"Moments"
That moment
or is it this moment,
the next moment,
That defines how you define, that moment, in your life? ~SacredInkedveins
"Moments," written in a moment on 04/25/2017 in another moment of sleeplessness. Okay enough of that word. Blessings, me © 12 hours ago   life • moment • family • random • misc
"Moments," written in a moment on 04/25/2017 in another moment of sleeplessness. Okay enough of that word. Blessings,
There will be times
when you eat
from a saucepan
banana and peanut butter
with a teaspoon
with a cup of milk
standing by the radiator

    because the room isn’t warm enough
    because you can’t sleep for thoughts
    because you were too tired to leave
    to grocery shop but now too hungry to sleep.
I got a cold when I was staying in Paris as a student and found it funny this particular moment. I'd only just arrived and hadn't properly settled into new city but also felt under the weather, but this was me trying to get by when I felt too dizzy for grocery shopping. Chopped banana and peanut butter in a saucepan. Bon appetite. :)
Terry Collett Apr 16
She has her bitter lemon
and he has his bottle of ale.
The usual after Sunday

dinner drink and mix with
others in the local bar. He
brings out his pipe and foul

smelling tobacco and stuffs
the bowl with his grimy fingers.
She sighs and looks away.

He pokes in a match and then
lights it up and inhales the first
mouthful of smoke. She watches

a couple over the way talking
soft love talk and she giggling
and eyeing him and he uttering

soft suggestions. Marie wonders
how long love lasts and how
long their love will last and

how he makes love and how
she responds. Beside her her
husband continues to inhale

and exhale his smoke about him.
Marie turns and brushes the smoke
from around her and sips her

bitter lemon looking ahead.
He says “For a few coins I'd
change places with him” indicating

the young lovers. Marie looks
at him with his dark stained suit
and battered hat and says “For a

lot of coins she'd pay to have
you far from her sight.” He sniffs
disapproval and replaces his pipe

and stares at the young lovers
and continues his dream with
sour satisfaction wanting part

of the action. Marie sips her drink
and thinks of home and that night
in bed and him all over her like a

dose of pox. He imagines the young
girl in his bed and undressed and
fresh as a flower and him making

love to her for over an hour.
mikumiku Mar 24
I’m feeling old, I’m feeling sick and tired
I hate these people and I hate this town
My car has broken down yet newly tyred
I think I’m gonna burn this mother down
I’m gonna dress up and dry all bars out
I’m gonna win the Tori Spelling Bee
I’ll be like “Britney bitch”, I’m in Blackout
I’m gonna open my heart with a key
I’m gonna share my love and share my body
You ain’t no prostitute ‘till someone paid you
I’ll be the Mary, Jesus, I embody
I am the Burning Paris: bitch, I made you
I am not shady, I am simply fierce
Tonight I’m hungry, hairy, hot, and horny
Tonight I’m gonna drink blood, sweat, and tears
For all the dykes and fags with their crowns thorny
Terry Collett Mar 17
We did the Eiffel Tower,
the galleries, the Cathedral;
drank and ate at the bars

or restaurants, saw and
listened to recitals of Ravel
or Chopin, made love in

that cheap Parisian hotel
in the uncomfortable bed,
read our books, argued

our philosophies cheek
and jowl, she her Kierkegaard
and me my Schopenhauer

until the cool early hours.
The quiet moments, books
set aside, arguments paused,

she lying there seductively,
murmuring me on, the small
radio pushing out some French

dame singing, and I undressing,
perusing her beauty lying there,
her soft fruits, fresh and fine

and waiting for me there.
Imagine if our thinking
were a kind of thanking:
I don’t know what I’d do
with much of mine.

I spend most my seconds
comparing firsts and seconds,
thirsting after the forbidden,
and generally pining through the day
to tear out every last fast greying hair.

Stillness only arrives unbidden.
I’m becoming convinced
that hidden in each moment
there's a fount of joy as a boy I drank from.

Beauty, grace, call it what you like:
words, hymns, depictions of God’s face
are only pointers towards the light,
like the nightingale’s beak under the moon.

I’m still learning not to speak too soon.
sunprincess Mar 9
Moon shining so bright
Eiffel tower standing Tall
Lovers kiss and kiss
xoxo
He closed the Dostoyevsky book;
she shut the romantic novel
leaving the characters just
meeting at a party.

The Parisian street lights
were on outside the window
of their cheap hotel.

She suggested they go
to their usual restaurant
for dinner, then go see
the opera.

He liked the waitresses
at the restaurant
with their tight black skirts
and white blouses.

He hoped it wasn't
Bizet's opera; he preferred
Wagner or Pucinni.

She went to get dressed
(she had lain naked
after the sex earlier.)

He changed into his blue suit
and white shirt and tie.

She came in
and tidied up the bed.

He watched her
as she moved
and moaned.

She gazed at him
all neat and tidy
in his blue suit and tie.

He liked the red dressed
she wore with its
tight fit and figure
capturing cloth.

They went out
into the warm evening air
and busy streets.

He carried the image
of her naked in his head.

She left all that
behind between sheets
on the made up bed.
Sophie sits quietly, soaking in the sounds.
This Jazz club suits her perfectly,
As she swallows spirituous rounds.
The music is hot, with Latin-flair, and
Pulsing, staccato, percussive drive.
The air on her shoulders is moist
In this Parisian summer jive.
Sophie tastes the twilight culture,
She lives for the buzz.
She won't accept the ordinary, she
Vibrates with bohemian blood!
She loves her music live in her
Sultry summer jive.
Her heart was a secret garden
With walls to dwarf the Eiffel Tower
Mine, on the other hand, was a pebble on the beach
Completely open and natural
Her body was an oasis awarded to the worthy traveler
Displayed in the Louvre with the lights angled just so
Mine, on the other hand, was a cave on a mountain
Privacy’s abode, enclosed with ancient stone armor.
It was just the two of us alone in a hotel room
With Paris, France peering in on us.
She was the best friend I’d been yearning for,
The lover my childhood crush could never have been,
The sister who showed me how to understand myself,
And she was the girlfriend I was never brave enough to imagine.
This poem appears in full here: https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/paris-6a668e01cfc4
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