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a pessimistic view from a balcony in Paris

A Pessimistic view from a Balcony in Paris

Fine rain, open umbrella, sitting on the balcony of a hotel
overlooking Haussmann – Saint Lazare. A throng of people
and cars, but something as changed, people drinks Starbuck
coffee and eat burgers on the hoof. Old restaurants are
closing or converted to fast-food joints. I sigh and drink from
a bottle of Bordeaux to avoid getting rainwater in my wine.
This place together with rue d’Amsterdam used to be where
the posh people lived and now, safe for the ruddy scrap yard
tower, this could have been downtown New York.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Miracle for Breakfast

At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.

The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.

He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.

Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.

I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--

and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.

We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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A Asome Poem About PEOPLE

Some people
Care about you, some people
Don’t care,
Make fun of you and walk away,
Some people,
Run past, some people
Hand you presents,
Give you a pat on the back,
Some people
You love, some people
You don’t know
Some people, some people,
You do,
Some people
You notice, some people
Eat cauliflower, some people
Are teenagers,
Some people walk to restaurants,
Sit down at the counter,
Eat there food, through it at
People,
Some people never notice you,
Some people always look, some people
Want to take you away, some people
Will never exist
Some people are other people; some people are you, some people
Die ever second,
Some people are you

poem by Annie Nosich
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We sat around on a hotel balcony with a bottle of wine and tried to figure out how you would go about blowing up a planet. That's the kind of conversations science fiction writers have when they get together. We don't talk about football or anything like that.

quote by Kevin J. Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Avoid hot

Avoid to drink
Hot drinks...
Hot drinks is
Drink take proper food...

Drink to drink...
With hot drinks...
Emty stomach...
Acute gastric

Problem will be come...
So...
Avoid hot drinks for
Your liver and stomach...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Opening Just Like Everybody Else

it is always easy to
open
all you have to do is
spread
sometimes you get so
thin
and people do not notice
even if
it is you at
all

it is always safe to open
together when they open
like umbrella during a sudden rain

this way
no one minds you
no one notices what you are
this way
you are safe and comforted

everyone is like you in the open
no one is unique
and no one hurts you again

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Summer Snapshot

High up in the sky, the sun is shining.
Outside restaurants, people are dining.
Over the sea, sailboats are dashing.
Against the shore, waves are crashing.

Up in the sky, seagulls are screeching.
Up to the sun, flowers are reaching.
In the park, children are playing.
In the breeze, branches are swaying.

From car windows, music is blaring.
More of their bodies, people are bearing.
Down at the beach, people are bathing:
A nice, healthy tan, they are all craving.

Through the sky, birds are flying.
On the clothesline, washing is drying.
Along the roads, cars are queuing.
In bed, at night, people are stewing.

To peoples' bodies, clothes are sticking.
Frozen ice lollies, children are licking.
Their garden borders, people are weeding.
Ducks, on the river, children are feeding.

Strawberries and cream, people are eating.
Friends, for a drink, people are meeting.
In their back gardens, people are sitting.
Through the air, butterflies are flitting.

Over at Wimbledon, there is tennis.
Of themselves, wasps make a menace.
Ice cold drinks, people are sipping,
In the playground, girls are skipping.

People eat chips with fish in crisp batter.
Over at Henley, there is a Royal Regatta.
Of our summer, when the weather is hot,
The above, make up merely a snapshot.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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6 degrees Celsius

-6 degrees Celsius.
from my balcony,
yes, the atlas
of my balcony,
with the music
of the masters
pouring forth
from within,
I follow the stars
direction Norway
and Sweden
while around the corner
one looks towards Iceland
and 'those islands'.
Kleve is just across the way
and Paris and Brussels
down the road.
this is my mainland!

poem by John O'connell
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In The Name Of People

In the name of kind people who aren't hopeless
The people who are looking for bless

In the name of people who have a great self steam and a great view of life
The people who help other people to be alive

The people who respect each other
People who learn to not bother

In the name of people who had pure tears
People who lived a life full of fears

In the name of people …people who will stay
People who are strong in their speeches, they don't say may! ! ! !

In the name of people who believe what is disgusting is LIE!
People who haven't seen my tears tonight…I'm going to say good bye.

In the name of people, the people of a forgotten place
People who stayed strong, even with their blooded face

In the name of people, the people who are dear
People that will cry, will laugh, but they don't betray, with their pure tear

poem by Ellias Anderson
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People around me

People around me, never changed, but I changed,
The people to see, same, I, not.
All people I known, before and now, bad,
I have changed, for them, am sad.
They shot me words, when am sight
Never did the same, today not fight.
People, that I see, from change, is free
But one thing, still they’re bad, it’s known by me.
Changes are fast, changes are slow
Some people, before and now felt,
never ever changed.

19th July,2009, Sunday

poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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Now the restaurants have begun to catch up with the wine-making; there are numerous great restaurants in Napa Valley, and it's wonderful because the people are there for just that: great food and great wine.

quote by Thomas Keller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You want to go to Spain

You want to go to Spain
and next to the Mediterranean
buy a villa
and stay in a big old house
with balcony windows.

