"germain" poems
Tribute to stay at home moms
( from a writing by melvina germain) 10/28/11
To the stay at home moms (sahm) I must say
I honor you in every way.
I made my wife stop working when she got pregnant
Forty six years ago, and real love is what my daughter got to know.
She is there every step of the way and
my heart thanks her every day.
up in the morning at the crack of dawn
To change diapers , bathe the baby, change the clothes
And with the baby is where she belongs.
She is a woman with many hats, and for her
There is no turning back.
A mother, housekeeper , cook, and wife
Accepting all these struggles and strife.
You may not hear her complain
But when things go wrong, she is the first to blame.
We all may have a lot of food on our plates
And forget what they are going thru , but
Do you honestly think you could do her job too?
we may be the bread winners and struggle at work
But we did not have to go through the pains of giving birth.
Do any of you men think that you could hold
A child in your stomach for nine months
Of morning sickness, weird cravings, sleepless nights
And with your partner you would fight.
They could only sleep on their backs or on their sides
Would you like to give that a try?
They look at you in your sleep and thank GOD
For all that you do, but they need compensation too.
There is another hat that they may wear, when
They have to become the C.P.A. and balance
The check book so you don’t overdraft
And turn around and get on her ***
So many hats and so little time, and when you ask
Them they say they are doing fine.
So to all the (sahm’s) out there with you this poem I share
You deserve not just a flower, a outside dinner
Or a movie, but the biggest THANK YOU
From our hearts, because in our lives
You are the greatest part.
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 12:31 PM UTC
salle de concert,
salle des corps transpirants & glissants
salle de semi à poil
comment tu t’appelles ?
champ de Mars,
champ des conneries & des concessions
champ de refus
tu m’avais manqué
coin de la rue,
coin de sms à la con
coin d’attente
ne m’appelle plus jamais
taxi de Paris
taxi de vulgarité
taxi de fatigue
je vous vire à cause de ces mots
taxi de St. Germain
taxi de Charonne
vous êtes lesbiennes?
taxi du vieux pervert
embrasse-moi juste une fois
nuit de jeudi
nuit de j’ai trop bu
nuit quotidienne
j’attends demain
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting ****** in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
We sail smooth
runners iced and swelled,
in teas of black
with Chinese talk-talk.
Lay your hands on me,
such smoothness tickles;
my fuzz and temptations -
you feel.
It’s our room on
Boulevard Saint-Germain
where hush-hush is
our language of
blushed romance
and foreign lip-lock.
Les femmes de la noir -
tenez ma queue et tordez.
We watch the sky
and count the drops and
swirl our fingers over cups
and sculptured hair.
Saturday afternoons on
Boulevard Saint-Germain.
2012 Barry Comer
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Aquamarines
Hues unseen
Velvets and
Mercury retrograde
Projecting lines
Of constant course
Meanders and oxbows
Hinting at future and past
Dancing to songs
Unheard
An effigy for love
Unseen
A garden of tears
Unwrapping the present
Pistil and stamen
Awaiting
Pollinating
Ones and zeros
Bifurcating from binary to analog
Or amalgamating the two
Becoming one
Reprogramming matrices
With personal
Trinities
Everything looks neo
Through this lens
My purple iris contends
U2?
*Something in her eyes
Took 1000 years to get here*
Something in her heart
Something in her heart
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Ash Wednesday in Libya, 2012
For Anthony Germain
The wisdom of the desert is dispersed
Among the industrial monuments
To mechanized ****** wireless chaos,
And war-porn for touch-screen degenerates.
On this Ash Wednesday night while smoky flares
Obscure, with false, flickering fumes, the stars
God sent to dance above those ancient lands.
You choke and weep among the ashes of
More victims of pale Herod’s shopping trips.
So of your kindness grant that we, your friends,
May wear your ashes for you on this night,
And for the weary innocents who flee
The ashes of their burnt and blasted world.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
My mind is a fortress
and so is yours united to win
are summoned to heal self first
calling my own spirit guides
my guardian Archangel Ariel
eager to guide
Aries me exuding innocence (like that of a child) Ariel
“Angelic Ambassador of Divine Magic and Miraculous Manifestation healing others is
near or far healing the inner core first Cimi transforming
the mind whiter then snow
knowing how is the key hole
where goldlock unlocks
summons for urgent healing.
