Short Marseilles Poems

awake
look 
   listen,
   today
is here:
lets
move
      walk
      run
       towards
the future
not
looking
      back
but
ahead

inspired by clip of Marseilles...

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Death from above 1953

My uncle
Was seaman
Died in Marseilles
A pig on a balcony
Fell on him.
Mother said
He died at sea
When a mine
Struck his ship.
A likely explanation
That served
His widow well
When telling her
husband was 
a hero....

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Millie’s mother Mabel mended macrame
Mainly Marseilles-made macrame,
Maddening moments mending machine macrame
Mostly made-to-order, mostly May macrame.
Making May mostly made-to-order macrame means
Many months modifying Malaysian macrame, mostly!

written February 2, 2022...

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I left you bleeding in Alsace-Lorraine
from the dozen roses rife with thorns,
each a story meant to wound.
For not often did I tell you the truth.

In Marseilles, we drowned in wine
mixed with tears and terrible fears, 
and in the shadow of a doubt 
I played the sun, the future husband.

I try to forget Paris, ten thousand smiles
And songs that said I love you.
All that remains is the long cold walk
Of regret for all I’ve done....

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  Curious about the origin of the universe back in the day
     a French fry took a spin in a centrifuge in Marseilles

  Decided to stay in until 2021
      had himself a whole lot of fun

  By 2021, that solanum tuberosum, by the sum of its parts, gave onlookers
                                                                                               quite a start
      ~ emerging more divergent than 'Napoleon Blownaparte'...

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We took the Marseilles road,
a cambered sun streaking the bay
with gold threads.

We drink lemon tea 
while lovers and others
search for cheap wine.

We are alone at last, free 
to explore our magnetic boundaries;
hands stalking hands
on a checkered tablecloth.

That night we translate
the prayers of our flesh,
surfing tidal crests.

Dawn arrives with gulls
and guilt.
I catch the bus to Perpignan,

head for a border
we have already crossed....

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We took the Marseilles road,
a cambered sun streaked the bay.

Lemon tea while others
search for cheap wine.

We are alone
exploring magnetic boundaries,
hands stalking a checkered tablecloth,
predict ourselves as a nocturn 
far from other eyes.

Night, secret unfolding’s, 
while we translate
the prayers of our flesh,
the tidal crests of our needs.

Dawn arrives with gulls
and guilt.
I catch the bus to Perpignan,

head for a border
that we know
we’ve already crossed....

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