You want to sit at a cafe
in the street
and paint paintings
of the scene around you
and sell them right there

and get lunch at a small table
with French bread, cheese
and a bottle of sweet wine
and look at how friendly
the sun shines there

and late in the afternoon
you want to take siesta
and for a time
go and lie on a big old bed
under fans
or against the hillock
walk in fields
of purple lavender,

but the language there is foreign
and I wonder what more
and how a person fits
into such a place
between people
with a different culture?

poem by Gert Strydom
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We stay in U2's hotel. They bought a hotel, The Clarence, a nice place and it's in an area where everything's happening, so many fantastic restaurants and bars and the people are so friendly.

quote by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Downtown

Downtown people gotta work a little harder working downtown
Downtown they got to think a little quicker cause theyre downtown
Downtown the breaks are harder
Downtown the thieves are smarter
Ive got this place Im renting
It cost me next to nothing downtown
Nobody comes around telling me I gotta turn the sound down
Broadway -- down on the corner
The Bible screamer, the plasma donor
Buses, carhorns, ghetto blasters
The shouts and cries of the human disasters
Its all music
Its all music
Downtown
Its all music
Its all music
I feel alright when Im downtown
My feet are light when Im downtown
I cast my hopes on the human tide
I place my bet and let it ride
Im open wide when Im downtown
Downtown theres every kind of people walkin round downtown
Downtown theres every language, every human sound downtown
Downtown the nights are longer
Downtown the sights are stronger
Downtown wandering all around downtown
Its all music
Eight blocks south of city hall
The rats run free and the winos crawl
Darkness falls on the vast machine
Where the future stalks the american dream
I feel alright when Im downtown
My head feels light when Im downtown
Its all in sight when Im downtown
I feel alright when Im downtown

song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.

poem by James Fenton
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Safe In New York City

(young - young)
Hello baby gimme your hand
Check out the high spots the lay of the land
You dont need a rocket or a big limousine
Come on over baby and Ill make you obscene
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
All over the city and down to the dives
Dont mess with this place itll eat you alive
Got lip smackin honey to soak up the jam
On top of the world ma ready to slam
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
Movin all over like a jumpin bean
Take a look at that thing in the tight ass jeans
Comin your way now you may be in luck
Dont you fret boy shes ready to buck
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
I feel safe in new york city
New york, new york, new york
I feel safe in a cage in new york city
2000, j. albert & son, pty.

song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People Need People

People need people to

Put up shelves

To be themselves

And to laugh with

To unblock blocked toilets

To make their sandwhiches

And watch T.V with

People need people
To live with
To argue and forgive with

And to agree to disagree

To have something

To have someone from which to break free!

People need people to

Be quiet

To stage a riot

To eat fish with

Or afternoon tea

To have someone from somewhere to break free from

People need people

To rush with

To crush with

In the first train in

And the last train home

People need people

For someone to be with

To been seen with

And for having a reason for being alone

People need people to sing with

To cry with and die with

To sigh say goodbye with

People need people to get lost in

That early morning frost in the throng

To have someone to fight with

To kiss goodnight with

To simply have somewhere to belong!

And not to belong

After all people need people, big, fat thin, tall, and very small,

People need people that's a fact,

And that's that, and that's all!

poem by Yvette Smith
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A Weepy

A weepy movie.

I have been watching a movie on TV, a love story about a girl named Sabrina. I fall for
it every time; yes, I know the technicality of filming but still believe the story. Yes,
I know it is about upper class love, the chauffeur’s daughter, and the son of the house.
They end up in Paris, where else? Nothing mundane about the film, like, can I afford
a flight ticket to Paris? Money problem kills love. Last year my wife and I took a coach
to Paris 36 hours– we are divorced now-. We spent so much time finding a place to
eat and sleep we had little time to see the sights. Saw the Eiffel tower though, you
could build a ship with all that iron. It disturbed me, the Unknown Soldier’s grave;
eternal flame. Soldiers died for business interests and the lust for power. Wish this
was the only truth, fact is young men like killing each other, they just need someone
to say it’s legal. In Paris I read poetry in defense of the Palestinians, for an audience
of Jewish people, but since they didn’t understand Norwegian they applauded.
For a moment I was a star on the firmament of vanity. I will not be back to Paris again,
less I can afford to drink a bottle of expensive wine.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Used Car Sales People

With the gift of the gab they would talk their way out of hell
These used car sales people they know how to sell
On their selling ability their jobs are at stake
The more cars they do sell the more commission they do make
On any deals they clinch they have never lost
And your trust on such people can come at a cost
The more cars they sell the more money they get paid
A hard job to succeed in the used car trade,
Shy and sensitive used car sales people one might say are rare
To sell one a car no effort they do spare
They have to sell cars or their boss them will fire
And other used car yard owners as car sales people them will not hire
The more cars they sell the greater is their pay
So to sell you a car they try every which way.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Food for Everyone

Sellers of food have a huge price,
And they eat from them from advice.
The restaurant is a race for the food,
A beautiful place for the meat barbecued.

I like the eating to be done in a fantastic place,
Where I love the taste in my head, no disgrace.
Love anything but do not eat the forbidden fruit,
So horrid it is of the devil to say, but we must be astute.

It is poverty that hides the food from poor people,
It is not the poor people who taste a life admirable.
Sellers of food must be paid, and poor is the person
Who can not afford, so he can not eat, unless he is in heaven.

Heaven is a place for food and drink,
Drink I take and health I doublethink.
Heaven has a drink for me.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Coffee Break

I drink milky coffee
cos' I don't like it black.
It ain't because I'm weird
or stuff or anything like that.
I just like milky coffee
but when I asked for it
no one understood me
although I gasped for it.

I went into this burger bar
and asked the guy to make one.
He looked at me quite vacant
and asked me to explain one.
I said you tip some coffee out
and put a dropp more milk in,
but he just stood there gapin'
and said he couldn't do it!

I really hate hot coffee
and I ain't gonna lie
I'd rather eat asbestos
than let my poor tongue fry.
So now I'm drinkin' fruit juice,
to make like I'm discernin'.
They serve it at posh restaurants.
It stops my stomach churnin'.

poem by Ruth Walters
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