Accordian In The Metro
In 2002 I was in Paris for a couple of days. My wife & daughter let me loose. They wanted to look at shops & so I left early at dawn to walk around a have a look at that great city.
I got lost & found a few times & had to try out the few French words I could remember from the 3rd form. On the way home at the end of an exhilarating day & I went into the Metro to catch a ride back to the Arch DT which was near our hotel in Victor Hugo ‘street.'
I was walking thru the tunnel & heard an excellent accordion player. He finished playing some French tunes as I was approaching. Then he switched to Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D minor. I stood close to the wall & listen as people hurried past.
A year or so later I saw an SBS documentary on TV called ‘DOWN UNDER PARIS' about Australians in living Paris who were working as buskers or selling their paintings on the street.
I was sitting there engrossed when I heard the accordian player. That sounds familiar I thought, ‘yes that's him. I watched him play, he was excellent, ' & there I was standing close to the wall listening wearing the black jacket I'd bought in Switzerland.
I asked google for the film maker's email & I wrote a note to Richard Snashall asking if I could buy his dvd. I told him that it was me in the background in his movie. I recalled vaguely that there had been someone crouched down with a video camera while I was listening.
When Richard sent me the dvd he said that he thought I was a Parisian on his way home when he filmed me standing there. When I got the dvd it had a note,
‘Hi Lindsay, Here's some bonus raw footage I dug out in addition to Down Under Paris. regards, Richard.
poem by Lindsay Smith
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Related quotes
The belated wish
The couple pride themselves on giving birth to sons.
That couple had pride in having all sons.
All sons left, having been owned by their wives.
The couple wishes they got a daughter.
28.12.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Paris in Spring
The city's all a-shining
Beneath a fickle sun,
A gay young wind's a-blowing,
The little shower is done.
But the rain-drops still are clinging
And falling one by one --
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time has begun.
I know the Bois is twinkling
In a sort of hazy sheen,
And down the Champs the gray old arch
Stands cold and still between.
But the walk is flecked with sunlight
Where the great acacias lean,
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And the leaves are growing green.
The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead,
There falls a dash of rain,
But who would care when such an air
Comes blowing up the Seine?
And still Ninette sits sewing
Beside her window-pane,
When it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time's come again.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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London To Paris
Paris, the city of gaiety
Paris, oh city so bright
Paris, with girls continental
We are crossing the Channel tonight.
Euros we will spend by 'the plenty'
As soon as we step on your shore.
We love pretty girls continental
The shine in their eyes we adore.
We'll reach the top of the 'Eiffel'
Admiring the wonderful sight,
And we'll walk along the Champs Elysees
As we visit the City of Culture tonight.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Plaster of Paris
My beloved bought a plaster of Paris mold
A couple of tortoises saying 'Welcome',
From a Dollar shop
And we hanged that at the entrance of our Halcyon cottage.
At midnight my wife was fast asleep with a smile and I am sure that she dreams the Heaven,
But I am still awake with the nightcap.
I heard the tortoise's whisper
And the dialect is very familiar to me from my early births it seems.
'The old couple is very quiet like us and their offspring must have living abroad.
They too very slow and steady,
But the Man seems to be an alcoholic.
I sniffed while he was hanging us on the wall.
We must pray day & night for their welfare otherwise they could have bring a watchdog by throwing us to the nearby pond.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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He Said...
He said the air was better in Paris.
In Paris we could breathe
Like we never could
Here in the little home I had built.
So...
I left with him
For the better air
And wine and cheese and cafes and Paris
And because I too wanted to breathe.
Yesterday he left
For Spain and Spanish things
And the little Flamenco dancer
From the Café...
Outside my window
The rain pounds mercilessly on the roses he planted for me...
Such lovely things,
So sad to see them die.
poem by Vaun Moore
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Without Holiness
The early Church filled with fear and reverence was set apart,
Thrust into the world to preach the Gospel with all their heart.
That early group being tiny in number and fearful of heart,
Were given a special boldness to help them with their start.
Although The Spirit filled them with this boldness at the start,
A very deep sense of Fear and Holiness played a major part.
But today in the Church we have accepted an unreasonable duplicity,
Where Holiness in our walk no longer appears to be a necessity.
This kind of thinking is truly foolishness, you can be assured,
For without a walk of Holiness, no man will see The Lord.
By walking down that narrow road, which is the only way deemed right,
That early group of Believers drew many out of darkness into Light.
Now as the Church Age is ending, we seemed to have lost our sight,
As many professing Believers appear to be walking in the night.
