POEM: Paris Je T'aime

Of all the beautiful places in the world,

Isn’t Paris the fairest of them all?

The place where you let your heart sing.

Where you listen to your soul.

Taking your dreams for a walk along La Seine.

Touching the sky from the heights of La Belle Tour.

Smiling to Mona Lisa.

Praying in Notre-Dame.

I don’t want Paris to be my home.

If the most beautiful place in the world were my home,

Then where else could I go to see the most beautiful place in the world?

I would rather live away and keep it close to my heart.

Paris is calling me back to embrace me again and again,

And I am coming back.

City of lights.

City of beauty.

City of love.

Paris enchantant.

Paris charmant.

Paris mon amour.

Paris je t’aime.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 192. I wrote this poem 3 years ago. No matter what happens in the world, I will always love Paris.

POEM: Writer's Block

It’s been weeks, and I haven’t written a single word.

I’m going through my worst writer’s block in a long time.

My heart feels empty when I don’t write.

It’s been a downtime.

I need to escape my writing funk.

Staring at my computer screen won’t do.

Getting out of the house is what works best for my written word.

My inspiration awaits me out in the open.

I go out to experience new things.

To see new places.

To feel new feelings.

To write new words.

I will chase it away and words will come back to me.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 127.

POEM: The Bookstore

There is a bookstore Downtown Toronto on Yonge Street which I dearly love.

It’s my favorite bookstore in the entire city.

I have been its patron for years and years and years.

I have bought half of my books from there.

I love going there every chance I get.

I immerse myself between the shelves and browse through books, my dear friends.

I pillage the fashion, the travel, and the fiction sections.

I talk to store assistants about books and new releases.

They love working there just as much as I love being there.

No wonder they love it there, I would have loved to work in a bookstore as well.

The scent of the books makes me dizzy.

Every time I go to my favorite bookstore, I feel like in heaven.

This is where I want to be.

I could live here.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 156.

POEM: The Teddy Bear

I used to be a boy’s best friend.

I was his birthday gift when he turned five.

He loved me instantly,

And we became friends for what I hoped to be forever.

He called me Teddy.

I was a big Teddy bear,

And I was a big part of the boy’s life,

Both literally and figuratively.

For years, I had been his best friend.

Mom and Dad got him a double bed just so that I could always be close to him,

And he could hug me whenever he wanted a hug.

When he was happy,

I was happy.

When he was sad,

I was there to comfort him.

My soft heart was his cushion.

Year after year I watched him grow.

Going to school.

Learning to bike.

Making friends.

Playing basketball.

And I loved him all the same.

Every time he made a new friend,

I was happy for him.

I was never worried that he would forget about me.

I felt loved and cared about,

And that was all I wanted.

What else could a Teddy bear possibly want?

Then he turned sixteen.

He met a girl,

She was his first kiss.

They started going out.

One by one, the toys started leaving his childhood room.

He wasn’t about toys anymore,

He was all about Star Wars posters and cool gadgets.

I got moved to the guest room along with the other plush toys.

I watched as the toys were given away,

Some to other children,

Some to charity shops.

My best friend was all grown up now.

I was the last one to leave.

It was a time when people didn’t get together,

Afraid of a terrible disease that had taken over the world.

I didn’t make it to another of his friends or their younger siblings,

Nor did I go to a charity shop.

And they couldn’t keep me.

Turns out, I was taking up too much space.

I ended up on the curbside in front of the house where I spent so many years as the boy’s best friend.

And here I am, outside, alone.

Passersby walk down the street,

And I can tell they are surprised to see me on the curbside.

Usually, the curbside is a passage for old furniture and other inert objects,

But have you ever seen a human-size Teddy bear next to fractured chairs and broken tables?

I can only hope that this is not the end for me.

I’m still in good shape and I wish I could find a new home.

I say a prayer.

Please don’t let me rot here.

Please give me a new life.

My friend outgrew me, but maybe there is another child out there who would love to have a Teddy bear as a friend to brighten his days and keep close to his heart at night.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 140.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The long weekend is here, and I would like to wish everyone a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving filled with love and happiness. May the warm glow of autumn surround you and your loved ones as you celebrate the holiday with family and friends. May your blessings be multiplied this year and throughout your entire life. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

On another note, this is my story #700 on my blog, in 13 years since I started writing this blog. 😊

POEM: Kensington Market

I am in search of inspiration for my next story.

I go to Kensington Market to find it.

Vintage is a hub of all forgotten stories,

And I love uncovering those hidden gems.

Kensington Market is the perfect place to find hidden gems.

I take a stroll along Kensington Avenue.

There are dozens of vintage shops along the street.

I take the time to browse each of them.

I am fascinated by the stories of the past.

Flapper dresses, mink coats, purses, necklaces, bracelets, jewelry boxes, candle holders, chandeliers, old magazines, portraits from other times.

Each of the items from the vintage market tells a story.

I love imagining those stories.

A Fendi bag in one of the vintage shops calls my name.

It may be some decades old, but it’s still in good shape.

I think of the woman who wore it and loved it before me.

Her name was Clara.

She was a fashionista,

And she loved fine things.

Stylish.

A fashion editor for “Vogue” magazine in the nineties.

Exciting fashion stories sprang to life from the glossy pages of the magazine, with her name on them, every month.

Fashion was her life.

She was the toast of the town in the Big Apple.

All men desired her.

All women wanted to be like her.

Her Fendi accompanied her everywhere – to the office, to dinner, to parties.

Then she fell in love.

She moved to Toronto to be with the man she loved.

She brought her Fendi bag with her.

She wore it when she met his parents.

When they went out to dinner Downtown Toronto.

When they went to see movies on Friday nights.

When they went to parties with his group of friends.

When she started her new job as a fashion editor in Toronto.

When she attended fashion shows in Toronto.

When they traveled together.

Once a staple in New York,

The bag was now her staple in Toronto.

She was happy with him for a while.

And then he broke her heart.

She returned to New York.

Part of her life in Toronto followed her back to New York,

Part was left behind.

The painful memories were left behind.

The Fendi bag ended up in Kensington Market.

Years later, it was my turn to wear it and love it.

When I bought it at the vintage shop in Kensington Market,

I found a little handwritten note in its inside pocket.

I will always love you. Clara.

She must have meant to give it to him,

But decided not to, after all, brokenhearted.

Sometimes I think about Clara when I wear the Fendi bag.

I hope her heart healed in New York.

Her love for fashion stayed the same.

I write a story about Kensington Market,

And I dedicate it to Clara.

The Fendi bag has a new life in Toronto, in my wardrobe.

Dinners, movies, parties, fashion shows – it’s where it belongs.

It is now loved again, and it is my staple.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 171.