Love Poems About Paris or Paris Love Poems

Paris love poems and/or love poems about Paris. Read, share, and enjoy these Paris love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.

Poem Details | by Demetrios Trifiatis |
Categories: fear, freedom, god, love,


The raging beast of fear in darkness was
Its father: Terror  
Its mother: Ignorance, 
With the black milk of hate was it
By wrath was it, nurtured    
By fanaticism its character was forged 
Its soul saturated was with repugnance


The deformed prince of gloom, once matured, 
A menace to humanity grew up to be, 
Threatening the beacon of civilization to
Extinguish by:
All this, in the name of a God that the brute doesn’t
Even understand, 
It demanded the whole world to kneel in dread

Humanity didn’t succumb 
United, in its finest hour, marched on,
Proud and 
Sending thus the message to the kingdom of gloom that 
Its days are numbered

One ray of light, mightier it is than any amount of darkness 
And easily could obliterate beast’s obscure empire at a blink
Of the eye


© Demetrios Trifiatis
  16 JANUARY 2015 

*In memory of those who were slaughtered by the evil children 
of the beast, be they Christians, Muslims or Jews! 

**Dedicated to all those who marched in Paris and elsewhere 
and all those who felt In their heart, the solidarity with those who marched!

The whole world shouts: Je suis Charlie!

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: absence, addiction, sad love,

Paris Whore In The Fog

All evening fog is settled from the ground,
not right in where it goes, nor where it's found;
the Seine makes distance to each barren tree
unmeasured from the mind to what should be,
and blended to the world that's all around.

And from the limestone walls, echos the tap
of femininity, in evening wrap;
she's hurried, lest the night finds her alone
and vulnerable to  Paris she's not known;
yet she's desirous of what couldn't hap.

The corner street lamps lend their halo'd light
grotesque in their own way, as if they might
leap out of time and drag her by the throat
and cast her down into a timeless moat,
where she would die alone 'for ends this night.

She clutches to her breasts, where minds go mad,
as if it's all the love they've ever had,
but she will cry all night, when she's alone
into the pillow love has never known,
and that's what makes her tale so very sad.

Her plea's for love, that doesn't have to end,
like only poets deem to comprehend,
but all she finds are bodies falling on
what she has sold from evening to the dawn,
and not a one could even be a friend.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Poem Details | by Gregory R Barden |
Categories: appreciation, autumn, kiss, paris, rain, romance, romantic love,

Red Umbrella

We stroll beneath the Eiffel Tower,
          Caught amidst an autumn shower,
               Just my petite amie and me,
     Snuggled warm and dampness-free.

Bound to hear true romance call,
          Close 'neath our crimson parasol -
               Her little dog takes shelter, too,
     (Chance for a stolen kiss-or-two).

Oh, blessed am I to be your fella,
          Your lips, bright as our red umbrella,
               Juicy fruits, fresh from the vine -
     Succulent when pressed to mine.

So, let the droplets dance and spatter,
          Sweet its song, that pitter-patter,
               The bubbles in our day's champagne..
     How wondrous, the rain!

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Red Umbrella" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.

Poem Details | by Maria Feliciano |
Categories: adventure, fantasy, inspiration, magic, paris,

One Night, One Love

As I await, for my Lover to come to meVisions of his kiss, feels me with ecstasyOur love will explode, volcanicallyEvery touch he bestows upon me, affects meSweet sensations, seduces meMy heart beats, rapidlyAs darkness begins to settle in, the stars are brightly shiningHurry my lover come home to me, I willingly, wait patientlyAt last, My lover is here next to meAs he caresses my entire bodyHis passionate kiss, captures my soul, I can not resistBound by his love, I give into, my lust, as we begin to make love, One Night, One Love. an etenal bliss, full of love, bestows heaven upon usOur love deepensWe have no regrets, Together at last, forever we will beA lovers bound,united usTogether and forever our love will grow stronger,never holding backOur passion explodes deeper, conquering usA web we have both spun, capturing our loveNow daylight has begun, The sun is brightly shiningI wake up in my lovers armsA new memory has just begunA memory, that bounded usAt last our love has bloomed magically We will forever be oneLoving each other,eternallyFrom One Night, One Love, that has freed our emotions, our lust and captured our hearts.

