Poesie De Paris Poem by kathleen bartholomew

Poesie de Paris

Current racing, yet the boat holds still;
moored fast beside the edges of the Seine.

Floating debris passes by, broken free
from rubbish dumped on the banks carelessly.

The ship’s bilge, rank! Disgorged
adds to the brown disturbed river.

Mistletoe Pom Poms hang unhindered
in the trees: stripped bare by winter solitude

now begins signs of being pushed aside-
to bear the inevitable advent of spring,

which will transform the rubbish
and the murky anguished water

to reveal, the reflection of the green
bedecked trees, garlanded, lining the river-

becoming a romantic dream lover once again
alive on the banks of the Seine.

The noisy strength of the engine’s wake up call,
cruising to Conflans in the misty morn, cold,

as we go, we can see the snow
resting on a distant field.

The boat joins the flow of the river
and a lone Magpie seeking the jewels of the night,

Is left behind
as we go to find the Versailles Château.

There, symmetrical flowerless boxed gardens-
apt for a cold day.

The palace in its gaudy grandeur
lures and welcomes us to view its splendour

and go away,
knowing, ’every dog has its day’.

All the Gods depicted in the ceilings- play
in heavenly grace,

While Napoleonic triumphs
(sent many to the grave)

show the apparent radiant beauty of Josephine,
when she was crowned his queen.



Ah! Charles-De- Gaulle- Etoile-
your mistresses too,
how can we view Paris tonight as you do?

In the dark The Tour Eiffel (a ‘mechano’ dream)
glistens and sparkles, feet astride,
all point towards the triumphant arc.

Where all the world’s widest roads,
go away from there, straight to the
Lights of the Night.

Straight to the paradise of fashion shops- hence,
The cat-walk fate holds the world in great suspense.

The motor car in shop windows sparkling clean;
Ferrari specials and the Grand Prix deluxe, pristine

models, till they meet the eight lane unmarked roads,
where a battle of a civil kind begins to devastate.

Straight to the Opera and the dance
where by chance, you may afford a seat.

The perfume and wine draws us near,
to savour the delights, or fear of the French cuisine.

And the fantastic fanfare of Paris by night.
Her mysteries, still, demurely garbed in mighty,

Military monuments, enhanced,
tell tales of history past,

saying give us the glory, first and last, we fought and won,
Vive La France!

By Kathleen Bartholomew (Feb 2005)