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.
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.
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