I close my eyes surrounding myself with nature's best
under the bright warm lumminous light of ten suns
My Guardian Angels appear
to guide dispersing darkness
with sun light beams
circling my whole being applying
Saint Germaine's violet flame adhering to this healing circle
of light waiting it's turn
Gold beams emanates from
My king's Jeweled mind
it's a heavenly healing golden light
wrapping itself over this Violet flame circled beam
in deep meditation I beathe in light and exale out any darkness
unhealthy legions, until light exaled is whiter than snow
In the presence of light shadow people virus cannot infiltrate
darkness sickness all dissipates
I breathe in violet flames of Saint Germain and zeal in it's healing
breathing in the violet flame
exaling fear as pure as violet
flame exaled.
with mind busy my imagination becomes a healing deal fascination
the mind becomes its own healing fortress wheel
rolling is action ignition
enableling invoking the heavenly light healing beam plight .
Together
all three circles become the
life breathing rings.
I breath in for others who can't who still wish to be healed.
it's all on a free will field.
Others breathe in healing violet flame undoing bad karmic trash
and exale out legion sickness
regrets averting untimely death.
dispersing healing living light
from this sanctuary tower plight
with healer mind replicating
circles of healing flame light
beamed around fellow Man's vessels
of distressed virulent souls;
they gladly re-live and breathe
we are all one mind united indeed we win.
Our minds joined as one
are the rolling drive needed .
Healing united mind to mind we are all the manifesting power for healing by the violet flame
F+O+R+T+R+E+S+S
~~~~~~
K-a-r-i-j-i-n-b-b-a.
04-12-2020 besting cov-19
Copy Rights.
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 1:14 AM UTC
Paris
The city of love.
A city so beautiful, so elegant and classy, filled with history and such a rich culture that it is impossible to take it all in on your first visit.
This city is the destination for many tourists all year round, and rightfully so. There's something for everyone to enjoy.
But how to spend a night in Paris?
Why not enjoy a nice cup of coffee in one of the many cafés around the city? Or perhaps you would enjoy a glass of wine, while listening to some jazz or piano music?
Speaking of music, why not go to a concert in one of the many venues scattered around the city? Maybe you'd like to listen to some jazz. Maybe you have a taste for an orchestra. Maybe you're even in the mood for some rock music. Paris has got you covered.
Or maybe you're a sports fan, and you'd like to go to a football match.
France is known for its very competitive football league, and Paris is home for the world famous Paris Saint Germain. Why not attend a match at the Stade de France?
But if what you like is ****** explosion and a round of bullets, well, look no further. Paris is the place for you!
Enjoy a thrilling terrorist siege at a concert venue, where bombs and automatic rifles are the main attraction. Make your way through lifeless bodies as you desperately try to find the exit. You can even be taken hostage, if you like!
You say you like suicide bombings? Experience one first hand as you fall to the ground and cover yourself from the debris. You might even get wounded for an added sense of adventure.
So come down to Paris.
We've got everything for you.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
the news paper on the green round table
the jingling of cutlery
the smell of fresh coffee
the observation of passers-by
the ashtray that has not yet been emptied
men who continue to smoke quietly despite their smoker's lungs
the subliminal conversation, the whispering
the scent of musk of two ladies
the dark red velvet cushions
waiters in a hurry to get home from work
the boiling of hot water for some black tea ordered by table number 5
"madam, what would you like?"
flocks of tourists in unison with pissed-off locals
and not far from this scenario
the eiffel tower
and I'm sitting here
in the 6th arrondissement
- Café de Flore
Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 10:33 AM UTC
Ash Wednesday in Libya
For Anthony Germain of the CBC
The wisdom of the desert is dispersed
Among the industrial monuments
To mechanized ****** wireless chaos,
And war-porn for touch-screen degenerates
On this Ash Wednesday night while smoky flares
Obscure, with false, flickering fumes, the stars
God sent to dance above those ancient lands,
You choke and weep among the ashes of
More victims of pale Herod’s shopping trips.
