You may know me as a prose blogger, but I have occasionally made the mistake of writing poetry as well. I recently decided to compile all the poems I have written on one page and you are welcome to read and tell me what you think. Please note that some of the poems are about Paris, but a large part of them are not, but I hope you will like them anyway.
Songs about Paris
These are songs that are about Paris or that feature Paris in one way or another.
Song of Songs for Paris – Three Short Poems
A. Remains
The crumbs of the baguette are scattered like sand on the seashore,
A red wine stain on the map,
They blend in harmony with the forces of flight and the remains of the chocolate cake,
On the occasion of creating a still life.
Together, they all serve as a reminder that eating well in Paris is like talking to God.
B. Fugue minor
He sleeps no less than love songs for Paris.
Love for its vastness, its buildings, and its unique spirit.
However, not one of them is able to overcome the confusion and excitement.
As capable as a thousand Japanese cameras in the hands of a thousand Chinese shooters,
Whose trumpets play a fugue of musical notes in the vast expanse of a church Blood purifier.
C. Farewell poem from Paris
dear paris,
I really enjoyed it.
I am amazed at your love for me, surpassing the love of women.
Well, I wish I hadn't,
They came without any fuss.
Between two cities
The Holy City,
Like a patient woman, you've been here for 3000 years.
And I've been married to you for thirty of them.
I drew peace and security from you,
You are always present.
Your landscapes, your foods, are all routinely delightful.
Like any good Jew, I put you at the forefront of my simple joy.
And the thrill? I didn't find it.
Jerusalem is my wife and Paris is my lover.
city of Lights Far from you and close to me.
Like a beautiful woman aware of her charm, she abuses me,
Takes me to her time and time again on a kind of crusade.
The Lovers' Crusade.
I cannot live without the bread of Jerusalem.
I don't want to live without the butter of Paris.
And in between, between two cities, is Tel Aviv.
Overseas for the poor.
Its streets and people are nothing more than a cardboard set for a theater of the absurd.
And yet I write the song,
And I – sit inside it.
Paris without you
Paris is wonderful, charming and more
But I can give up Paris without you.
The palaces of Mara, what charm do they have?
What magic is there in strolling along the boulevard?
How can I gaze upon the beauty of the Seine?
Without you, it's just a river.
And yet I will go to the city of lights,
To walk and dance in its streets.
To capture the taste, the color, the light
So that I can give you all this,
When I get back.
Dedicated to Alma Stern
The secret spice
After another corrupt meal
When heartburn slowly rises to the sky
And the belly is jumping,
Pressing,
Secretary of its existence,
So I turned to my God in supplication:
“My dear God, how many are your deeds!
Creating meat, chocolate and worms
So why are these so unhealthy?”
And a voice from heaven came out.
And she said with the sound of trumpets and the voice of angels:
"Your good deeds have been known throughout the world."
And we all know that you are righteous and innocent.
Therefore, from now on, things will turn around.
You will arrive on the magic carpet of baking and steaks,
At least one hundred and twenty years old.
While quinoa, carrots and other vegetables
Your birthday is a light waltz, straight away.
To a good place in the middle
“In the cemetery”
I woke up this morning to the sound of shouting,
It was the downstairs neighbor Esther,
Who threatened her four-year-old son Hagai
"If you don't finish the chocolate, I'll call the police."
With a smile on my lips and a smile in my belly
I went to the shawarma stand.
“Please give me my daily dose of health.”
"Full of fat," I said and smiled.
From the first bite, the shawarma was delicious.
My God, robbery and burglary, what a trick!
Was it really shawarma?
Or did I eat a cat?
"It's nothing," I said to myself, "if the flame fell on the mossy wall
"I will go to the cedars."
I quickly booked a table,
In a luxury restaurant called “La Listim.”
But even there the food had a bland taste.
Like an election speech for the city council
The only item that was peppered
There was, as always, the price.
With an upset stomach and anger in his eyes
I went on a tour of our country's restaurants,
Like a pirate with a knife between his teeth,
Unfortunately, I did not find any culinary comfort.
But suddenly a voice from the sky came out.
And in her words a short but wise sentence:
"No food will interfere with your smile."
"If it's not seasoned with a little guilt."
There among the stones
Dedicated to the Père Lachaise Cemetery.
On your next visit to a cemetery
Please don't go straight to the point.
Wander leisurely, jump over potholes.
Take a look at the tombstones, maybe you'll find poetry.
Because there among stones and tombs
The people are buried but the muse lives.
