13 July 2007, ~6:30 PM
l’Arc de Triomphe
Paris
We have wandered these streets
at ungodly hours- a labyrinth
of beauty and culture and cliché.
We have done what we came to do,
and sit now at Victory’s pinnacle, almost,
though not quite, ready to return home
together.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Shades
13 July 2007, ~4:30 PM
Vavin Café
Paris
A million shades of green, one of blue
as I sit listening to you read aloud from a book
I’d not have considered a year ago- I didn’t know it.
A world has opened before us since we entered
autumn and life together, and I wait to discover
the many shades of green we still have not seen
together.
Vavin Café
Paris
A million shades of green, one of blue
as I sit listening to you read aloud from a book
I’d not have considered a year ago- I didn’t know it.
A world has opened before us since we entered
autumn and life together, and I wait to discover
the many shades of green we still have not seen
together.
The Grass
13 July 2007, 3:20 PM
Jardin du Luxembourg
Paris
Get off the grass???
I came thousands of miles
and eight metro stops to sit on the grass;
feel it beneath me as you read aloud
from Bradbury.
Up until now, the French had seemed
more sane by far than my people.
But Americans know what grass is for,
and while they might use it
for American football,
at least at home I would be free to sit with you
upon the green, instead of a hard, metal chair;
and listen to the wind in the trees.
Jardin du Luxembourg
Paris
Get off the grass???
I came thousands of miles
and eight metro stops to sit on the grass;
feel it beneath me as you read aloud
from Bradbury.
Up until now, the French had seemed
more sane by far than my people.
But Americans know what grass is for,
and while they might use it
for American football,
at least at home I would be free to sit with you
upon the green, instead of a hard, metal chair;
and listen to the wind in the trees.
My Home
12 July 2007, 5:36 PM
Bonapartes Café, Waterloo Station
London
My feet ache, as do my legs,
and the day went far faster
than I’d wanted, though not
much faster than I thought.
I know that goodness and light
tend to speed the hands of time.
I used to grudge the clock this
seeming inequity. I’ve discovered
of late that time and place
are nearly as inconsequential
as the weather. If I am with you,
all times and places are alike
to me- you are my home.
Bonapartes Café, Waterloo Station
London
My feet ache, as do my legs,
and the day went far faster
than I’d wanted, though not
much faster than I thought.
I know that goodness and light
tend to speed the hands of time.
I used to grudge the clock this
seeming inequity. I’ve discovered
of late that time and place
are nearly as inconsequential
as the weather. If I am with you,
all times and places are alike
to me- you are my home.
Rainy Paradise
12 July 2007, 2 PM
Duke of York Pub, across from Victoria Station
London
A dark cloud hangs over
Victoria Station,
but I’ve told you a number of times,
the weather is inconsequential:
I am with you.
Victoria Station will always be
paradise, even when it’s raining.
Duke of York Pub, across from Victoria Station
London
A dark cloud hangs over
Victoria Station,
but I’ve told you a number of times,
the weather is inconsequential:
I am with you.
Victoria Station will always be
paradise, even when it’s raining.
Distinctly British
12 July 2007, 12:10 PM
Ashford Int’l Train Station
London
There’s nothing particular about
the flowers. I’ve seen yarrow
countless times in the fields
and on the roadsides back home.
The mist is simply, unremarkably
the same water that hangs on the fields
of Kentucky; falls unceasingly
in the spring- it falls as it pleases here.
The trees are familiar, boasting only
slight varietal differences, so slight
as to share names with those friendly,
shading branches in my own yard.
Placement is key, scarcity or plenitude
and care given to wild things- something in
the life of things that makes them
distinctly British- or otherwise.
Ashford Int’l Train Station
London
There’s nothing particular about
the flowers. I’ve seen yarrow
countless times in the fields
and on the roadsides back home.
The mist is simply, unremarkably
the same water that hangs on the fields
of Kentucky; falls unceasingly
in the spring- it falls as it pleases here.
The trees are familiar, boasting only
slight varietal differences, so slight
as to share names with those friendly,
shading branches in my own yard.
Placement is key, scarcity or plenitude
and care given to wild things- something in
the life of things that makes them
distinctly British- or otherwise.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Missed Train
12 July 2007, 8:43 AM
Hotel Beausejour, Montmartre, Paris
We missed our train. My dearest Beloved,
there is another-
we have missed our train before,
and under far more dire circumstances.