So of your kindness grant that we, your friends,
May wear your ashes for you on this night,
For you, a truth-teller among the liars,
And for the weary innocents who flee
The ashes of their burnt and blasted world
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
Un gentil écureuil était le camarade,
Le tendre ami d'un beau danois.
Un jour qu'ils voyageaient comme Oreste et Pylade,
La nuit les surprit dans un bois.
En ce lieu point d'auberge ; ils eurent de la peine
À trouver où se bien coucher.
Enfin le chien se mit dans le creux d'un vieux chêne,
Et l'écureuil plus haut grimpa pour se nicher.
Vers minuit, c'est l'heure des crimes,
Longtemps après que nos amis
En se disant bon soir se furent endormis,
Voici qu'un vieux renard affamé de victimes
Arrive au pied de l'arbre, et, levant le museau,
Voit l'écureuil sur un rameau.
Il le mange des yeux, humecte de sa langue
Ses lèvres qui de sang brûlent de s'abreuver ;
Mais jusqu'à l'écureuil il ne peut arriver :
Il faut donc par une harangue
L'engager à descendre ; et voici son discours :
Ami, pardonnez, je vous prie,
Si de votre sommeil j'ose troubler le cours :
Mais le pieux transport dont mon âme est remplie
Ne peut se contenir ; je suis votre cousin
Germain :
Votre mère était sœur de feu mon digne père.
Cet honnête homme, hélas ! à son heure dernière,
M'a tant recommandé de chercher son neveu
Pour lui donner moitié du peu
Qu'il m'a laissé de bien ! Venez donc, mon cher frère,
Venez, par un embrassement,
Combler le doux plaisir que mon âme ressent.
Si je pouvais monter jusqu'aux lieux où vous êtes,
Oh ! J'y serais déjà, soyez-en bien certain.
Les écureuils ne sont pas bêtes,
Et le mien était fort malin ;
Il reconnaît le patelin,
Et répond d'un ton doux : je meurs d'impatience
De vous embrasser, mon cousin ;
Je descends : mais, pour mieux lier la connaissance,
Je veux vous présenter mon plus fidèle ami,
Un parent qui prit soin de nourrir mon enfance ;
Il dort dans ce trou-là : frappez un peu ; je pense
Que vous serez charmé de le connaître aussi.
Aussitôt maître renard frappe,
Croyant en manger deux : mais le fidèle chien
S'élance de l'arbre, le happe,
Et vous l'étrangle bel et bien.
Ceci prouve deux points : d'abord, qu'il est utile
Dans la douce amitié de placer son bonheur ;
Puis, qu'avec de l'esprit il est souvent facile
Au piège qu'il nous tend de surprendre un trompeur.
437
There are a hundred ways
To say I wish I could go back,
Or I soaked up growing up like a worried sponge
Or I can still smell the dirt on my jeans
Or I don’t even like baseball, but I love the sound of the metal bat against the ball
Or watermelon slices on summer days taste like presents
Or there was iced tea brewing in the kitchen
Or I thought the lions looked happy in their cages
Or the cherry water ice painted my skin red
Or I had an imaginary friend who taught me loneliness
Or we had water gun fights in the front yard
Or we’d ride our bikes til dusk
Or I thought the older boys in the cul-de-sac were cute
Or I thought the older girls double-dutching were cool
Or the hot plastic of a slide against the back of my legs
Or the timid eyeing of the next rock along the creek to jump to
Or the boom of a grandfather clock chiming
Or I could spend eternity swinging by a rope my poppop tied to a tree
Or my grandmother is a magician
Or I used to believe in magic
Or I still do
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
A Processional with MePhones
*From an idea suggested by Anthony Germain,
The Duke of Suffix after the Order of Scrabble©™*
In greeting students on their way to class
One speaks only to the tops of their heads
As they process in ‘tudes of ‘umble prayer
In silence each bowing to her small god
(Or “his” as the gendered pronoun might be)
Speaking to no one, detached from the world
Navigating as does the sightless bat
By strange sensations known only to them
One ‘phone, one soul – that is the ratio
And each dull brain stilled ever in statio
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC