"bistro" poems
Sitting in Circular Quay in a bistro on a warm winters day
dreaming while watching the tourists and ships sail by.
As I eat oysters and drink the day in with my wine,
past memories wash over me.
Morning teas, chats, and paper bark trees,
hikes through the bush and walks along the beach.
Watching dolphins play at dawn
and fishing the waters on New South Wales shores.
The Harbor Bridge alight with Bicentennial Fireworks;
a surreal beginning to this adventure.
Wringing every drop from days spent,
finding a new world with each step.
Discovering myself through the wisdom and eyes of you,
maturing, becoming my own.
Like family, you’ve been both mentor and friend,
carrying me through fire and back.
My life was undone as I first saw your shore.
Feeling my heart would break
with our first goodbyes,
unknowing that an permanent bond had been forged.
Tracing back over the years since we met,
I’ve been given more than my share.
Making me ponder how I have been blessed,
to count you as a true friend.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
____I'LL NEVER FORGET "THAT-NIGHT"___ It was 8;00PM, a Thunder and Lightening storm had just begun and what seemed like thousands of BB sized HAIL WERE PELTING the roof, making it Hard to Hear the Ringing Phone ! ! I Barked OUT a "HELLO",,,the tearful, hesitant voice on the OTHER END....CRIED OUT... " Come over quickly" She pleaded and continued with "IT'S LIKE DEMONS Have CONTROL OF HER ! ! ! ,and SHE KEEPS CRYING OUT .. AUNT BEA,,, Aunt Bea... Over and over"_______ . This was going to require a SPECIAL-EXORCISM I Stated... "I'm ON MY WAY" ! Upon my Arrival , I was greeted by a trembling,sobbing LaCretia,,claiming, "HURRY to the Library Room.,Rochelle is waiting ! !" The repeating AUNT BEAS were spoken as if Gargling... "WHAT are her Symptoms " I Queried ? IN A VERY-SLOW Determined Voice, LaCretia detailed the following,,,, "She has the BLUES, She has the BLAHS, She has BLEMISHES, She has BOWEL Constriction, She has been BLASPHEMING, She has BUTTOCKS Wrinkles, She has BREAST quivers and has been having BELCHING FITS "! ! ! I THREW MYSELF ON THE FLOOR IN PRAYER...Asking for the strength to DEAL-WITH these DEMONS..._____** A N D **____Here's what CAME-OUT of ROCHELLE,,,, *(#1)=BREEZEWAY-LIPS= when encountering these rascals ,it's highly suggested that WE BE UNDER Proper Cover.. (#2)= BISTRO-BREATH-LEADER= Demons that emit SPECIAL AROMATICS into the air ,that keep screaming ,,"IT'S TIME TO EAT"....(#3)=BEHEMOTH -TESTER= Demon assigned to see how BIG OF A MONSTER he can turn you in to ....*( #4)=BRAZEN-FELLOWS= Demon who attempts to Get "YOU" TO **** INTO EVERYBODYS BUSINESS, and ruin their whole day & night...! ! ! I THEN SHOUTED OUT TO **ROCHELLE ** " ARE there any more " B " DEMONS IN there ??" Rochelle, collapsed to the floor,, I promptly RUBBED-IN the BROWN SHOE POLISH into the soles and heels of feet,,*** FOREVER-BLOCKING ***__" B " DEMONS , the ONLY-ENTRANCE to our BODIES .._______ Rochelle ,with a new found strength, lifted herself from the floor, Gingerly grasped my hand, Pulled me "VERY-CLOSE" . KISSED me with a FERVOR , THAT I CAN "TASTE" TO THIS very-day... I bid LaCretia and Rochelle "GOOD-NIGHT",, AND FOUND MYSELF "WHISTLING" and "THINKING" as I walked to my Vehicle.... "The Demons are increasing their activity ! ! I MUST "BE-PREPARED" for the NEXT-CALL_____PERHAPS FROM * Y O U * ??___
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 9:06 AM UTC
Tinkling rhythms engulfed us
As we sat in a cuban bistro,
Surrounded by the populace
And having nary a place to go.
We spoke of many things
That curried the other's favor,
Then I noticed her silver rings
And decided I'd wait no later.
