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I


Dansons la gigue !


J'aimais surtout ses jolis yeux,

Plus clairs que l'étoile des cieux,

J'aimais ses yeux malicieux.


Dansons la gigue !


Elle avait des façons vraiment

De désoler un pauvre amant,

Que c'en était vraiment charmant !


Dansons la gigue !


Mais je trouve encore meilleur

Le baiser de sa bouche en fleur,

Depuis qu'elle est morte à mon cœur.


Dansons la gigue !


Je me souviens, je me souviens

Des heures et des entretiens,

Et c'est le meilleur de mes biens.


Dansons la gigue !


Soho.


II


Ô la rivière dans la rue !

Fantastiquement apparue

Derrière un mur haut de cinq pieds,

Elle roule sans un murmure

Son onde opaque et pourtant pure,

Par les faubourgs pacifiés.


La chaussée est très large, en sorte

Que l'eau jaune comme une morte

Dévale ample et sans nuls espoirs

De rien refléter que la brume,

Même alors que l'aurore allume

Les cottages jaunes et noirs.


Paddington
Third Mate Third May 2014
early morning, the hoses out,
washing away the fluids,
the ****, the *****,
hallmark low points of the prior night's,
bons moments de roulement,
rolling, burning, down into the sewers

dark coffee, beignets,
white powdered sugar,
a cleanser of both
dirtied bodies and souls,
makeup~coverup of human excesses

this morn, the sun,
aidez-moi with an assist
of a canon and a gigue,
a string ensemble (parfait!),
three violins and a continuo,
a quartet in the quarter,
blossoming Johann, budding now
in my ears and
my purification process
de bourbon
is now
fini

the Nth new day has begun,
the Nth purification has begun,

but my first in the French Quarter



7:35 am
May 23rd, 2014
New Orleans
Simon Piesse Jan 2021
Forty yards from Haribo Heaven,
They took flight,
Mocking the clouds of traffic:
Faster and faster,
Faster and looser,  
Faster and freer.

But then the Saxon ground
Came out in revolt,
Saying
Their covenant with gravity had been violated.

All sound was muted.

Heads struck at thirty-three yards;
Backs cracked the soil at thirty.
In his heart,
It was her finger that he felt,
Arching over the G string of her violin,
Like the neck of a flamingo.  

He mused:
After the sound came back,
Would she play a gigue or a dirge
To accompany
This ignominious moment?

When her sullied, muddied, mossy eyes looked away from him,
To her, had he become a lesser man?

Faster and faster
Faster and looser.

Had she now glimpsed a father’s struggle
To piece together what he thought he knew?
Inspired by a lockdown trip to Northala Fields

— The End —