I recall long ago an evening winter walk in snow in a Paris where it was possible to roam the streets without care. 




Paris Rue De Saint Quentin

 

 

The small backstreet beckons

Buildings in charcoal press inward

Gare du Nord in black ahead

Fin de siècle iron street lamps 

spotlight flakes of gentle snow

In French white that begs

A quiet introspective pause

Solo evening wanderings 

Apres minhuit 

The 10th arrondissement





Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 305 times
Written on 2020-12-14 at 14:18

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shells
You take me there, I have a real fondness for Paris, haven't visited in a while, this is a lovely substitute.
2020-12-15



Beautifully conjured, the scene, and gracefully depicted.
2020-12-15


nice curtains
Oh yes.......the ethereal atmosphere of our visual memories. They are crystalised and adored. They never dissolve. Treasured.
2020-12-15


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A fine poem, Joe, and pleasant poke at my memory. I loved those art nouveau lamp posts and remember feeling quite sad in the Gare du Norde, waiting to leave Paris.
2020-12-15