Parisienne

You asked for a poem about your glasses.  Well, you’re a French deity now.  It’s a love poem, written from your point of view to an unnamed mortal lover.  Here it is:

I come up from the valley.

I see the world in red.

In the distance, I can see the sun

pointing to an early bed.

The world awash in blood-shade,

my curiosity

finds a meaning in the semaphores

flying wild across the sea.

I seek no empty comforts.

I seek no rolling plains;

only streets of fashion flowing here,

parallel along the Seine.

My life, a burning question.

My kind, Parisienne.

Under tower, reconnect the self.

I will find the answer then.

Reflections in the corner

of olden days betwined,

cherry lenses tell a story of

rustic places I have dined.

‘Twas said I was a noble

those lengthy years ago,

’till my Jewry did dethrone me.  Why?

I could not pretend to know.

The hours run like horses,

in pink and purple skies.

I have painted us a sunset scene,

awe and wonder for your eyes.

The lights goes out in London.

The moon arrives in Bonn.

Even after ten, it’s all clear again:

Lovely days are seldom gone.

At night, my roles are many.

Am I your Joan of Arc?

Can I be your Carla Bruni, dear?…

…Re-ignite the homeland spark?

In morning light, I’m driving

to chase me by the tail.

And with all of France behind me now,

you and I shall never fail.

[Written by Andrew Robinette]

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