After our first kiss;
Take it, then leave me
Behind in a sea
Of tears?
I didn't deserve to be treated this way.
Every fool will have his day.
Your's will be coming
And don't try to come crawling
Back to me on your knee.
You are not worth my time.
Your love was nothing more than a mme\\ime;
Mute and fake.
My heart was at stake,
But not anymore.
In the end,
I smacked that stupid grin
Right off your face,
As I left you alone,
In your own little place.
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