This stranger that sat before me,
Blue curls atop her pretty head,
Observed my hand steadily
As it dropped off the table's end.
I reached into my bag and withdrew a rock,
It's complexion of gold and plaque shining silver.
Her reaction was that of pleasant shock
As I wished her congrats on turning a year older.
Now, a year and some days later,
We've both reached a special place.
Day to day I get to face her
And feel my lover's warm embrace.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 10:34 AM UTC
From a pavement bistro, enjoying an alcove espresso and jam scone
After fresh rains, scenic smiles yet the road is of red sand
Young children play ball in park adjacent, some teen skaters pass by
Skirt-tugger hangs on for dear life, while she perambulates the baby.
The little, old man places with care, two stones behind his back wheels
His car stuck on the muddy, wet road
A small, slow push by stranger passing; it rolls easily from soft, red ruts
A wave of thanks, a friendly smile and off he goes.
Anna steps in ruddy hope, septuagenarian in jaunty hat and Sunday best
Ready to meet the one of a lifetime, widow of a decade
Correspondence long-time with namaste-man, final reward
Ribcage busy, beat in mouth, eyes flit eagerly, hearty salutes.
But nobody knows that someone is being watched,
From across the distance of the park, a clutch of strangers
Their beady eyes, hooded expressions, they wait
Fate is sealed when car drives by; irrevocably red.
S T, 11 May 2013
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
When time stops,
Would you remember me like how I was at the back of your mind? Would you still remember me as a whole. Coffee brown eyes,dark snow white's hair,pink tinted cheeks,crimson red lips,eyes as pure as a baby's. Would you find me exceptional,alluring or even intriguing? Exquisite yet intoxicating.
When time stops,
Would you find me in your dreams? Would you find me at the bistro where we first met? Would you find me sitting at the corner of the room,drinking a large cup of mocha latte,with a book in my hand and a croissant on the other? Fingers creasing the corner of the book. Steam rising from the mug of the brown liquid,warming my face.
When time stops,
Would you miss me? Would you try and turn back time just to find me laughing at your jokes? A tune which you probably won't miss. A laugh that broke the thin quiet air. Would you sacrifice yourself to search for Father Time to turn back things to the way it was? Would you climb to the highest peak of the tower where heaven meets earth,open the gates of the celestial spirits,and seek for me?
Time stops.
Now,what would you do?
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
Other worlds have hopes,
for plants, for trees and
dogs walking by, panting
soaking in humidity like carp
above water.
Not ours.
Dead ends, parked cars supplanting
serenity with passion, desire
crammed into
row upon row of heartless
dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing
**** suckers
blocking their emptiness from the world
with reverse blindfolds.
I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at
them. Walking, I
walk past
their barricaded kennels, under-
construction housing
impersonating natural climes
with sushi and slushy shops.
People like them have admiss-
able drives, hankering after
freedom; they're indoctrinated
to believe admission is
monthly cable bills
wired in beneath concrete slabs
maintained compliance
through lines painted on grass
where overlords can tell livestock
what to do.
Bus chutes form
hillsides, beside lines of
trees which perfume these
feedlots
we call
cities.
**** oozes below streets
walked on, they stared at me
like cows, watching a ranch-hand
suspicion toward anything
beyond bistro fences.
"What the **** are you looking at,
you filthy animal?
Have you no idea which species your greed
feeds?
Do you know where this ends
for you?
Who's tazing your ***
who's making you sit there?"
Moo, mooo.
Mooooooooooooooooooo.
Receipts, a cudgel on each table,
more cudgels ring
from pockets
telling them what time it is,
where they're to be.
Sunday's almost over,
back to blocks of houses!
Graze on painted grass,
then die,
but not before you stare at me
with empty eyes,
you pathetic, miserable
creatures.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Hi . . . This is about the kinds of people who work in corporate big money office buildings . . . Imagine them at lunchtime, how they interact and picture the scene in any . . .
Busy little bistro
Sharp - sharks - circle - the - pack
Pinstripe finned and eager
Snapping their snacks back with ease
Points to prove with nothing to lose
No cracks in their creases
They're keen to return to the fray.
