You asked for 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]


3 thoughts on “Parisienne

  1. awesome! thank you for giving me proper credit. lol. So awesome to see my work on a blog, and yes, i don’t mind you posting that one since it was a gift to you anyway.

    • My favorite thing you’ve ever written me. And of course you will always receive credit. Now, go get to work on your next masterpiece.

Penny for your thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s