Category Archives: French Poetry

Honey Pie

I’m so sorry honey pie, I got the mixed up tone and whipped up cream. I love you honey pie, of all the ones who flew me up and shot me down. I feel you honey pie, dear sentiment, my sweet rhyme. … Continue reading

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Posted in alcohol, beat, cohen, dreams, love, music, Allen Ginsberg, beat poetry, bible, David Cronenberg, devil, female politicians, Francis Ford Coppola, French Poetry, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Once More for Making Sure

Release the heat and lick my soul with cleansing flames. Once consumed, I will be free of earth and space. Onward sentimentalities; give our embrace tonight – is certain. Turn the dial and etch the settings. Once more for making … Continue reading

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Posted in Albert Camus, alcohol, beat, cohen, dreams, love, music, Allen Ginsberg, Arthur Rimbaud, beat poetry, Boulevard Saint-Germain, Dreams, environment, expatriates, French Poetry, God, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen, Lost Generation, Lucifer, ocean, Paris, Sex, Song, Spirituality, Surrealism, tom waits, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

My Grump and Grind Act is Back to Feast

Back like baboons – full of grumps to grinds; my pleasures are theirs. They obey my commands! You guessed it old world, my new world troubles. The monkey house riots, are back in town. Here little monkey with feed-song screech. Claw … Continue reading

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Posted in Albert Camus, alcohol, beat, cohen, dreams, love, music, Allen Ginsberg, America, Angela Yvonne Davis, Arthur Rimbaud, beat poetry, bible, Black History, devil, French Poetry, God, Gypsy, Hope, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen, Paris, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Midday Fun

Skinny-scenting, sensual and drums, quiet times in memory, touch my taste and odor; beat my burns until they heat.   My trapper of felines whose legs part, more and more, sensual  in blue, hot in black, nails dark, at noon and … Continue reading

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Posted in French Poetry, jack kerouac, leonard cohen, prayer, sentiments, Serge Gainsbourg

Slapped Thighs, Bound Wrists

Clop de clop, scuffle along – seek us now – we lost
you dear, we suffocate. We kneel – we fear –
slapped thighs, bound wrists – suffer quietly among
the light – my moon. Continue reading

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Posted in Allen Ginsberg, America, beat poetry, French Poetry, God, Gypsy, jack kerouac, leonard cohen | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Grinning Across the Shadows and Clouds – Wild Monkey Cry

Well, well –  it seems the monkeys are out, the water is soiled and the wind blows down, across my feet and face. Hair real tangled. What is it boogie-girl, hot like paste, cold as snow? My arms feel weak; not … Continue reading

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Posted in Allen Ginsberg, Beat Comedy, bible, David Cronenberg, Django Reinhardt, Drug Abuse, Francis Ford Coppola, French Poetry, jack kerouac, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , ,

A Discharge in Dirt

Born dead with blinding light, we escape the mouth of time tugging back. Riding the light and the charge, it is a one-way straddle feeding the volts. Look up, gaze down – it’s where we end, a discharge in dirt. … Continue reading

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Posted in beat poetry, David Cronenberg, devil, Django Reinhardt, French Poetry, Gypsy Jazz, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, Montmartre, Serge Gainsbourg, tom waits | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Mist of Sad Songs

With the sweat of icons and glistened pearls in stone, she wept for lambs lost, generations plowed under and sweet potatoes that sun themselves. This south, sweet heritage of folds, of historical nuance and terrible crimes. Lay with me tender, … Continue reading

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Posted in Allen Ginsberg, bible, French Poetry, Gypsy, leonard cohen | Tagged , , ,

Dirt of Dust

Puffing fire from air and heat from dark, willowed and bent – We lost ourselves in the leaves, who were dried and crisp as offerings, as the dirt of dust seeps gently overhead – The waves are rippled with final thoughts and breaths that … Continue reading

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Posted in Albert Camus, Allen Ginsberg, beat poetry, French Poetry | Tagged , , , ,

Coffee Cups Empty

I hover while you sleep unprotected – as tears march slowly with beaten rhythms. Your dreams unguarded, whisking memories – where you were and now very distant. Why are we lost to temptation, losers among swimmers and pulsating waters? Sorrow … Continue reading

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Posted in Ardennes Offensive, Battle of the Bulge, French Poetry, Jacques Prevert, Spirituality, World War II | Tagged , , ,