It is never too late,
My birthday gift,
Is the most beautiful that I received,
My sister, my brother-in-law and I,
Let’s cross France, on Monday
Went to Giverny on Tuesday
We visited the garden and the house
By Claude Monet, the painter,
Somme went to Paris on Wednesday
We visited the Musée de l'Orangerie,
To see Monet’s water lilies,
In two immense and oval rooms,
It was pretty amazing!
We tasted the Tuileries garden
among some Chinese tourists,
Then we left Paris in the afternoon,
The next day in the Mayenne
We visited the Robert Tatin museum,
Then we left for Brest
Here is a birthday gift
That I will never forget,
It was pretty amazing!
Eyelash flashes and soft, sultry, hips
Languid, lascivious, seductions
Hot lust drips from sweet, lump-luscious, lips
Intimate, discriminate, influx-ions
Fast fingertips and slow gyrating hips
A night of lascivious influx-ions
Took one last sweet kiss from the sweetest of lips
Now no more discriminate seductions
Exploring the streets of Paris
I wonder what you're up to tonight
~ I'm wishing you were here
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Disasters impaired us
Our Pastors prepared us
Broadcasters just scared us
We're Plastered in Paris!
Been to the London Stock Exchange
opened in 1571 by Elizabeth the Queen
and what's more saw the New York Big Board
the world's largest stock market ever seen
but when I took a trip to Paris
had no clue as to what to do
altho' I was educated in French
(parlez-vous?)
I believe brokers did so to discommode
as when yelling buying or selling
they communicated in Bourse code
room with a view
eiffel tower in background
~ wiles and whiskers
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Meet me I'll be waiting
Rendezvous at Black Cat Cafe in Paris
~ I'll wear my red beret
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Kim's song in French
Lent son du saxophone ; je m'allonge
et j'écoute les paroles du bon vieux temps,
quand Paris était à la mode,
et que le temps de l'amour est révolu
pour la vieille fille sirotant du vin
à la terrasse d'un café ; fixant,
sommes-nous, les yeux d'un tableau
pluvieux et coloré ; romantiquement
par le son frémissant du saxophone ;
ses notes flottant sur la Seine.
Gouttes de pluie grises, bleues et cerisiers en fleurs ; un sourire subtil sur des lèvres rouges,
rappelant la beauté et les heures passées ;
claquement de talons et belle robe.
Paroles et vocables posés et assurés
régularisent mon cœur, réchauffent mes pulsations.
Une voix fredonne, tandis que les doigts du phoniste s'agitent,
fourmillent tous les sens ; variateur de cabernet.
A quarter rest breathed into my consciousness, a playful pretense of a warm hand gently placed above my heart, calming my sedulous spirit.
—by the Poet
When Paris Was All The Rage
Slow sound of the sax; I lay back
and listen to good-old-day lyrics,
when Paris was all the rage,
and the time of love has past
for the old maid sipping wine
on a sidewalk café; staring,
are we, into the eyes of a painting
rainy and colorful; romanticized
by the simmering sound of the sax;
its notes buoyant on the Seine.
Raindrops of gray, blue and cherry
blossom; a scant smile on red lips,
reminiscing the fading beau and hours;
clicking heels and handsome dress.
Sedate and cocksure lyrics and vocables
regulate my heart, warm my pulse points.
A voice croons, as the ‘phonist’s fingers gyrate,
tingling all the senses; cabernet dimmer switch.
How distant do you feel from our ideal life,
and how hard are you willing to go, to get there?
You’ve got to pull a big swing sometimes, to get there, you know?
You’ll flourish in the aftermath.
What I’m carrying is joy.
Notes for an American student in Paris..
Be less intense
tone it down
pullback.
Enough scrappiness, hustle,
and intensity on repeat.
Sure, honesty is sanity,
but give them a better version
some ‘church girl’ energy, maybe.
Win ‘em with winsome
Don’t welcome them, immediately, into your tense, inner world.
.
.
Songs for this:
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Nothing Breaks Like a Heart (feat. Miley Cyrus) by Mark Ronson
Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution) by The Bangles
The Moulin Rouge at Night
At night, the Moulin Rouge bursts into life
with orchestrated music and bright lights,
where singers and cancan dancers excite
audiences who applaud them with delight,
and is a splendid place to patronize
for entertainment when in Paris, France,
where, by happenstance, people may unite
seeking merriment or discrete romance.
***
One glorious, sun-drenched, thirsty December day,
I sat, numbed with the agedness of a visitor, and
Fumed eloquently with joy for the benefit of the
Seine – the ointment of Paris.
Somewhere along the gritty line laid bare by sere weeds
Of winter,
A restless tranter eulogised:
“Ce est Paris!”
From the whistling, grating metro to the navel of
Elevated Eiffel, the tall, metallic maiden,
I saw frantic beauty.
I inhaled the peace of the atrium, sighting
Our Dame....
“Ce est Paris!”
The voice, girly, and with the earnestness
Of chivalrous youth, came again, cold and soft,
Just the way of a sprightly winter.
Turning, I saw Paris in full nakedness of her beauty, like
A priceless fresco hanging from the sky.
“Do you need company?” The tranter anglicised her French.
In one gulp I swallowed the pride of Paris.
“Hmmm!” I grunted, wincing loudly from brio,
Counting my woes should I plod away to the red light areas,
“Give me Shakespeare and Company”.
Searching the smoking ruins
of Notre-Dame cathedral,
on the Paris Île de la Cité,
one of the finest examples medieval
of French Gothic architecture,
with flying buttresses, a rib vault,
immense bells,
enormous colourful rose windows
all of which went through hell
during the fearful fire of 2019,
and it was seen
he'd been through the wringer
when looking for Quasimodo
they found a dead ringer
In a world too big for one so small,
You walked with pride, stood ten feet tall.
A heart of gold in a dainty frame,
Paris, sweet pup, we still say your name.
Your paws once tapped across the floor,
A rhythm we won’t hear anymore.
But echoes linger in every room,
A light that cuts through even gloom.
Wrapped in bows or nestled in bed,
Chasing sunbeams, turning heads.
With ears like sails and eyes so wide,
You ruled our hearts with gentle pride.
Though time was short, the love was deep,
And now in dreams, you softly sleep.
But still we feel you, still you stay—
A piece of us that won't drift away.
The world’s less bright without your cheer,
But we’ll hold you close, forever near.
Rest now, Paris, your journey done,
Our little star, our tiny sun.
Asn’t
To learn of in your tomb
When we won?
When did you?
As my family mastered speech
You still cant!
Because we said so, so?
Diplomacy is ours
And your?
Whom’s
Not our’s, the oar’s
In the dead, they have liberty
Specific Types of Paris Poems
Definition | What is Paris in Poetry?