Poem Details | by Leo Larry Amadore |
Categories: art, dedication, devotion, history, life, love, paris, people,

Gertrude -- Gertie -- Gertrude Stein

-- Re:  Gertrude Stein and Alice BToklas, Rue de Fleurus #27, Paris --

What would Gertrude.What Gertrude.What, Gertie?Have thought.Have thought what
thought?Thought thought driving,forward,remorselessly.Remorseless Remorse?Forward.Never reverse;no reverse.No.No remorse.Remorseless,spurning reverse,seated.High!Seated high in Auntie.Then in Godiva seatedLooming.Enormous.
Looming enormous.Unsinister presenceCertain presence.Definite.Definitely not sinister Positively looming;enormous in brown.Brown,in brown corduroy,driving Paris.
In Paris,through Paris.Looming high in Paris in Godiva.With Alice, quiet beside her.
Quiet; always, Alice.Alice alwaysAnd zipping, about -- coming to Rue de Fleurus 27.
Zipping to Rue de Fleurus.To 27And Alice so able.Able Alice, each a.mtranscribing.Able Alice typing.Automatic Gertrude.Typing Gertrude.Great Gertrude.GeniusGertrude.Talking Gertrude.Genius talking.Great brown Gertrude;Gertie to Alice.
Absorbing, talking, buying art --- buying Matisse.Absorbing Matisse.Showing Matisse.Banishing Matisse.Selling Matisse,collecting Picasso.Great Gertrude -- genius Gertrude at court, holding court at Rue de Fleurus 27.And Leo.Gone Leo.No Leo at Rue de
Fleurus.Not at 27 After Leo, after MrStein, after brother Leo.But there was Alice.Alice
was there Among Braques.And Cezanne.(Not Matisse.)No longer Matisse, but Picasso.And Picassos, Picassos, Picassos!And Alice; alongside, was Alice.Next to, was Alice.Alice
next Gertrude,Gertie, G--- Gertrude, Miss SteinGenius Gertrude Stein Quiet Alice
always.And a great Gertrude.A great brown Gertrude.A leviathanA passing ship; a
great leviathan.Gertie, a genius.A hugeness.A shibboleth.But to Alice, just Gertie.

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: beautiful, love, paris, romance,

Little Paris

Petite Paris

A little love
A little kiss
A little death
In the arms of a lover

Un petit café
Along the Sienne
How I dream
How I wish for just a little

Of your love

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: love, music, paris, solitude,

Spring Waltz

Fragrances and bouquets
Morning dewdrops
The rising sun
Throwing promises
As Gaiety sings
Young lovers kissing 
As the rose buds bloom
Rain drops caressing
Memories floating
Past and present meld
In the coming of spring
A butterfly
Plays with my strings
Éclairs to savor
As eyes kiss eyes
I take hold of you
Dear spring
We twirl you and I
Young and old
Musical chairs 
Lovers wed and bed
I smile at the sweet scent
Cane in hand
Off I go
A blind man
Who waltzes in the spring

Poem Details | by Michael Smith |
Categories: relationship, romantic, summer, love, paris, summer,

A Somewhere Paris Cafe

A haze… 
Languorous oft in summer days 
Where sundrops drip 
From melting skies 
Onto city grind 
And parasols shade the cobbled grays

Across back alley lanes 
Trains and trolleys tip toe by 
As a fool in love forever waits 
Among a noon bistro Paris crowd 
For his girl, who is always fashionably late 
Outside a sidewalk somewhere café cityscape

Young beauties amidst a mid-day stroll 
Becomingly, become ever respectively 
The flowers that line the picket way 
Or some frilly prize ponies 
Beneath carousels about avenues of Torrid place

A testament to this… 
The carriage horses that turn their whiny heads 
And then, when I turn mine 
It’s to witness boots of cavalier instead 
That step to one side 
For moments languor has left 
As my own prize has made red carpets rise

Those flutter lashes like shotguns glint blasts 
And soon the white dove makes its notorious descent 
Where the gentlemen, unbeknownst to them, become like minded ruffians 
As they dive into madness for her precious handkerchief

“Oh” this women of mine, she has her perculiar ways 
Just like all the silly rest 
My damsel mademoiselle never enters into throes of distress 
Longer lace invites mischievous about a button down dress
And her kisses offer smiles and arduent waves 
With utter love contempt to them, but my hand is her biggest praise

I guess it’s the thrill of the game 
And she’s the tigress and I her willful prey 
Opening up the Gazette, coffee I incredulous sip and purposely hide my face 
As my sweet flora strolls my way
And lands into her lover's arms
In a somewhere summer Paris afternoon café

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: art, black african american, death, dedication, depression, fantasy, friendship, loss, lost love, love, mystery, romance, life, love, paris,

The Death Of Marie Antoinette

Songwriters set their words about her style
and artists make pursuit to paint her smile
but all the light that's Paris, shows,
her heart and soul to only those
who come to fall in love for just while.

