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Poems On / About PARIS  11/23/2014 5:56:33 PM
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Best Poems About / On PARIS
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Eris, The Troublemaker Goddess

It is often thought that the Trojan War
Began when Paris and Helen eloped
And in a sense that is true, but there's more
It really started when goddess Strife hoped

To be invited to the wedding feast
Arranged by Zeus for Peleus and Thetis
All-seeing Father did not invite her lest
This goddess prove true to her name Eris

So she, a goddess scorned was furious
She thought up plans so she could avenge
Herself but her thoughts were injurious
To many persons as she sought revenge

She tossed the golden apple at the feast
Of the gods who came down to celebrate
The wedding of Peleus and Thetis.
The apple was inscribed 'to the fairest'.

The apple became the source of discord,
For rivalry sprang up in Aphrodite
Athena and Hera, as each wanted
To be her whose beauty was most adored.

Each goddess claimed 'the fairest' was for her.
They argued and argued and Zeus was asked
To make a decision and arbitrate,
Though he, not wanting this task, did transfer

The job to Paris; but Aphrodite
Then bribed him by offering lovely Helen,
And so began the famous Trojan War,
When they eloped and sailed across the sea.
Elia Michael

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Lovely Tours

Lovely Tours
says to me
maybe we
can look round
you and me

I say

and so when
the coach stops
we get out
and wander
keeping close
to others
from our coach

the hippie
couple there
out in front
he bearded
with a band
round his head
and his girl
with long hair
hanging loose
both smoking

takes my hand
her own hand
small and warm
pulse going
her red hair
all tight curls
her bright eyes
over me

isn't it

I don't do
I just look
and take in
and enjoy
I tell her

we walk on
through the streets
look in shops
look at stuff

she holds things
in her hands
handles them
values them

like last night
in the coach
in Paris

lying down
in our seats
us kissing
her fingers
my hot crotch

my fingers
up her thigh
as music
on the coach
eases out
piano piece
number 5
or such like

and she's there
holding me

my fingers
to her nest

lights dim low
music flows
down the rows
of coach seats

some sleeping
some talking
some of us
making out
best we can
in dim light
in Paris
over night.
Terry Collett

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It Is Raining In Paris

It Is Raining in Paris
Written by: Wilfred Charles Mellers, Thursday, February 23,2012 @ 6: 38 PM

The lights has gone out over Paris
Venus is no more an affectionate zealous
To my adoration I was honest
Promises kept I worked my hardest
Vanished gladness for I've misplaced my heart
The radiance has gone out over the rampart

The sun has gone out today
Hands stretched texture to find my way
Uncertain I am for skies are gray
Gone now are livelier days

Bouncing into obscured walls
Never looked out for the pitfalls
Collapsed into an empty pit
I am no longer quick with the wit

Seldom things remind
Are my eyes inaccessible or am I blind?
So many thoughts run through my mind
My hand separation to sign
Beaten down by the daily grind

So unkind mankind I find
Who cares for the hour draws near
For impending days are filled with fear
Nowhere to run and hide
No love sits by my side
For the love inside has died

I sit and pine for days to rewind
The plans treacherously designed
And to all things combine
The heart pays the heaviest fine
Wilfred Mellers

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The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. March


When loud March from the East begins to blow,
And earth and heaven are black, then off we hie
By the night train to Paris, where we know
Three windows set to the meridian sky,
A third floor in the Rue de Rivoli.
There we will stop and see the fair world move
For our sole pleasure past us, you and I,
And make pretence we are once more in love.

We need not fret at loss of pence or time,
Though Father Bignon's smiles are paid in gold.
This life in idleness is more sublime
Than all our toil and all our wealth twice told.
We need not fret. To--night for us shall Faure,
Sara, Dupuis, or L'heritier unfold
New stores of mirth and music, and once more
We two shall sup, and at the Maison d'or.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

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Poems On / About PARIS