Although Salvation was a Gift from God, for Christ it came at cost,
And the debt He left us all to pay was His compassion for the lost.
Holiness is truly essential to guide the lost, as the end draws near,
However, the Church appears to have lost this essential godly fear.
Holiness however, is something that simply can not be ignored,
For without Holiness the Bible declares, no man will see The Lord.
(Copyright © 04/2002)
Take me to Paris With flowers
Take Me to Paris With Flowers
I'll run away, I'll run away
By your eyes of blue and the skies of gray.
To the heart of France, Paris
The city of love, magic.
I'll run away. I'll run away
Past the doors and gates that lock me,
That controls me.
Into your arms of loving,
Your eyes of wonder.
I'll run away. I'll run away
Through creeks and woods,
Re- Walking the steps that we had once stepped in.
Ride me with your bike,
and my basket of flowers.
That's all we have, something small,
Something, beautiful.
I'll run away, I'll run away
If I hadn't know that our love wasn't meant to be.
You wanted to wait.
Days after days of “wait”.
It's gloomy up here, up in my room,
Waiting and waiting for you.
The flowers have wilted, the skies are crying
Just like my hope had wilted, My tears are falling.
Your real eyes,
Until then I hadn't realize,
That it was just real lies.
All I wanted was a forever, All I wanted was a forever,
But it was just a broken promise,
beside a wilted flower.
poem by Nhu Nguyen
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The Farmers Daughter
Written by brian wilson.
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farmer's Daughter
I do come from miles away,
Ain't got no place to stay.
Glad to help you plow your fields,
Farmer's daughter.
Might be just a couple of days,
Clean up, rest, and be on my way.
Thank you, madam, much obliged,
Farmer's daughter.
So long, got to leave your land.
Many thanks, it was might grand.
I do hope to see you again,
Farmer's Daughter.
Farmer's Daughter.
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yule Fever (With apologies to the King's Minstrel)
I must go down to the shops again, to the crowded shops go I
And all I have is a long list of the gifts that I must buy,
And a few bob in the old kick and a mere spot of credit;
For he'll trust me, so the boss said, but I hate the way he said it.
I must go down to the shops again, for the call of Christmastide
Is a stern call and a hard call that may not be denied.
And all I ask is a fair choice at reasonable prices
And a hard heart for bland blokes with blandishing devices.
I must go down to the shops again. There's gifts for Mum and Dad
And Jim's gift and Joe's gift and toy for Peter's lad.
Then all I want are gloves for Clare? And June? I'll send her roses,
And - who's next? The list says - I've lost it! Holy Moses!
But I must go down to the shops again, to the shops and the milling crowd
On a hot day and a fierce day when the skies know ne'er a cloud;
And all I ask is a fair spin 'mid the masses overheating
And the loud bawl of the bored babe, and the toy drums beating.
I must go down to the shops again, for I would be counted still
With the kind ./.. of the free hand in this season of goodwill;
And all I ask is a stout heart to carry on undaunted
While we scour town for the salt-pot that we know Aunt Annie wanted.
I must go down to the shops again, for they'll ply me, sure as fate
With the pink tie and the puce sock, and I must reciprocate.
But all I ask is a long seat when the weary trek is finished
And enough left for the Yule feast ere the bank-roll be dimished.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Lost My Mind
i thought i lost my mind
the day i lost you
days go by
and i just wonder why
how can you leave?
you didn't see what you wanted
i questioned why you left so soon
nothing feels right
i'm barely making it through
i feel like breaking down
because of everything
i feel deep inside
it don't make sense
that i've lost purpose of being here
wouldn't you say?
i had everything
now it feels like i'm left with nothing
know the feeling?
have everything you wanted
gone before a good bye
how sad
can't do much
it won't get me anywhere
all i can do is live out our dream
that all you wanted from me
i just became blind sided from it
gave up only because i couldn't have you
still don't have a clue
but, i seem be making it through
that all i can do
that's all you wanted
i guess i just have to try
because i'm tired of crying
without you here
i just need these gray cloulds to clear
so can i start learning how to deal.
poem by Mona Martinez
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Love Is Just A Visitor
Polished darkness groomed for a city
A city of pain
A city of games
A city that will blow your mind
Strangers are libraries
Ships of Venus by the moon
We wrestle with visitors
The normal is tragic and boring
Don’t you love a city at night?