But knowing this, my wondering still lies
as I recall Marie, her face,her eyes,
and she is just a memory
though what I'd have to always be,
if time was mine and not a thing that flies.

I trace my blood and line of ancestry
down through some troubled times of history
or is it that I've journeyed long
from when my life went all so wrong
but it's so far removed, my mind can't see?

These questions rake my mind and leave me cold,
Am I my father who's still growing old;
and who is she, to go away
to deju vu--to yesterday,
or has she layed our love to times' unfold?

I guess I'll find her on Champs Elysees,
or in the Champ de Mars, where children play
or where one day the guillotine
cut life away, and cut it clean,
but this is now, and that was yesterday.

O! I would lay my neck under the blade;
if there would ever be a diff'rence made
to end the pain she left in me
and stop the love for my Marie
but love--this love for her can never fade.

And so, as other loves they come and go,
as Paris says, and Paris makes it so,
I wait and wander by the Seine
but know not where, and know not when,
for love of my Marie, she'll come, I know.
© RON WILSON aka vee bdosa

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: absence, gothic, heart, introspection, love, passion, romantic,


Paris is where old lovers die
In cafes sipping memories
Lost loves like cream in espresso
Slowly fading, getting frigid in time
As I walk along the seine
I hold hands with the ghosts
Of times long ago
I take the metro to tomorrow
At Sacres Cœur my heart shall lie
With the memories
Of a lost love
Even she was a dream
A vision of what I desired
We sat in a bistro smelling spring air
We were lovers laughing with lovers
We thought this was all our life
This cinema plays in my mind
The windmills of life blow me away
To gardens green and deluxe
I shall play chess with old men now
Fountains flow with reminiscent desires
Of those foolish enough to dream
As I once had
I wished upon a star
I wander at midnight in Paris
Wishing for a painting
To come to life

The black painting of desire

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: gothic, imagery, introspection, paris, philosophy, sad love,

Lady of Paris

Into the night I marched
Into deaths grip I fell

Musical notes running after me
Violins weeping afterwards

Stars fading into matter
Nothing matters without love

Lights shine over there
Can I reach or do I dare?

I can’t get out of this repressive chair
I can’t stand the people whom stare

My mind is all wrapped in shrouds
Hiding within the skies dark clouds

My smiles stolen by royalty golden
Now my tears flow as I weep

Is there any hope to keep?
Or am I doomed to deaths grip so deep

Gargoyles yelping for their fare
Me, dangling from the air

Aurore are you there?............

Poem Details | by Milan Georges Burovac |
Categories: desire, fairy, first love, innocence, miracle, paris, truth,

Heart of Paris

I am from another galaxy 
all a romance in the heart of Paris 
all a mystery without desire 
all a lost phantasm 
all a film of being 
where art is in the spiritual thread 
so that every love to be eternal

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: abuse, history, paris,

Secret Love of Marie Antoinette

The raving of last night is everywhere,
she hopes in candle-light; she sets her hair,
while Paris lulls to sleep, the storm goes on
more promises to keep, before the dawn.

More lightning gloats her room, she shakes her head,
and thunderous, the gloom would raise the dead;
in shadows from the sound, where devils wait,
she feels them all around, but it is late;

and so she puts aside her greatest fear,
the feeling someone's died, and very near.
he sees her in the glow and flashing light,
from where she does not knowHe waits tonight,

behind her closing door, he's never seen,
he waits to love her with his guillotine
so beautiful in dreams he's always known
her look not what it seems, but his alone.

He's put her in his head, his mortal sin,
her love is just as dead as he has been
all of his life and time, eternally,
and love can't be a crime, if meant to be.
© ron wilson aka ron arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Poem Details | by David Aaron |
Categories: humor, i love you, metaphor, nostalgia, pain, paris, wife,

Twenty five

Paris gave us much
from romance to this plaster
white Eiffel Tower

Poem Details | by Milan Georges Burovac |
Categories: addiction, adventure, america, desire, funny love, i love you, paris,

Paris forever

choose this sun
you will have the body
I will be your skin

your city elsewhere
Paris I tell to him

here with me
Paris forever

us - bread and wine
us - street and air

Paris our love

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: art, flower, french, heart, lost love, paris, seasons,

Aurore Jaquinot

Aurore velvet desires stare captivated I linger thoughts cultivated in a wine glass can I drink her?

