spring arrives today
a scatter of clouds grey
parisian rains unfurl
winds that twirl and hurl
umbrellas in the air
petticoats fly up with flair
whether each parisian girl
parades for whim or dare
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The croaking toad
The spitting toad
Is ill
Time and wind pass
Like poor cowards.
Nothing is forever
Life will remain beautiful
Put a little salt
‘Cause we must fill up the shovel
Where everything is bland.
It's snowing in my heart
It's not a great misfortune
Clouds and birds pass.
The croaking toad
The spitting toad
Has lost happiness.
P.S. Translation of “Le Crapaud De Montmartre” by Hébert Logerie
Copyright © May 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
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.
Soaked up the atmosphere of Montmartre
Found café enjoyed French citron tart
Double shot of coffee went down so well
Then I heard the Sacré-Coeur bell.
With hand on my heart, I honestly say
The shades of the past forever hold sway
There's something unique about Montmartre
Air so different totally avant-garde.
Picasso, Lautrec, and my favourite Monet
Inhabited these streets and with colour did play
With hand on my heart under azure blue dome
Healing achieved its Montmarte syndrome.
With Hand on My Heart
Poetry contest
Sponsored
by
Mystic Rose
23/10/2021
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.