Monday, December 26, 2005
Tourists in the City of Lights, by Michael A.
On the Pont des Arts
Honeymooners ask me
To snap their pic;
Behind them
On the island
Where Paris began,
Caesar spoke
With men who had walked
A thousand miles
Through eastern
Forest so dense
They never saw the sun.
Consider them
When your morning shadow
Greets you at the Deux Magots.
Honeymooners ask me
To snap their pic;
Behind them
On the island
Where Paris began,
Caesar spoke
With men who had walked
A thousand miles
Through eastern
Forest so dense
They never saw the sun.
Consider them
When your morning shadow
Greets you at the Deux Magots.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Multiple Haikus, by Michael A.
Fleshtones
Of our café au lait,
Highlights of morning
Sun in your hair;
You close your eyes
And raise your skirt
Allowing the glory of your legs
To me and the sun
And a suddenly attentive waiter.
"Penguins,"
You call the waiters in Paris,
Black vests and legless
Long white aprons
While new leaves
Dapple last swirls
Of jam and mustard,
The art of breakfast.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Friday, December 16, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Champagne Haiku, by Michael A.
CHAMPAGNE HAIKU
(for Mad!)
The man undoes the clasp
To get things started
With six half-turns counter-
Clockwise; the woman
Knows there are only six
Glasses in the bottle.
(for Mad!)
The man undoes the clasp
To get things started
With six half-turns counter-
Clockwise; the woman
Knows there are only six
Glasses in the bottle.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Paris Haikus, by Michael A.
Late night along the Quai Voltaire
Shouting our echoes off the Louvre.
(And Paris answered with a distant
Voice across the river, "Shut up!")
We walked mornings along the Seine
Determined to cross every bridge.
Night without you
On the Pont des Beaux Arts,
I close my eyes on Paris.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Paris Haikus, by Michael A.
Paris where you loved me;
They ask about you at the Flore.
A color
Has gone out of the sunset.
I close my eyes
And get old without you.
Morning at the Deux Magots,
I sit with your son at our old table.