These boys play with girls
Aren't yet uncles with nieces
Just unproven throwaway pieces . . .
In shiny . eat ***** . suited up . Chelsea boots
Bidding for ***** with cute looks and loot
Touting with confident ***** . . .
As mobile as their smart devices
Loose
Next . . . ?
And fresh from a mornings abuse
And fifteen years of fear . .
Beleaguered older shirts sit . .
Flogged dogs with weak barks
Parked packed into packs.
Tongue tied ties tied together
Safety is numbers
Get each others backs
These partially satisfied cats
Know today is NOT their day . .
That was yesterday . . .
Obliging lives and mortgages
The reasons why they stay
Passing Cabs cruise . . .
Seen it all before.
Sat in the back a high class *****
Glazed eyes glancing away
From her play-away payday
Nibbles in the boardroom . .
Napkins . . for the dribbles
A working lunch for this Girl
Her money-shot a wrap without applause
Was just a . . . pause . . . between paws . .
Then Dora on reception
John, who minds the door
Evie in the IT room
Or dave . . who buffs the Marble
Sparkles glinting in the floor . .
And the guards . . who guard . . what exactly . . ?
All of this . . ? Networking . . !!!
Everybody's selling something
It doesn't quite stink
But it definitely smells
A little high
As time whiles by
Seems this
Is the state of our nation
And in this state
Defines our aspirations
And yes . . this state's a splinter
Taunting my imagination . . .
Do I stake my place within this game
Or sit in observation
Commentating on a race
Where human nature fakes it's place
Where people sit as players
Yet no one wears their own face
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Taming of the Shrew
I would do anything for you,
trembling avowed,
summer swept
sweet lipped,
sugar dipped
surrender
I become:
a Victorian sonnet sailing;
the river banks of Seine
when you are near,
thirsty love ,
bistro champagne
oils,
parasols and bubbling dreams,
tickle all my senses
shimmering of moonlight
kisses breathe into me
the lights of shooting fire
flowers, and my
errant tongue
is stilled.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
In a small bistro, on Bleeker Street.
They serve you a proper cup of cappuccino.
Made from an espresso maker
brought over from Milan in 1929,
and served in an ivory colored china cup.
In the foam on top is the signature swirl of the Barista.
There is a handsome young waiter,
with a serving towel hung over his left arm,
and a crumber, in his back pocket.
He leans over, scrapes the remnants
of the previous customer's biscotti into his hand,
and says to you in a thick, dark curly haired,
Italian accent, sounding like a young
Giancarlo Giannini,
And what will you be having today Signorina?
You think to yourself,
I have worked all day at my mundane job
and here is a man who truly loves what he does for a living.
He most likely was born into a family of waiters,
and he loves serving me.
I would like a cappuccino please.
As he walks away, you take out your pen and paper
and begin your daily addiction of writing poetry.
He notices you, noticing him.
You can almost read his mind as he watches you write.
He watches your pen and paper and wonders....
Is this mysterious poetess
who has been sitting in the corner
writing about me?.
Waiting for the proper time to interrupt your fervent writing,
he brings your order and you take it to your lips.
He watches from a distance,
anxiously awaiting the look on your face.
You have never had anything so wonderful.
The coffee flavor bursts on your tongue
and you are born again.
The gentle foam with its signature swirl is now on your upper lip,
and you give the young waiter a satisfied smile.
He rushes to your table
and takes the serving towel from his arm
to gently pat the foam from your lips.
You look into his dark eyes and see the new you,
the you who will no longer order just a cup of coffee.
The you who will seek out the signature foams of life,
and wear them on your lips forever more.
The handsome waiter smiles a smile of contentment,
his hard work has pleased you.
He brings you a fresh slice of torte Caprese and says,
Try this Signorina, it is my favorite.
You are now in heaven.
All of life dissolves in one single bite.
*Scusa Signorina,
but I could not help noticing how beautiful you are and that you are writing a poem,
may I ask what it is about?*
He looks deep into your impossibly blue eyes,
and you say to him.
You!
