A Collection of My Paris Poetry (all written while living there).

THE PARIS TEST

Drunk most days
But happied up
By this magical city
I breathe and smell
And I will stop
And see
Paris
That is the test
To see her beauty
Like most females
She needs to be really seen
Smelled
Appreciated
Written about
Treated gently
Yes, I have been seduced

DIRTY PARIS

Too much dog shit
On the pavement
No one seems to care
The Metro smells like a urinal
Disease carrying mosquitoes
On the trains in November
Homeless guys litter the streets
Criminals roam and rape
Keep your metal shutters down
When you sleep
Don’t you peep
At my Paris
My drunken
Fucked up
Slutty
Dirty
Paris
Don’t worry baby
My lights are on
My shutters are open
Injecting scotch through my mouth
If that’s what it takes
To keep you
My love
My precious
Piss smelling
Paris

IT’S A HELL OF A PARIS

Too early
Always too early
A symptom of having no life
No code for the door
Wander down the street
Meet a busy street
Is that THAT street?
Oh yeah, Champs-Élysées!
And there’s the old Arc de Triomphe with the sun just above it
Sit down on a bench
As the Citroens speed by
Hangover lifted
I think Bukowski was right
It’s a hell of a Paris!

FEMALES

It’s not easy
To write
About women
The female species
Without getting
A hardened
Resolve
The perfect opposite
Like south on a magnet
When we are the north
Stuck together
On the streets
In a heavenly
Fleshy smash
I walk down
The Paris streets
Envious of dogs
Please
Just a quick sniff
Just bite me
If you don’t like me

PARIS BINGE

Well
I’m nearly out of scotch
And the shutters
Behind my eyes
Are starting to come down
The ice
And the mixers
Not far behind
My teeth
Almost too sensitive
To eat
But I figure
That was a pretty cool way
To waste four days

WHERE DO THE FUCKED UP FRENCH GO?

I walk down my street
To get more scotch
Sure, they’re all out there
It’s Friday night
Nine PM
I wanna see
I wanna smell
The fucked up French
I walk past a café
They’re all drinking
Some hot chicks
And I try to feel them
Try to smell the fucked up a niss
Of the French
But it’s not there
I return with scotch
I study them
What’s wrong with them?
I sniff the air
Hoping to smell the fucked up a niss
They should be drunk
They should be dark
But it’s not there

WAITING TO BE DISCOVERED

A drunk girl squats
On my overgrown grave
Unaware
Of my life longer despair
Her lip service
Gives me hope
And she even lets
A ripper fart go
Into the air
All power and pride
As she considers
The beauty of the moon
My cold white bones
Rattle in expectation
Of a slow golden shower
Arriving maybe
In a few more cold winters
As she wipes
She notices something
On my headstone
Something I wrote
“WAITING TO BE DISCOVERED”
And she thinks
That was pretty cool
For a dead
Unknown
Unloved
Old guy

IMBIBING BETWEEN THE SLAVERY

Imbibing between the slavery
A slight reprieve
From the shameless thief
Truth drowning reality
My vision returns
Searching for proof
Sunset gone
Sunrise set
Please don’t wake me
Before I forget

SCORPIO SNAKE

I was born
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing
Trapped
In a circle of fire
As the bottles shatter
I see a handsome man
Outside the fleuriste
Giving a fresh bouquet of flowers
To a young smiling beauty
Unaware
Of the silent sobs
From the plants
Decapitated for colour
Euthanized for endeavour
In the city of love
And romance
As I go back
The Parisian sun
Appears from behind
The grey clouds
Warming my skin
Before it is shed
And gifted
To the night
Once again

KILLING BECAUSE YOU CAN’T GET A HOT BLONDE

From the beginning
Of time
Killing has been
Religiously
Enshrined
A sickness
Born out of dust
Distrust
Disbelief
Disappointment
And disgust
In the human race
They say
There must
Be more
Than the pathetic
Us
Paris weeps
Blood on her streets
Once again
When will we ever learn
What we are?
And that
It starts
And ends
With us?
Young bearded cowards
Hiding behind
Murderous guns
Celebrating death
More than life
Becoming unholy
In the name of holy
No warriors
Fear the beautiful
Free minds
And bodies
Of women
Throw down
Your guns
And then
Can you even
Really
Face a woman?
A beautiful woman?
Let alone a real man
How do you plan
To take those 72 virgins?
No talk?
No foreplay?
No grooming?
Rape?
In YOUR so called Heaven

LEAVING PARIS

The Celtic jewel
A nice snapshot in history
Hemingway
Almost earned her respect
And I used to think
All Parisian girls
Would be like Betty Blue
The Arc de Triomphe
And the Eiffel Tower
Still stand
Just as sure
As when
Hitler rolled in
Since then
The cup of political correctness
Hath runneth over
Spilling poison
All over the map of Europe
And cities such as Paris
Have suffered the affliction of dilution
Homogenized people
Slowly being milked of their humanity
The enemy is not from within
But without
Paris is one of those places
Like Stonehenge
The energy is good
The air is smooth
Soft
And the place itself
Is at peace
With itself
I finally found a good Beaujolais
It’s a 2014 Brouilly
I owe Paris this poem
She has been good to me
Kept me safe
During dangerous times of occupation
It’s a nice place to wake up in
And always will be
Eventually the French resistance
Will rise up
Just as before
It took time
It always takes time
You got under my skin
Six months in Paris
Will draw a tear in my eyes
When I leave
It already has

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s