Missing the train did not keep us from Elysium.
It will not keep us from London or Hyde Park,
nor from Shepherd’s Pie, Fish ‘n’ Chips,
cidre and Guinness at Victoria Station.
Hotel Beausejour, Montmartre, Paris
We missed our train. My dearest Beloved,
there is another-
we have missed our train before,
and under far more dire circumstances.
Missing the train did not keep us from Elysium.
It will not keep us from London or Hyde Park,
nor from Shepherd’s Pie, Fish ‘n’ Chips,
cidre and Guinness at Victoria Station.
Mona
11 July 2007, 12:06 PM
le Louvre, Paris
We came a long way to see her,
but Mona keeps unpredictable company,
so we shuffle along with the rest;
obtain a cursory viewing of a dear,
distant friend. But her eyes follow me
as I passed, and I know she would too
if she could.
le Louvre, Paris
We came a long way to see her,
but Mona keeps unpredictable company,
so we shuffle along with the rest;
obtain a cursory viewing of a dear,
distant friend. But her eyes follow me
as I passed, and I know she would too
if she could.
2 Euros
11 July 2007, 1 AM
Paris Metro, Alma-Marceau
“A lovely flower for a lovely lady…”
“No, merci,” but a persistent, opportunistic
man wins out, and she is left holding
a very expensive gift she did not want;
would not have asked for, and he is left
digging in his pocket for 2 euros
they would rather have put toward
a café au lait and uncomplicated romance.
Paris Metro, Alma-Marceau
“A lovely flower for a lovely lady…”
“No, merci,” but a persistent, opportunistic
man wins out, and she is left holding
a very expensive gift she did not want;
would not have asked for, and he is left
digging in his pocket for 2 euros
they would rather have put toward
a café au lait and uncomplicated romance.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Guarding Elysium
10 July 2007, ~11 PM
Champs Elysees, Paris
Champs Elysees, the road which runs between Arc de Triomphe and Place de la Concorde, is lined, one end to the other, non-stop and on either side, with sycamore trees. They've been there, some of them, since long before I first saw the city in 1983.
She's been here all along.
When that little girl on the tire swing
first drew breath, Sycamore was
guarding Elysium, and the way to victory.
Champs Elysees, Paris
Champs Elysees, the road which runs between Arc de Triomphe and Place de la Concorde, is lined, one end to the other, non-stop and on either side, with sycamore trees. They've been there, some of them, since long before I first saw the city in 1983.
She's been here all along.
When that little girl on the tire swing
first drew breath, Sycamore was
guarding Elysium, and the way to victory.
Again
10 July 2007
Bistro Melrose, Montmartre, Paris
All the sadnesses which brought you
to me and to Paris and to Bistro Melrose-
they bottleneck as I watch you
from a million miles away and wonder,
would you do it again?
Bistro Melrose, Montmartre, Paris
All the sadnesses which brought you
to me and to Paris and to Bistro Melrose-
they bottleneck as I watch you
from a million miles away and wonder,
would you do it again?
Good Company
10 July 2007, 7:?? PM
Bistro Melrose, Montmartre, Paris
We're in good company
with the likes of Hemmingway
and surely others whose greatness
may or may not have gone
unnoticed. So many details
some may never notice, but I do,
storing each crystal, each gold-
flecked rotunda, each olive
and spilled vase away in the
storehouses of my memory.
And the Bordeaux my Beloved
has locked away- its fullness
and its flavors, still wet upon my lips
and fading slowly, hesitantly
from my palate.
Bistro Melrose, Montmartre, Paris
We're in good company
with the likes of Hemmingway
and surely others whose greatness
may or may not have gone
unnoticed. So many details
some may never notice, but I do,
storing each crystal, each gold-
flecked rotunda, each olive
and spilled vase away in the
storehouses of my memory.
And the Bordeaux my Beloved
has locked away- its fullness
and its flavors, still wet upon my lips
and fading slowly, hesitantly
from my palate.
Cliche
I've seen dreds, daisies,
bug-eyed sunglasses
and sheik young men
with far more gel than hair.
But I must admit the one cliche
I could not have done without
is sitting here with you,
a cafe au lait
and bug-eyed glasses of my own,
feeling sophisticated and classy
and every inch a tourist in Paris.
bug-eyed sunglasses
and sheik young men
with far more gel than hair.