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
Every day was the same as the one before. She
Every day was the same as the one before. She
went to the cupboard and took out a box of Wheetie Krisps
went to the cupboard and took out a box of Kheetie Wisps
just to survive another morning shift, or so it seemed.
just to survive another afternoon shift, or so it seemed.
Why wouldn't Sam in Sales notice her? After all,
Why wouldn't Irving in the Post Room notice her? After all,
he was only a Trainee Executive; and she was good enough for him.
he was only a souped-up errands boy; and she was desperate.
Of course today, as with yesterday, he would simply walk past her.
Of course today, like yesterday, he would just run away.
The ground floor cafe queue never seemed to get any shorter at lunchtime
The sandwich trolley lady seemed to get shorter and shorter of sandwiches
The bistro down the road was no less crowded; the food was expensive,
The local pub's parrot kept screaming "TIME!" and the food was crap,
No-one ever spoke to anyone outside of their clique; it was just another working day.
No-one ever had any time to chat; it was just another pointless day.
And so the days went on. Until one day her reflection reached out and pulled her into the mirror.
And so the days went on. Until one night, her dream reached out and pulled her through the vortex.
To be Continued...
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
~
A crowded city street,
strolling a narrow sidewalk,
your hand in mine
Pastel neon lights paint the buildings
in soothing colors,
softening sharp edges,
creating a wonderland
on this warm summer night
A small bistro, street side tables
candle light and tablecloths
tiny dancing flames on white linen
igniting your smile as we take a seat
amidst the din of taxi cabs
racing to find the sunset,
lover’s fare put to good use
in backseat desires
Two glasses of Pinot,
fine crystal offerings
as are your eyes, glistening,
dark chocolate petals
calling me in, hypnotized
free falling into your heart
as I drink them in slowly,
tasting every tantalizing gaze
A toast to us, touching glasses,
touching hearts, changing lives
as I wonder what I have done
to deserve this dream, you and me,
no one else exists, the city bustles
unnoticed as we sip the fruits
of our love on an enchanting evening
hoping it never ends…
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
the Vee Tee hipsters delight
in this ferment, Heady Topper
an unfiltered, uncooked, double hopped whopper
with a can in their hand, they’re a real show stopper
but after the bistro night
your intestinal tract
full of brie and this brew, comes under attack
with gas that must pass, like a well that is fracked
and I know this as fact
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Yes! It's another Barry Hodges "Memories" poem!"
I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...
And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...
You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...
I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...
I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...
My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the hard core waiting just for me therein...
The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...
Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session...
And now I lie back in sweet recollection
Of the many nights we spent in copulation
But how sad I am as, looking at the deserted bed,
I can still make out the stains of your dying turds.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Incredibly delicate several pieces of bread
Incredible idea of immeasurable proportions
Incredible finished cups of lasagna
and coffee,
and the choice of spaghetti and
poet John Ashbury who contemplates severe depression like though in the most pea-cocked just yet romantic way, I am not depressed and he is not better. We are all equal and that was not improvement or wellness. We are all equal and should treat each other nicely or nicely.
I’m t's terrible sometimes especially when I am lonely and alone with instead the of the other I want to be with you often so I will try and say or spell it out to you I’ll write when I'm with you.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Lucky Leonard Letsbe
Doesn’t have a care
Shopping for a futon
Fussing with his hair
Suddenly, commotion
People running scared
Poor Leonard Letsbe
Unprepared
Leaping Leonard Letsbe
Running like the blazes
Smoke inhalation
Cuts and grazes
Sheltered in a bistro
Bitten on the ear
Silly Leonard Letsbe
Feeling queer
Dying Leonard Letsbe
Twitching for a while
Sitting bolt upright
Dead man’s smile
Chewing on a trucker
Right where he sat
Hungry Leonard Letsbe
Havin’ some of that
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
A "Memories" Poem from the great Barry Hodges' pen
I shall never forget our first date together,
How we wandered through the streets of Soho,
Gazing into the **** shop windows,
Laughing at the giant vibrators on display...
And later, a romantic meal in a French bistro,
Where the rules of hygiene were not
As strictly observed as might have been hoped for,
Promising a regurgitatory treat in store...
