Walking in the back streets of Paris
On a warm balmy evening
Talking with a friend enjoying
The night and watching
As the people went on their way
Unhurriedly ,also enjoying the day.
The pace was slow
Sun a fading glow
Shadows growing long
Nearby a busker sang a love song
While a nightingale
Gave a melodius refrain
We imagined a little ball
Which we played keepie-up
Flicking it with hands
Feet, shoulders and head
Daring the other to let it fall
People smiled as we went by.
Some would stop to join in
Smiling and laughing
Creating a joyous din
All twitching and almost dancing
Keeping the ball in the air
Young and old ,female and male.
Young ladies also joined
Carefree without any cares
Café types on the pavement bars
Leaped to their feet
When the finally saw
What we were about.
My friend and I nodded
The one to the other
And smiled at the revelation
Revealed and displayed
That imagination caught
And spread throughout.
For as I will reveal here
You see no ball existed here
Just imagination that lit
Peoples life to bring a smile
To faces of all hues
On a balmy summers Parisian night.
Andrew mcintyre 12/07/2022.
Paris by night is gay,
I prefer Paris by day
I love the ambience and style,
French fashion stands out a mile,
From all the others in that trade,
The best designs are Parisienne made.
The French have flair beyond compare,
I praise the food and savoir-faire
Visiting a French bakery
For cafe au lait, gateau or tea,
Little bistros are a treat,
Place where young lovers meet.
Romance in Paris Ooh La La,
For love, one does not need to look far.
Couples walking hand in hand,
It could be just a one night stand.
The French love to love, so they say,
Even if it lasts for just one day.
The feeling of romance is everywhere,
Strains of music in the air.
People reading while sipping wine,
The atmosphere is simply divine.
The lake shimmers like glass
As children's toy yachts come bobbing past.
I have lost all sense of time, as I'm
Captured by the contentment on the faces
Of people of different ages and races
Enjoying their day,
In their way.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98eIW6CN62k
Those Parisienne days of love beneath the Champs Elysees
I remember Paris 1949, drinking a glass of old Beaujolais wine
And I recall that summer when we kissed and you were mine
In those Parisienne days, you were always `Ma Petite Poupee``
`
Looking back at photographs, summer days warm as honey
corner cafes with creme brulee, pretty eyes a shade of rum
sharing penciled love notes and paragraphs, you ma tres jolie
together we did taste the wine, beneath the Parisienne sun
We toured La Tour Eiffel I must admit you were tres belle
with a french berret smile I guided you towards the lake
Bassin de la Villette, where you were happy picking shells
In those Parisienne days we were always wide awake
I recall that summer when we you promised to be mine
in the petit cafe, where we shared a bottle of wine.
Ladies from France
Renowned for their glamor
Parade designer dresses
All day long all night long
Like gazelles in stilettos
Looking fit looking fab
It’s a mystery and conundrum
How successful they are
To maintain girlish figures
While we punish ourselves
Trying to lose every pound
It’s not right it’s not fair
I’ve decided to see for myself
Take the next red eye flight
Meet the ladies for breakfast
Spend a day à la parisienne
So here I am ~
Starting off with café au lait
And a big buttery croissant
Rush to this shop and this bakery
One errand then another
What a joy to sit down for a bite
It wouldn’t be a meal without wine
And a baguette s’il vous plaît
Then artful pastries sublime masterpieces
Whew ~
My day is done I’m back crossing the Atlantic
What have I learned from my day with the ladies
They’ll buy one croissant or a chocolate not a box
They love friends to laugh and chat at the table
They’ll nibble their pastry savoring each single bite
They prefer to shop for fashion than for food
Read on air by invitation ~ April 28, 2021 'OPEN POETRY WITH WOLF SPIRIT'
AP: 1st place 2025, 2nd place 2020
Magdalen longed to become a Parisienne
Unfortunately she felt more like a prairie hen
Working earnestly for the county’s aldermen
Tallying hydrogen nitrogen oxygen
Overseeing regimen and specimen
All lined up under lights of halogen
At times she closed her eyes and said amen
Holding her magical fountain pen
Writing poetry about way back when
She dreamt of being a beautiful Cheyenne
Canoeing down the river Darien
Banked by miles of green magnificent glen
She had countless fantasies since she was ten
Flying as free as a sweet wren again and again
But Magdalen always longed to be a Parisienne
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
The soil and my wallet was exceedingly poor
Like building a house without any door
My garden needs flowers but nothing would grow
People were coming to visit the show
So I planted some pips looked like speckeldy seed
Compliments were flying as did those trumpeting bells
Just when I thought that no one could tell
" Sir this is not Beaumontia Grandiflora"
Said a nerdy old lady surrounded in aura
White flowers enhanced by the backdrop of green
Stopped oohs and aahs and the Parisienne perfume
" ..best looking Jamestown weed that I have ever seen"
Stuck like syrup on my fingers somewhat in between
GIRL IN PARISIENNE FOG
All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.
And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to legends she has known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.
The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.
She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.
Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only dreamers deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could be even a friend.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
MY PARISIENNE GIRL
You will be the forest and the trees
every leaf that whispers in the breeze
and be one of those who always sees.
You will understand.
You will be the whisper of the wind
and become part of your only friend
singing songs that never have an end
you will understand.
In the night you'll be the shining star
my love is there and always where you are
becoming all you've known in life before
you will understand.
You will be always, eternity
from where you have come and have to be
and you'll be in love, and that is me
you will understand.
You will be all things you'll ever do
and all I want, is all the you of you
yes ev'ry breath of life already planned
you will understand.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Sing, my secret love, down Parisienne avenues
On the songbird tongues, in the music of spheres,
To travel the heavens in search of communion,
Or echo on cliff tops to fall on deaf ears.
Burn, my tropic love, like flash-fire infernos
Through faraway forests, landscapes of trees,
To kiss and absorb the kindling of kindness,
Or fade and expire from a wasting disease.
Arise, my strong love, a colossus of craving,
On the crust of the earth with a head in the sky,
To straddle the globe with an ancient prevailing,
Or to wither and age, to crumble and die.
Be still, my glacial love, on the tip of an iceberg,
In the infinite sprawl of an Antarctic waste,
And watch the horizon for bright signs of life,
Some signal this heart never will be misplaced.
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