"marseilles" poems
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Aye, Montecelli, that's the name.
You may have heard of him perhaps.
Yet though he never savoured fame,
Of those impressionistic chaps,
Monet and Manet and Renoir
He was the avatar.
He festered in a Marseilles slum,
A starving genius, god-inspired.
You'd take him for a lousy ***
Tho' poetry of paint he lyred,
In dreamy pastels each a gem: . . .
How people laughed at them!
He peddled paint from bar to bar;
From sordid rags a jewel shone,
A glow of joy and colour far
From filth of fortune woe-begone.
'Just twenty francs,' he shyly said,
'To take me drunk to bed.'
Of Van Gogh and Cezanne a peer;
In dreams of ecstasy enskied,
A genius and a pioneer,
Poor, paralysed and mad he died:
Yet by all who hold Beauty dear
May he be glorified!
2.6k
Catch my mooring rope
And come ashore with gentle tugs,
Sweetly, softly, nibble on my ear,
And run your fingers over my weathered sails.
Trace the notches on my docks,
For the places I’ve been –
Santorini last spring, Venezia,
Marseilles in the fall.
Get rid of the doubt that hangs
Like an albatross around your neck,
Capsizing fears sending tremors up my bows.
Simply breathe like the swelling tide,
And sing a sailor’s song,
The one about the Spanish ladies,
“For we will be jolly, and drown melancholy,
With a health to each jovial and true-hearted soul.”
Loosen my knots and we’ll drift out to sea,
Two travelers with one home.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
I miss the open highway
I’m besotted with quick getaways.
What other sensation can compare
to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair?
When my foot’s on the throttle,
I feel unstoppable.
Faster, faster, no faster,
that’s the rush I’m after.
Where are we going?
There’s just no knowing,
and no matter where we roam,
the GPS will get us home.
One thing was guaranteed,
the speed limit would be exceeded.
I adored the wide open straightaways
and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles.
I remember in the Appalachian mountains
the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons
as the speedometer edged past ninety
how my escort, Charles, would glare at me.
I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean,
isn’t freedom the American dream?
To hear the growl of a V8 motor,
as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.
Feb 11, 2023
Feb 11, 2023 at 12:41 PM UTC
Poems about love,
Walking through an evergreen forest
Leaves of yellow and orange and red
The morning sky bursting through the canopy as we sit in our tent drinking coffee
Excited with what today's hike will bring
When you love nature you always want to be close it
Because I love you , I always want to be close to you
The engagement ring in my pocket gives me inspiration
I want to be as tough as the diamonds that crown its head
I want to be for you, as consistent and unending as the ring itself
So here we are, getting closer to nature, closer to each other.
You, unaware of even how much closer, I want to get to you.
Hues of black and blue with ambient lights of vintage setting.
Nights in Paris and Marseilles near the water, candles lighting our dinner,
The flame giving my eyes the gift of seeing your beautiful face.
Cheese and grapes, chocolate and wine
Yet, the only taste I crave is that of your lips
To smell your perfume and touch your smooth skin.
Your smile , rivaling every star in the night's sky
Your soul, lecturing the moon on how to glow
Your heart, teaching me how to pray.
Because you exist, I know there must be a God out there.
Because you are here with me. I must pray, that God allows me to stay.
Bright lights and tall buildings as far as the eye can see.
We walk along the Hudson hand in hand.
We keep each other warm.
The autumn winds are cold but I hold your hand in mind. your sweet precious fingers grasp mine
You may not notice it, or maybe you do?
You stare into the horizon but here, I pull you close
I kiss you, as if we were in a movie
Nothing in the world do the Angels pay closer attention to than this kiss
Because as I surely live, so would I die for you.
As surely as my heart beats, it skips a beat when I am with you.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 6:42 AM UTC
In 1945 The War was over
The survivors were trying to make life work
And occupation forces here and there were set
To guard the roads, the rails, the city streets
And so it was that Master Sergeant Hall -
Normandy, the Moselle, Belgium and the Bulge,
Munich, Dachau, Thuringen, and Zwickau -
Was sent to old Marseilles to be a cop
A watch commander, assigning patrols
And sending men to their various posts
Even to directing traffic in the streets
There was a complaint from a traffic hub:
The American soldier in charge there -
Sometimes he chose to block all traffic there
And swagger about and cuss ‘em out
Then laugh, and all at once turn ‘em loose again
And then one day there came an alarm:
Machine guns shooting at that intersection
A soldier from the colonies gone wild
And murdering people in the street
They sped to the scene, the scene of horror
And helped - but they could not find their soldier
Posted there at the beginning of the watch
Was he among the dead? The wounded? Where?
And they didn’t know until the end of the day
After the soldier returned, alive and well:
“When the shooting started, I ran down the street,
Found another spot, and directed traffic there.”
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
There was an Old Man of Marseilles,
Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils;
They caught several Fish,
Which they put in a dish,
And sent to their Pa' at Marseilles.
770
The wind fills the sails
of an old galleon
in the bay, that is
set on course for the
far away land of
Saracen and Turks,
while the farmer, “Jacques,”
follows the horse and
plow, that is gently
creeping, so as to
not disturb the seed.
The cavern island
is the boy shepherd’s
reverie; his dream
to leave this flock that
he loyally tends,
and explore the world
like Sir Lafayette.
Fading
is the art of the world
as the distance
becomes distance
and the sails
faintly
decay.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
I met a girl in France,
Reading the same book!
Except it wasn't quite like that...
So my book turned into a cover.
It seemed I had picked up some thing mesmerizing,
While browsing a train station bookstore.
This tale of desire and loss enticed me,
But wasn't it just cheap fiction?
--------------------------------------------------
A girl met me in France,
And we got an empty beach at sunset!
Except it wasn't quite like that...
Trash littered the closing beach
closest to downtown Marseilles.
Loud speakers played
Something upbeat,
Missing its bass,
confusing it.
Even the sky was obscured.
But wasn't it still like that?
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
I don’t speak french but I’d do it for you,
On your skin, tongue and lips
If you wanted me to.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
Marseilles was good
Miriam and Benny
got off the coach
with others
and walked about
for a while
had coffee
and a bite to eat
at some cafe
and saw the sights
hand in hand.
I could live here
Miriam said
if I had a job
and you were here
with me.
No can do
I have a job
back home
to go back to
but it is a place
I guess you could
enjoy living in
Benny said.
Near the sea
and fishing boats
and fish everyday
she said.
And what
about nights?
he said
we could walk along
by the port and stand
and watch the moon
sitting on the sea.
And have ***
in some place
where we had a view
of the sea
she said.
The others were
walking back
to the coach
so they walked back too.
Marseilles had
been good
Benny mused
with a splendid view.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 2:21 AM UTC