carmen 9h
my warmth aches
for the pleasure it might receive
brought forth by the rigidity
of your wanton lust

my eyes grow heavy
saturated with tears and the syrup
of peaches, sweet nectar falls
slow molasses, dripping down my cheeks

the sun grows cold against my skin,
ashamed i've lost my way again,
misguided by empty compliments
and warm, callused hands

your fingers fit perfectly inside me
and melt away every inch of my being
i float farther towards paradise
when you're feeling my pulse

i missed you in the french alps
and was blue in the corridor, stained
with age and mystery from weary-eyed
girls luring men through broken shutters

paris is dirty, you wouldn't like it there,
but rome is divine, with magic in the air
hold me close in your suit coat with wine in my veins
and thrill me above the streets, watch me cry out and pray
ciao, my darling
her entrance was full of
beautiful blue-hued stars
filled with the nuance of a touch of romance
inspired by her i make clear announcements to my heart
that this daughter of moonlight
treads the path to my dreams
alone scatters pages of rose scented poems
along my veins to the point of creations fire
even her tears spent for me are gracious and kindness

after her entrance
blue stars settle on the bare floor
in exquisite patterns that flavor the minds meal
that lends its rich texture and sensations to the bodies temple
she lay in repose like a field of summer wheat swaying
in the cool breeze
she lay in the folds of my blankets
like the queen of hearts
a luscious liquid in her every move
softly she speaks every embracing word
that cools your heated brow
comforts your beating heart
she knows just what to say to ease you
she knows just how to weave you

beneath her entrance
her barefoot leavings are a track
that have led many to their unwitting tale of woe
where from a great distance can they
with longing and tender expressions put to page
placed ever so delicately into envelopes
headed for the mythical west coast
the land of palms and glitz
forever summer
in the land of golden statues

after her entrance
i have within my grasp
a poem of her
a poem of her moment
a rich tapestry that is woven into
the fabric of her Paris fashion catalogue
where she is a French princess in prints 8"x10" glossy

poems © 2018 mark john junor all rights reserved
Terry Collett Mar 30
Charlie said about going
into the small French town.

You'd been told about the
street of brothels. There
were other soldiers walking
up and down the street.

Girls milled about in flimsy
dresses or tight skirts.

Charlie and you had never
had sex before but neither
told the other. Charlie went
into one such place and you
followed. There was a bar
and tables and some chairs.

Girls were with soliders
getting them to buy them
drinks then take them upstairs.

Charlie bought the drinks.
Dark beer stuff. Two young
girls came over and spoke
in a broken English about
buying drinks. They moved
themselves against you both.

You sipped the beer. Charlie
drank a couple of mouthfuls
and went off with the thin
faced French girl. You stood
there with your glass of beer
looking at the girl left behind.

Your father who had been
out in France in the first war
said to avoid those places
or you'd get the pox. She said
about going upstairs. You said
you couldn't not today. She
rubbed herself against you.

You gulped at your beer not
knowing about sex or what to do.
Peter B Mar 24
Would you
swap yourself
for a hostage,
knowing
that you may die
and that there may be
no reward,
no Heaven,
no afterlife?
Would you?
Would I?
Would anyone?
Poem inspired by Col. Arnaud Beltrame, French hero officer who swapped himself for hostage and sadly died in a terrorist attack on a supermarket in Avranches, western France, yesterday. R.I.P.
kept getting better
we hanged out with stupid people
made me look really smart
hey look
ima
gonna
be
president
mock me
from my
intentions
stalk me
over park benched
rip off my dirty skirt
shove your dirty love in me
do that dirty word to me
here yes right here
shove your love
in
me
her last words
blew in my
private
box
wasn't an whisper
it was an crying plea
still sticks with me
thick
she
wrote
suck my dick
was this
an
test
way better than my best
?



















...
..
.
uhm
where
is that
dirty word
delete button
...
Arthur Vaso Jan 30
A Parody

Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?

Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!

Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y

Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!

Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!

And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free

The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty

Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?

Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic

Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri

Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!

Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!

From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!



Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
The Characters in poem.

Emmanuel Jean-Michel Frédéric Macron (is the current President of France and ex officio Co-Prince of Andorra, in office since 14 May 2017.

Macron is married to Brigitte Trogneux, 24 years his seniorwho was his teacher in La Providence High School in AmiensThey first met when he was a 15-year-old student and she was a 39-year-old teacher, but they only became a couple once he was 18.

Nemo is their dog that I am sure loves Nutella

Marie Antoinette born Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna; 2 November 1755 – 16 October 1793) was the last Queen of France before the French Revolution. She was born an Archduchess of Austria, and was the penultimate child of Empress Maria Theresa and Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor.
So you got robbed. Don't think of yourself as a victim. Look at it as an expression of the robber's occupational and social deficits. Don't let it traumatize you for life. After all, can you compare it to being murdered? We need to have some appreciation for scale here. We don't want to go back to the Victorian notion that people are fragile flowers who can't handle  having a gun pointed at them and losing a few dollars. That's a form of condescension, after all.

You're complaining about a burglary? Some men see a mere doorknob lock as a flirtation. And surely we don't want to see the end of flirtations and seductions!  Must we all now install deadbolts and security systems? What's next--chastity belts? What happened to joie de vivre and devil-may-care?

So a drunk driver hit your car. Do you really want to have him arrested? It was a misunderstanding; he didn't realize that four cocktails and driving are technically illegal. And should they be? Do we want to criminalize ordinary reckless behavior? Haven't we all done something a bit foolish or clumsy in our younger days? Do we want a society in which everyone has to be careful what they do, all the time? A society in which people must count their drinks before getting behind the wheel? We are moving away from the ideals of a liberal democracy and toward totalitarianism! 

So you were murdered. You can look at is as an opportunity to learn more about what happens after death. Your career was ended and your earthly form deteriorated, but that's not the end of the world. Now you live as a memory, and people appreciate you more. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and what kills you enshrines. There is honor in being dead. It is time we brought back the old virtues!
...estaba muriendo en
una silla o
enfermedad cardíaca.

Cuando ella me contó sus sueños de
sí misma cuando era pequeña,
y le dije que hiciera
-lo mismo?

Mi primer día en la
escuela me dio una
fiambrera de GI JOE.

Conocí a mi segunda madre de
inmediato mientras colgaba de la
pizarra a la derecha!

Y todavía sueño con
esa fiambrera ...
A battalion stationed off France,
Were commanded when to advance.
But one would tell
Of his living hell
As his comrades littered the expanse.
clara Jan 2
he tells me that he wants to travel the world.

i see him in a starlit paris,
sipping café au lait beneath the tower.
tipping his beret to passers-by;
i've never seen him out of place.
birds perch nearby just to listen
to his lullaby sigh of reminiscence.

i pray that he can see me there,
but i never did believe in prayer.
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