You ignored the startled eyes of our fellow diners
And brutally shoved your tongue in my mouth;
O how fiercely I slurped on it enthusiastically
Caressing it with my own mouth sausage...
I ****** and ****** and ****** and ******
And (oh joy!) I could taste the garlicky bits
'Twixt your gorgeous unwashed choppers;
How my underwear damply stretched out of shape...
I withdrew my probing tongue and kissed your cheek
Affectionately, yet trembling with rampant desire;
And I boldly licked a firm yellow-topped spot
With its previously observed black centre...
My huge uncontrollable lust conquered
The demands of demodé bourgeois good manners
And I sunk my incisors into that zitty beauty
Relishing the hard core waiting just for me therein...
The waiting staff were deeply impressed as I chewed
In rapturous sensual joyous contemplation
And you spluttered bloodily in loving agony
Your own mighty ****** fast approaching...
Oh what a foretaste of what was to come
When we repaired to my convenient bedsit
For an immensely gratifying triple bonk
Prior to a staggering mutual diarrhoea session.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
A bodice is twice alight
shape as earth brings forth tide
with nocturnal séance align
with splendid sight woven bare
that navel join where bona fide
trump her inlay again this year
round her aura so, rather she unwinds
though hers now pounds sound lure
in downtown bistro local bar none
this getaway always supreme nightly!
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
Here's to showing off about football
Here's to thinking cautiously
Here's to candy
Here's to barely knowing the person who sits two seats away
Here's to a sweet tooth that tests limits
Here's to kitties and puppies
Here's to slowing rejecting the seating chart
Here's to a new chart that brings two seats together
Here's to a mutual friend
Here's to black and blonde hair
Here's to math class
Here's to learning
Here's to growing
Here's to October for reducing two seats away to one
Here's to November for closing the gap
Here's to weird animals
Here's to a new group
Here's to the boy who drops out
Here's to getting to receiving his GED
Here's to "I don't want to go homes"
Here's to choir as well
Here's to the weird science teacher who's room is claimed
Here's to awkward conversations that keep life flowing
Here's to boyfriends that lack approval
Here's to moving to a new room
Here's to arguments about Jess and Dean
Here's to Rory and Lorelai
Here's to that phone call at nine pm
Here's to "He wants to take a break"
Here's to "It's mutual" through heavy tears
Here's to friends ready to comfort
Here's to "He's trying to cheat on you"
Here's to "I just broke up with you, that's what happened"
Here's to feeling comfortable again
Here's to pause buttons for God of War
Here's to "He just broke up with me"
Here's to "He's just doesn't feel the same way anymore"
Here's to comfort and to "I hate him"
Here's to wanting to better oneself
Here's to falling short and crawling back
Here's to first fights
Here's to only lasting twenty minutes
Here's to "He blocked me"
Here's to "He's cheating on me"
Here's to not needing him
Here's to the past coming back to haunt you
Here's to being stabbed by someone once called friend
Here's to silence
Here's to "She's so pretty"
Here's to "I love you"
Here's to "No more pining after lame guys"
Here's to seeing that teacher at Goodwill
Here's to days of brokenness
Here's to hope
Here's to the future
Here's to sweet sixteens
Here's to first cars
Here's to reptiles in rainy weather attire
Here's to sassitude
Here's to sasstastic people
Here's to near deaths
Here's to survivals
Here's to first sleepovers
Here's to lunch at that cute Italian bistro nobody knows
Here's to Philly cheesesteaks
Here's to Thai tea
Here's to "When can we do this again"
Here's to nightmares about rejection
Here's to dreams about perspective
Here's to an undying friendship
Here's to an eternity of trust
Here's to many more days
Here's to you
And here's to me,
Cheers,
Your best friend
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