But I must admit the one cliche
I could not have done without
is sitting here with you,
a cafe au lait
and bug-eyed glasses of my own,
feeling sophisticated and classy
and every inch a tourist in Paris.
Home
A rainy day in the City of Light,
but we choose the sidewalk seats anyway,
because this is Paris, and we came here
to do just this. We had hoped
for sunny, warm weather; would have settled
for warm and rainy; will be content
with 56 degrees and a light drizzle,
because in the end,
the weather is inconsequential-
we're home.
but we choose the sidewalk seats anyway,
because this is Paris, and we came here
to do just this. We had hoped
for sunny, warm weather; would have settled
for warm and rainy; will be content
with 56 degrees and a light drizzle,
because in the end,
the weather is inconsequential-
we're home.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Touch-down in the City of Light
Woods and patchwork
quilts of vineyards-
every forest has a village,
every village has a steeple,
and the grey mist breaks-
blinds me with morning light.
Mist still hangs in the sky
and I,
I inch closer to Paradise;
touch-down in the City of Light-
may it steal our darkness for a while.
quilts of vineyards-
every forest has a village,
every village has a steeple,
and the grey mist breaks-
blinds me with morning light.
Mist still hangs in the sky
and I,
I inch closer to Paradise;
touch-down in the City of Light-
may it steal our darkness for a while.
Paris
10 July 2007
Flying into Paris
I know it's down there,
hidden in shadow and cloud-
the City of Light.
My eyes are too tired,
and my heart far too jaded
to believe, sight unseen.
Flying into Paris
I know it's down there,
hidden in shadow and cloud-
the City of Light.
My eyes are too tired,
and my heart far too jaded
to believe, sight unseen.
Beyond Elysium
10 July 2007
Flying into Paris
Miles above... whatever lies below,
all I can see is sky, cloud and
sun, finally above the horizon.
The blades are still in tact, and I
begin to believe they will remain so,
even beyond Elysium.
Flying into Paris
Miles above... whatever lies below,
all I can see is sky, cloud and
sun, finally above the horizon.
The blades are still in tact, and I
begin to believe they will remain so,
even beyond Elysium.
Sunrise Over the Atlantic
Paris is
somewhere below us,
the sun in the East
rising warm and beautiful
on the first day we'll spend
in Elysium.
somewhere below us,
the sun in the East
rising warm and beautiful
on the first day we'll spend
in Elysium.
Close Quarters
Close quarters on our way to find
the fields of Elysium
under sun or rain or starry skies.
The blade about your finger unbroken,
untouched by the locusts
and the sands of time finally passing
less painfully, or at least in the direction of life.
the fields of Elysium
under sun or rain or starry skies.
The blade about your finger unbroken,
untouched by the locusts
and the sands of time finally passing
less painfully, or at least in the direction of life.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
As Weary As I Am
3 July 2007, 4:22 PM
Somewhere in the midst,
between creation and resurrection,
I'm certain there was rest, though I'm grasping
with little hope of finding it. I wonder,
four days hence, if I'll have to be content
to heed His call to wake,
as weary as I am today.
Somewhere in the midst,
between creation and resurrection,
I'm certain there was rest, though I'm grasping
with little hope of finding it. I wonder,
four days hence, if I'll have to be content
to heed His call to wake,
as weary as I am today.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Wave
2 July 2007, 11 PM
The wave mounts up on wings
like an eagle eyeing its prey,
and I wait.
I see it, like the helpless
victim that I am, unable to escape.
Precious little difference
between me and the rodent:
I am aware of my hopeless state,
and of the fact that my state
is not actually hopeless.
I know I can't escape,
yet if I could, I would not. I know
the wave, unlike the predator,
is as merciful as it is relentless-
that the object of my fear bears
in its wake the remedy
of my fears. I am aware, more than most,
of pain, and of necessity. I will receive
the waves breaking upon and breaking
my very self, and in the same
I will receive my self again.
The wave mounts up on wings
like an eagle eyeing its prey,
and I wait.
I see it, like the helpless
victim that I am, unable to escape.
Precious little difference
between me and the rodent:
I am aware of my hopeless state,
and of the fact that my state
is not actually hopeless.
I know I can't escape,
yet if I could, I would not. I know
the wave, unlike the predator,
is as merciful as it is relentless-
that the object of my fear bears
in its wake the remedy
of my fears. I am aware, more than most,
of pain, and of necessity. I will receive
the waves breaking upon and breaking
my very self, and in the same
I will receive my self again.
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