Recluse in the lights
Confused like jazz
She walks into my life like a church
Now I am on my knees
Eclectic as Paris
Driven with the ambition of libido
The streets of Manhattan
Shops in the Village
Coffee like cocaine
She paints like Hendrix was alive
Central Park like Jackson Pollack
She says, “Baby, love is just a visitor
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Angeliou
Angeliou oh angeliou
Oh oh angeliou angeliou
Oh angeliou oh angeliou oh my angeliou
In the month of may
In the month of may
In the city of paris
In the month of may
In the month of may
In the city of paris
And I heard the bells ringing, and I heard the bells ringing
In the month of may
In the city of paris and I called out your name
In the month of may
In the city of paris
In the month of may
In the city of paris
Oh oh angeliou oh angeliou oh oh angeliou oh my angeliou
Walkin on a city street who would think you could ever be touched
By a total stranger, not me
But when you came up to me that day and I listened to your story
It reminded me so much of myself
It wasnt what you said but the way it felt to me
About a search and a journey just like mine
Will you be my baby
Will you be my baby now
Will you be my baby
Will you be my baby now
Angeliou oh angeliou
Angeliou oh angeliou
Yes I will yes I will yes I will
After she told all these things to me I said I got a story too
It goes something like this
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Recover?
Ask the mother
Who's lost her
Child for ever…
Ask the daughter
Who's lost her
Father for ever…
Ask the brother
Who's lost his
Sister for ever…
Ask the widower
Who's lost his
Wife for ever…
Ask the lover
Who's lost his
Beloved for ever…
Do you ever
Recover…?
They say:
Time is a great healer,
Though I'm yet to find
A healer in time…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Farmers Daughter
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It was so quiet that morning in Paris that the heels of my two companions and myself were loud on the deserted pavements. It was a city of shuttered shops, and barred windows, and deserted avenues.
quote by Philip Gibbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Azhaki [the beautiful], a movie
I heard that she was ill fated
To be knotted to a drunkard,
Who, being poor, stripped her of charm.
I was helpless to lend my arm.
I was strained.
I helped her husband earn
And send her money to keep her.
Not to last, he left once for all.
She’s left to earn as coolly.
I was pained.
I brought her to be a housemaid
To give her a safe livelihood.
The humility that she had
For her and the son made me soar.
I was wounded.
I brought her to help our household.
My wife’s innocence was her hold.
There, too, happiness short-lived
As our past story unfolded.
I was shattered.
Next day, once for all she had left.
Her son’s study was lost. I’m lost.
I wandered as a vagabond
In search of her without any end.
I was ripped.
The script that she left when she left
Cleared the dust of my wife’s eyes
And made her repent her ill doubt
About her modesty and the loss.
I was mutilated.
I found her son in an orphanage.
Now he lives with us in prestige.
I love him more than I love my child.
It is a tribute I give her.
I am soothed.
One loses one’s peace,
When one finds her ex-lover
In ill fated condition,
And does all to her,
To redeem her,
That he would not have done
That much
Had he made her as his wife.
31.05.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Church Street, Pretoria
Right down the street the traffic lights are green
and a couple of homeless men stand around a fire
in a half drum and ambulances and police cars scream
while they past rows and rows of flats for hire
and a couple of kids stand smoking at the stream
and this is reality, the heart of the city.
On the sidewalk pedestrians walk in crowds of men,
women and some children, some booted up to the knee
others with mini skirts short enough to condemn them
and my city stays lovely to me.
People queue for fried chicken, fish
and chips at shops and cafés and the smells fill my nose
and tomatoes and onions, lamb and steak are fried with a hiss
and in the traffic an angry speed-cop tries to retain his pose
when a minibus taxi almost runs him over, gives him a fright
at a flickering traffic light
and cars stream by into the coming night.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Cafe Paris
Somewhere in Paris
A quaint café.
Quiet and soundless
A starry night
The city it sleeps
The Frenchmen await
A small revolution
Tonight
Somewhere in Paris
A quaint cafe
Waiting for change
Dawn of a day.
poem by Arthur Q. Kromwelle
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At Times I Can Loose Myself In Sadness
At times I can loose myself in sadness
although the sun still rises in the morning,
the stars glow in their myriad at night,
the wind rustles in the great oak trees
as you have left me, have gone to another
and I truly did love you and thought that you
had a place for me somewhere in your heart
and in days and nights like this we were together
and there is some kind of detachment in the loss,
as if the world is much more immense without you
as if I will somewhere, somehow again find you
but you are nowhere and days turn into years
and what we had is gone and totally lost
while memories keeps on lingering.
poem by Gert Strydom
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