The Czech travel guide slumped in his chair, hair disheveled, eyes distracted, sipping a beer, then coffee at the Ostia Antica bar and bistro just past the tiny railway stop. He was tired, he said, of leading groups through the maze of Europe’s famous sights, explaining history, significance, value. His 42-member entourage would soon return from dissecting the massive ruins of the excavated Roman city — avenues, therma, fast-food kitchens, masks. We needed no guide to make our way along the brick-lined streets, stopping to stare at frescoes, mosaics, the sprawling theater. Ostia dwarfed Pompeii in size, if not drama. No contorted bodies, no brothels or sewers. Only a meticulously gridded urban sprawl. Headless sculptures heralded the humanity of history. Crumbling sarcophagi held water like broken baths. Few others like us tread the slick-stone path: The grimy chaos of Roma replaced by Ostia’s bucolic Pax. Its stone-masked ghosts, spent from wandering, embraced the resurrected statues in the stately museum. Peace in Apollonian beauty. New life springs from eroding stone. We needed no guide to show us where the tired spirit rests. Here, in the shadows of Ostia Antica, brick by brick, history was explained.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
I was not made to be a waitress. To carry plates and pull pints and count coins and be able to breathe at the same time. I should have given up. Four years in and my boss was still telling them that it was my first night, not to mention that time someone half-jokingly asked me, a completely sober seventeen year old with an anxiety disorder in a family owned bistro in white middle-class conservative Hexham, if I was drunk. I was not made for fake confidence and biting back tears, for toilet cubicle walls and breathe in, breathe out, all you had to do was carry the potatoes to table five. I was not made to be a waitress in the same way that I was not made to understand the art of mathematics. The times tables in their white linen shirts stained with my clumsiness laughing at me as I dropped plates and couldn’t subtract fifty four pence from five pounds seventy two at the till. I wasn’t made for sequence. For questions with definite answers, I was not made for having to be right. I was made for having to be wrong. Over and over, for ******* up a lime and soda, or was it lemon? Four years into a job. I was made for honesty. For answering you truthfully when you ask me what I am thinking. I was made for chocolate on the hob and strawberries tickled with sugar in hand, for the familiarity of the songs of a home friend’s band, I was made for softness. For your lips on my lips and my hands on your hips and the imprint of your freckles on my cheek. I was made for learning that this is not weak. For learning that I was made for me. For dancing badly and laughing loudly and eating messily. We, on the other hand, were not made for each other the way people appear to be on film, the megabus trips without air-conditioning and the seven inches and 165 miles that fall between us the ever persistent proof. I was not made for you, designed so that our lives would perfectly intertwine but what does it matter when in this moment I think I was made for this. For half-lit, half-fit bliss. For reading poetry to you at three am until you fall asleep, when all that is left is the hum of your breath as my voice echoes milk and honey, making me feel like I could be made for anything, even though we’re apart.
Sidenote: June ’17- this time there was only one 'first night' at my new job.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.
From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.
Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.
My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.
“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”
A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?
Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 7:01 PM UTC
I felt like the foolish American
My translator book in hand
The streets are charming in Paris
A Britain I hunger for lamb
I saw a bright colored Bistro
Umbrellas over white tables
people eating and laughing
probably telling rescae French tales
i cannot speak much French
My little cheat did not come with me
She had other things to do
Like doing other professors or two
So, I sat down quietly and waited
A waiter came up to me
All I could say was, La moule en folie
He blinked and smiled and beckoned
me to follow. We went into a narrow alley
then up winding stairs. He knocked.
A woman’s husky voice said, “come in.”
She was lying on a bed fully naked
and pink as a salmon. The waiter
held out his hand. “Monsieur,la moule en folie.”
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 4:27 PM UTC
SO MANY STEPS IN SHADOW, SO MANY
PEOPLE DOWN BELOW, SOME BISTRO SAYS
HELLO AND COSY CORNERS WON'T LET YOU GO,
CO'INTREAU AND COFFEE DOWNED EASILY;
A PRIEST FROM SACRE COEUR HAS AN EMPTY
CUP AND LOOKS AT ME WHEN I ENTER - HE
INVITES ME TO JOIN HIM, TO PROBE MY SOUL -
TO SEE IF I'M REALLY WHOLE, IN NO NEED
OF SAVING OR PROTECTING FROM THE DEVIL,
I ASSURE HIM THAT I'M FINE BUT STILL
WAITING FOR A SIGN FROM GOD - HE TELLS
ME THAT IT'S WITHIN ME AS HE STANDS UP
TO LEAVE AND ASKS WHY I DON'T BELIEVE,
I SAY I DO NOW BUT DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC