Flying over France

Posted: April 10, 2012 in Poetry, urban poems

The cloud barrier is breached.
Thousands of feet below
is Saint Bonnet-du-Mare
caught in the sun flare
flooding the ground.

In the shade of its lime trees
some men play boules, others are in the bar
with coffee cups and Gauloise.
They talk with the rhythm of the cooling breeze.
The whispers of words and unsettled air
gently flow round a quiet noon square.

Three women share a bench and tranquil gestures.
Cats watch nothing through half-closed eyes.
Only swirls of dust move down the road.

Above, unseen, we hurtle on
to our own quiet bar, our own retreat.

  1. claudia says:

    nice, nice, nice…this took me back to holidays in the south of france…they know how to live life..don’t they…so relaxed..i could smell the gauloise…think they taste terrible..just like the pastis…but somehow…in the sun and with the sea as a all seems to be perfect…smiles…enjoyed your piece

  2. poemblaze says:

    Excellent writing! I’ll have to check in here more often.

  3. brian miller says:

    they talk with the rhythm of the cooling breeze…very nice…i would love to visit some day and your imagery gives me just the glimpse i need to pine for it all the more….

  4. Rallentanda says:

    Takes me back..that lovely languid atmosphere..wish I were there. Vive La France!

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