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Weekly Poetry Stuffage > Week 289 (December 6-12). Poems. Topic: Paris.

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message 1: by Ryan (new)

Ryan | 5334 comments You have until the 12th of December to post a poem, and December 13-14, we’ll vote for which one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a poem previously used in this group.

Your poem can be any length.

This week’s topic is: Paris

The rules are pretty loose. You could write a poem about anything that has to do with the subject but it must relate to the topic somehow.

Have fun!

message 2: by Edward (new)

Edward Davies | 1727 comments Title : Vive Le France
Poet : Edward Davies

Paris is a city where
The French are often found
They look at you while judgement’s passed
Without a single sound

They may have had a history
That’s riddled with despair
A central role in two world wars
That few can quite compare

Yet they love Jerry Lewis films
Even the later ones
They call things pain au chocolate
Which we’d call choccy buns

They lead the world in fashion sense
With bizarre takes on food
But there still isn’t any polite
Reason to be rude

message 3: by Angel (last edited Dec 07, 2015 06:12AM) (new)

Angel Faraway Friends

Have you been away my pet?
I hope not far from me yet
When we first met
Our little tête à tête
Sparked fury and regret
Let’s not forget the passion we once had
Before our differences set the tragic stage of mystery, mayhem
and rage
Yes, we were caught up in the subduing spell of a mirage
And yes, it was cruel of us to keep up the façade
Pretending like our tirades didn’t matter
We were just shooting cannon fodder at each other
But, after a while the pain began to prickle and feel like
needles and thorns
We started to toot our own horns
This tragic fun took a new turn, a new form
Sadly, we were not prepared for the harm that it caused
It made us both take a pause
To cross paths again would be dire; a holy hellfire
Are you far away old friend?
I must admit we’ve set a trend
for the romantic idiots following behind us in our footsteps
We’ve managed to make amends and depart as faraway friends
An amicable divorce that most cannot defend
Have you been away my pet?
I hope you stay far from me, so far from me yet.

message 4: by Meenakshi (new)

Meenakshi Raina | 32 comments Friday Thirteen

Yes, they too believed in love,
Yet became victims of hate,
Men hungry for destruction,
And with vicious mindset,
Fired deadly bullets around,
Lifeless bodies fell on ground.

Pain touched every heart,
For some, life won't be same,
Laughter transformed to cries,
Happiness changed to grief,
Merciless sinners did it all,
At concert, cafe and football.

Flesh and blood piled on roads,
Obedient bodies stayed silent,
Many were counted dead,
Others were counted wounded,
And some waited for last breath,
Paris mourned the gruesome death.

message 5: by Arun (new)

Arun Iyer (aruniyer) | 369 comments Feedback and comments are always welcome. Feel free to blow them my way and my flailing arms may catch a few.


Hear me, hear me, Oh one born of fire,
You who suckled on bear's bare breast,
Ordered to die by your father's ire,
Clinged to life, an indomitable pest.

A fair judge you call yourself, hah!
You who wronged me, and all for a whore,
The golden crown, you gave Ares, bah!
Was it not just a page of a coward's lore?

Yes, coward you are, your battles unfair,
Poor Achilles, forever known for his heel;
That you shot, catching him unaware,
Robbing him of title, the warrior of steel.

Now you are injured, your suffering is mirthful,
Did you come crawling, calling me more beautiful?
Than that whore who has had men plentiful?
So that I may heal you, an existence sorrowful?

No, you send that whore to beg for your life,
She has the nerve to call herself your wife,
The pain of your love never really gets old,
But revenge is a dish best served cold.

message 6: by Ajay (last edited Dec 09, 2015 09:17AM) (new)

Ajay (ajay_n) | 1135 comments Flowers & Candles

The Eagles of Death Metal were in town.
France and Germany were busy tackling
each other in an international friendly
when the blast was heard inside the stadium.
No one punched time clocks at the cafés,
bars and restaurants knowing they would
soon turn into slaughterhouses.
Pandemonium is a bastard.
The mind says “screw this” and soon
you see your legs jumping over dead bodies.
There is no place to take cover. You cannot
pretend to be dead. A new bomb might
have enough legs in it to sweep you down
with its blast radius. Fear will kick you
in your guts, you have no time to wipe
your sweat when the fingerprints of death
arrive in the form of assault rifles
and bombs strapped to men’s chests.
Chests with hearts, supposedly.
These men had no disconnect,
their synapses functioned perfectly when
information was passed to pull the trigger.
They were prepared. They had plotted
the whole damn thing in some basement,
in some hole in the desert where all
these degenerates run around and train.
Nothing might diffuse life like death,
but it cannot diminish our resistance.
It cannot stop us from taking a bullet
to the chest to protect a loved one,
it cannot stop a stranger from saving
a pregnant woman from falling off
of a window. We can take the beating.
“The flowers and the candles are here
to protect us”, says a kid to a reporter.


message 7: by Neal (last edited Dec 10, 2015 12:43PM) (new)

Neal Syrette | 80 comments To the Hilt, on...

The world wearies of such a blonde American tart...
Ignorant to all, whether written or art.
On your pedestal to the masses you entreat,
Enslaving all those below to the balls of your feet.
The tragedy becomes you with such a wasted life,
When failures' renewal is so predominately rife.
You can not change what is in the stars;
No more than Jupiter can be changed into Mars.
With your only mocking grace of homosexual fame;
Reproducing will not become you, even in name.
Carry on with your avarice, ignorance and voracity,
Your lack of control that you cling with tenacity.
The world will be much better off shunning your greed.
Without the constant worries of such an American breed.

message 8: by Arun (new)

Arun Iyer (aruniyer) | 369 comments Neal wrote: "To the Hilt, on...

The world wearies of such a blonde American tart...
Ignorant to all, whether written or art.
On your pedestal to the masses you entreat,
Enslaving all those below to the balls o..."


Measured in materialistic skin,
Wealth only maketh cloth that,
Fits their body but not their soul.

Millions slaving away everyday,
Wonder why luck is so gracious,
Only upon a vessel so empty.

*hat tip*

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