It is written in stone with sad lines.
On the grave of a deceased person or the grave of a wife.
And if the tombstones say nothing
Speak to the dead, they will not fail you.
Listen to stories like there's no tomorrow
Although they will surely cloud your happiness
At the end of the day, say thank you nicely,
Remove dust from clothes.
Return to poetry and work
Say “Thank God there are dead people.”
Spontaneous love
Clarification : The short and ironic poem you will read in a second is about people who planned their relationships down to the smallest detail before they even found a partner. The poem does contain a few autobiographical statements, but it does not represent me at all.
We will probably meet on the site.
I will send her a shy letter,
She will write to me in a fairly short time.
This is how exciting love will begin.
The first meeting will take place
In the cafe like in the movie,
It will flow and shower and finally end.
With a kiss French Quite stormy.
I will call after the meeting.
I'll be a little excited, not too bad.
I already thought up the text a long time ago.
And I will recite it bravely.
The second meeting at the wax museum
The third at the “Red” restaurant
Fourth, by design, we make love.
I have already chosen the type of condom.
This is how a relationship will start, for example:
Let's rent an apartment together.
I also know when and for what.
We'll fight to break the routine.
I will ask for her hand in Paris, of course.
Everything is already planned.
Street name, day and time
There will be an update on that later.
And I also know how
They will name our child (three)
And now there's nothing left but
Find myself a wife already.
Songs on other topics
Here you will find a collection of poems I have written in the past that are not related to Paris.
To the reader
When the lines fly in the air
Glassy eyes will stare straight at her.
I will sit at a table and mumble to the wall.
Today I am the master and poetry is the slave.
But tomorrow I will return to the dungeon.
Made of words, lines and rhymes
And if the Muse allows, from her breasts to suckle
I mumbled poetry again in front of toilets and faucets.
Casanova's monologue
“My dear, on such a sad evening,
Please allow me to confess,
I had a girl or two before you,
But I love you.
I love you twice as much.
Love you.
But like a sister.”
“And do you long for marriage with me?
Don't be fooled by this nonsense.
Because you are killing our love.
And that's such a shame because –
i love you
But like a sister”
"That's right, we've already made love in love,
And that was five minutes ago.
I'll confess that to the priest.
I have committed the sin of incest.
Because I love you.
But like a sister.”
And she,
Without saying anything
She gathered her clothes.
Back to her sisters
To the monastery.
A love song in English dedicated to a redheaded girl
Once in an ancient book I read
That beauty, like a perfect sapphire is blue
But now I see the writer didn't have a clue
'Cause beauty isn't blue It's red
And how to that conclusion have I come?
By looking at a ruby? By looking at a flame?
No.
The answer to this riddle with only you I share
I came to this conclusion by looking at your hair!
Poetry is a kind of comfort for me.
Poetry is a kind of comfort for me,
About depression, loneliness and suffering,
About wars and also about mourning,
Because this is our life on earth.
And when a successful bead is found
And one more line comes out of her pen
So great euphoria fills me.
My heart is filled with joy.
But, here is the end of the song and the sadness returns,
You also returned depression and suffering.
But cheer up, because this is the pile of garbage.
You have nurtured the flower of poetry.
A song for Shavuot
There is nothing more appropriate for Shavuot than,
Cakes,
Cheese
And pneumonia.
The white in milk,
With a childish smile,
The bright white of the nurse's uniform,
The white on the page,
Who reads,
After death.
Love song
I love you
Like a knight in the 12th century
Like a 16th century religious fanatic
Like a 19th century poet
As if I don't live in the 21st century.
Love you
Without fears
Without cynicism
Without considerations
without preservatives
I just love you.
Love you
Love you
First love
And lastly.
A Song for Lenore (Sketch)
Your smile makes me hear birds.
Your hair is a burning fire.
And I didn't have time to talk about your eyes.
They remind me of a pair of emeralds.
Your face is the face of an angel.
I stand in awe before your gaze.
My heart melts at the sound of your soft laughter.
The spring of my life came with your voice.
A few words about the person who wrote these songs
Very nice. My name is Zvi and I am a Francophile (lover of French culture ). I fell in love with Paris from the first day I visited it (at the age of 3) and since then, even though I have visited there dozens of times, I return to the City of Lights time and time again. The guide you are reading was created out of this love and the desire to share with you all the knowledge I have accumulated. I sincerely hope that you will benefit from it as much as possible.
If you would like to get to know me a little more in depth, you are welcome to visit the Who Am I page.
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