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Poems On / About PARIS  7/28/2014 3:27:53 PM
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Best Poems About / On PARIS
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Commissaire of the Paris Brigade Criminelle
George Simenon’s French detective
Was as much the stuff of my teenage years
As the Beatles, Kennedy, minis.

I loved his pipe, the exotic sounds of his tipples
Pastis, Armagnac, Cognac, Calvados, Pernod,
His trademark raincoat, his laconic style

In a battle of nerves he’d climb into a man’s head
Going to any lengths to track down killers

Maigret was rarely mystified
In the shadow of a courtyard, the beach or a boulevard
In Montmartre, in the Inn of the Drowned Men
In the Rue Pigalle, Bayeux, or Ιtoile du Nord
He’d sleuth them down, the criminals, biding his time
A man of scruples, meticulous

He mixed in circles that coloured the celibate evenings
Of Scottish puberty, jostling with fortune tellers
Cadavers, the madman of Bergerac,
Bums, pickpockets and strippers
Lovers, informers, wine merchants

The most obstinate man in Paris
I lived a kind of half-life dogging his steps
Looking in through the open window of Simenon’s art.
sheena blackhall

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Sing haughty Yacht-y Yea

bayboats purse seine whey
journey yearlong gay
laddy inured dryup
haughty yachty yea

mildred mayhem dewlap
naughty jaunty jay
car sons caught in capers
haughty yachty yea

vicar baking in butterfat
orphan boy screwed in larder
bluejay frollic jane
and a haughty yachty yea

bombs in bay bombard
dickson singsick cockpit
french chicks s'envoyent en l'air
oh a haughty yachty yea

idols jailed in temples
choked in garlandy incense
priestly eyedance pose
yes a haughty yachty yea

masons' mildewy masters
with compass stone and pilasters
plan solomon's might on earth
yea sing haughty yachty yea

royal houses love in stables
lords and ladies love in regalia
loving ones love in limbo
cry haughty yachty yea

dote on damsels in december
hey yachty haughty yea
make them deliver in september
ho yickety yackety yea eh

[©T.Wignesan - Paris, May 4,1997 - from the collection: longhand notes: a binding of poems. Paris: 1999]
T (no first name) Wignesan

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God's Yield

In the field
Of God's Yield
You're the One that stood out!
You're not the prettiest
The tallest or the slenderest
Or the most graceful,
But my heart chose you
The way your mirror chose me
I never cared for my dull reflection
For with life's shades I've been darkened
But your light chose me
In this instant of neutrality
Made all the difference in you and me
There is no effort here
Just pure flow!
Love is truly blind
We know not why we love
But when our eyes locked
It's bliss beyond measure
You're the Sun of my moon
I am the Moon of your sun
You're the romance of my love
I am the love of your romance
I cannot exist without your light
My mirror would be a very desolate place
You're my Paris, my Champs-Ιlysιes, my Tour Eiffel
You are the sparkle in my eyes
That lights up my Paris, my Champs-Ιlysιes, and my Tour Eiffel
Let love flow freely
My river opens in the arms of your ocean
The more my Poem will glow
Vive L'amour!
Leaking Pen

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'Mister Pertillar,
Based upon your 'experience'...
What makes you qualified,
To fly a 747? '

I have flown in a 747 twice.
And I once walked the streets of Paris,
Behind someone wearing a Captain's uniform.

'Fabulous! Great news.
And you...
Mister Chester?
Same question.'

~First and foremost...
Giving honor to God,
With true patriotism.
I have flown 747s for twenty years as a pilot.
And I have also...~

'Very well stated Mister Chester.
Did you or did you not walk the streets of Paris?
We wish to hear of your 'experience' that led to your qualifications.
Not your 'actual' qualifications!
Do you wish the question to be repeated? '
Lawrence S. Pertillar

Read more poems from Lawrence S. Pertillar >>>
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Poems On / About PARIS