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Poems On / About PARIS  2/10/2016 2:39:43 AM
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Best Poems About / On PARIS
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A Cup Of Coffee

Don't you buy a hat, a Paris model
Camouflage to say disaster
Of a bowler gin, with two or three
Genre to
avoid all squash
Feathers would not conceal
Shag your toes to the hips
I invite you to a cup of coffee, if you want to
share time with me
A big latte, an espresso or an tea
What would you like
An afternoon in a Paris Cafe, a warm cup of
Pambelam, be babe, pambelam, be babe, pambelam
Evil, when the tears floated for that guy, for
the lipsticks, would you try,
Sick, when the tears floated for that guy, for
the lipsticks, would you try,
Pambelam, shag, shag, shag, pambelam
An afternoon in a Paris Cafe and enjoy a warm
cup of Coffee, and joy in a warm cup of coffee
A three-course meal will stand on the table when
you come home and start a new life,
Even if it hurts, you've got a wear, that fits
with your lipstick and a candlelight dinner
When you come home and try an afternoon, an
afternoon in a Paris Cafe, drink a warm Cup Of Coffee.
Pierre Rausch

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Paris, Native Land

We'll go to Paris
There we shall lay our stone
Teuta, Genti will not be expecting us
The savage Roman hordes will not be expecting us
No one will be expecting us
To Paris we shall go
We shall hang our dreams on stork wings
At a fountain we shall wash our eyes, our wart-covered hands
We shall leave the Balkan nights behind us
the dances, the songs, the ballads, the tales
The flute alone we shall take with us
To play whenever we are homesick
when we get lost in the crowds of drunks
in the shadows
amongst the rats
Late at night in the streets of Paris in the frantic metro
We shall smell the fragrance of the quince from our native land
With our fingers we will talk of vile times
We shall not step on any ants
We shall not frighten any birds
We shall vent neither hellfire nor spleen
upon the head of man
We shall not bow to a torpid Europe
nor to any deranged gods
Promise me Lum Lumi
That we will not forget our native land

(Paris 1981)
Ali Podrimja

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It's Paris, You Know!

Standing inside the bus
holding on to the overhead hand strap
we sway to the rhythms of Paris
reflecting in the vitrines.

Paris in Springtime skips
window to window
dancing before 4 eyes
gazing in tandem out of the bus.

Dressed all snappy we ride
watching out for the Eiffel bus stop.
Meanwhile I write
three poems and toss them

into a carrefour fountain under three coins.
I envision another five poems.
to be written inside a pebble
with five interconnected holes

communicating with each other
by sound wavelength frequency.
Ear to ear like mouth to mouth.
Well, it's Paris, you know.

A silver wall plaque zips by, it reads,
Here resided Mistinguett.
I melt tho she was well before my time
and unlike the street sparrow Piaf

every time I hear her sing my throat throbs
my eyes tear
I break to pieces
Well, it's Paris, you know.
Alexandre Nodopaka

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The Garden By Jacques Prιvert Translated By Eugene Levich

Thousands and thousands of years
Would not suffice
To tell
The tiny second of eternity
When you kissed me
And I kissed you
One morning in winter's light
In the Montsouris Park in Paris
In Paris
On Earth
The Earth that is a Star

Le Jardin

Des milliers et des milliers d'annιes
Ne sauraient suffire
Pour dire
La petite seconde d'ιternitι
Oω tu m'as embrassι
Oω je t'ai embrassθe
Un matin dans la lumiθre de l'hiver
Au parc Montsouris ΰ Paris
A Paris
Sur la terre
La terre qui est un astre.
Eugene Levich

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Poems On / About PARIS