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Best Poems About / On PARIS
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25.
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White Rose From The Atlas
Now Paris
Is washing its eyes
With August rain
Paris is now
A woman
A Babylonian bride
Her wedding
Is set on Christmas
I hear youyous in Paris
And emigrants cheering
And applauding
To welcome
These eyes of marble
This is your day woman
You will hug
Another man
A Parisian
Black-feet
Who does not respect
The rain
In my little house
There are many essays
And poems
Some I do not feel I need
Some are not mine
They are still
Standing up
The way I left them
This morning
The fireplace is silent
Like a grandmother
Who knows when she should talk
Too many books
In different languages
Agitated
Like me
Even your journal
As you left it
It still keeping
Its preferred place,
Its blue color
And the smell of your burned desires
The first December snow
Is falling in a rebellious motions,
It is embracing the towns big avenue
And dancing with the last falling leaves
Against its will
This is not very important
The town is not
My town
I am an emigrant too
Time in my house
Is yellowish
It creates its own dunes
Just to get lost
This is trouble my houses door.
Before you left
This town
I drew a plan
To settle and colonized this town
I planned to build
Another Paris
A barbarian one
So you can take me
With your eyes of the Atlas
Through its streets of marble
And to our Andalusias house
Then we go
And visit mosques
Churches
And temples
To wash our souls
With the towns walls
And gates.
Now
And after you left
I burned all the plans
The towns saltiness is all that remains
And the smell of your burned desires.
Atef Ayadi
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26.
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He Never Strays Far
London to Paris
Paris to Rome:
He never strays
far from his dear
country home,
where a kind
soul is waiting;
truth shines in
her eye, and the
green dales are
calling 'neath a
pink evening sky.
He never strays
far if springtime
is nigh ~ and
early tomorrow
back home he
must fly, to a
happier life in the
sweet by-and-by.
Joyce Hemsley
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27.
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Paris Rain
Sitting on a porch
In splendid Paris as the doves
Guffaw and then scour -
We watch them flutter away
To their uncanny retreat: a slow resignation.
The candid lights flicker
And the sound of the automobiles are blaring -
The deafening cacophony of the sirens.
Among the foreign tongues,
She sips on her coffee as her eyes are filled
To the brim with enthusiasm.
The lights are trapped inside your eyes.
She told me, wearing her vibrant array,
Her mesmeric grin and her usual floral dress
That I have come to pick up in her absence.
The people chatter in a mad clangor
As they sprawl over their coffee
A rower came by underneath the winch
Where the river streams resiliently like
The lock of Janine's hair -
I run my hands through her hair and I am reminded
Of how hope slithers into my core.
It started to rain, gently
The supple bending of the cypress to the wind's
Amorous bluster is poetry to our eyes
The sound of the people scrounging for shelter
Is a saturnine humor
And how the rain engulfed her floral dress,
Leaving it with smudges of the heaven's tears
Made her glow in such a resplendent burst:
To see the Sun this close under the rain,
Lost in Paris is captivating -
We watch the rain drops shatter
Like glass tears from the heavens filled
With mire and her steady fixation
On the dank concrete made me jealous -
I wish to be the concrete, her stare
Is as precious as the ebullient trance like how one
Stands in front of the sea, naked
And wan as the wind starkly brushes your soul.
She continued to take fewer sips on her coffee mug,
Her stench defeats the petrichor,
The rain ceased and the doves began to scatter
All over the Paris asphalt, bickering over parcels of
Bread - she sat down again,
In front of me, on a porch in Paris.
Without the rain, Paris still razes with a beauty unfazed.
I was living in one of her dreams which slowly
Transpired into mine as well,
But then again,
Without Paris,
Without the rain,
Without the doves,
Without coffee,
Parcels of bread even,
Without the automobiles of
Uncouth machinism,
Without everything,
Everyone,
Way away,
Alone with her immense eyes
Is where I want to be.
Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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28.
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For Selma
In places like
Selma, Alabama,
Kids say,
In places like
Chicago and New York...
In places like
Chicago and New York
Kids say,
In places like
London and Paris...
In places like
London and Paris
Kids say,
In places like
Chicago and New York...
Langston Hughes
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