Poem Details | by Jerry Golden |
Categories: adventure, art, life, lost love, music, people, song-autumn, life, love, paris,

paris by night

this morning is falling burning into a sunset an autumn decision you and I will never forget joy by day paris by night i'm there love by the hour Paris is ours evening breeds new life a moment of twilight a horizon of heavenly means I love you like life loves itself joy by day paris by night yes dear i'm there love me by the hour and paris is ours i'm down too often like a child awaiting his scars to soften hopelessly a pedestrian walking a way from traffic it could happen, indefinitely i'll take paris by day and love by night i was there long enough to love you by day and surrender by nightfall "there is joy by day if you can take paris by nightfall"

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: beauty, desire, dream, lost love, paris,

Parisienne Night

   MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - Parisienne Dream
Quite suddenly you've fallen through the seams
from very life, to stroll here by the Seine,
dropped from reality into my dreams
where you've loved me forever now and then.

You taste the fragrance of Parisienne night
and hear the distant singing all too clear,
it's just a dying nymph, in her delight,
one of the dead who knows her death is here.

Be as it may, your love tries not to speak,
as we enjoy the streetlamps' shadowings,
I press you to the stone and kiss your cheek,
and you can feel the sorrow midnight brings;

you echo words that concertina's say
only at night when love has lost her way.

My searching leads to parting of your hair,
as gentle hands reveal a neck too white,
and you can feel the pain, it lingers where;
I've set my teeth, and then you feel the bite,

and there I nurse, your suckling tiny child,
of blood and life, the nourishment I crave;
that keeps me seeking you, but drives me wild;
and makes me civilized, but mis-behave.

In your surprise, your feigning now and then,,
expecting sex; this is no mere foreplay;
you go beyond the limits of the Seine,
to yet another dream that will not stay.

Your struggle to reality is brief,
and you succomb into my time of grief.

The draining of your love into my own
is secondary to the love you take,
you'll fall from here, back to the life you've known
and that's the choice you have, it's yours to make;

you'll waken in the night and you'll forget;
safe in your bed, your pensione's gloom,
but on your neck, the trace of blood and sweat
leads you to feel each shadow of your room.

Remembering the locking of our eyes,
that made you cross the line into the dead,
will make you cry, but never realize,
that where you've been lies hidden in your head.

One day, you'll meet a boy I cannot be, 
but making love to him, you're making love to me.
© Ron Arbuthnot.

Poem Details | by Shanity Rain |
Categories: beautiful, beauty, best friend, caregiving, childhood, courage, feelings, for her, growing up, heart, how i feel, i love you, inspirational, journey, little sister, love, miss you, november, paris, relationship,


                    Michelle ~
                        my sister we have been through life suffered loss
                 you making conscience effort to make amends for past

                         Je Taime Cheri  ~
                    my sister finding her own path without orders 
                 never have I left your side knowing in time you will see

                             so proud to be called yours 
                    Michelle ~my sister
               Loving you always unconditionally 

              we all stubble and fall on this ridged road 
                      Michelle I love you 
                                    not enough told ~

Poem Details | by Robert Black |
Categories: death, fire, flower, french, love, paris, romance,

Scorpio Snake

I was born
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing
In a circle of fire
As the bottles shatter
I see a handsome man
Outside the fleuriste
Giving a fresh bouquet of flowers
To a young smiling beauty
Of the silent sobs
From the plants
Decapitated for colour
Euthanized for endeavour 
In the city of love
And romance
As I go back
The Parisian sun
Appears from behind
The grey clouds
Warming my skin
Before it is shed
And gifted
To the night
Once again

Poem Details | by PEDROS FERNANDES |
Categories: beauty, children, i love you, paris,


Daniel JR search where do the wind goes 
Well you do
I want a kiss from you 
Twice softly and sweetly Mon Amour 
How will your father coquettishly do  
Came in if you have a chance, something pops up- thanks for trying
Cabs are yellow silver and blue
White Grey as your Eyes
Be good no lies
Us is Us 
Yours Heart Mine Is 
There's no fines for
only in mailing
I am stuck on thy beauty
and classy Catherine SR nurturing 
All Lucky

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: lost love, paris,

Young Love In Paris

I wander down each dark, forgotten street,
some not a lamp be lit to show the way
the very heart of Paris--at my feet,
where lovers go to hide from light of day

and still your love it follows me until,
my very heart is crushed by all the pain
just watching lovers have and take their fill
of flesh and joy of loving once again;

the sounds of love come closing in on me
from out the dark--they breath into my mind
reminders of the way we used to be
when Paris wasn't just a dream to find;

  I'll make believe--some girl is you--and then
   continue searching for the way we've been.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown poet

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: allusion, beauty, lost love, paris,


     MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE for love of Marie Antoinette
Songwriters set their words about her style
and artists make pursuit to paint her smile
but all the light that's Paris, shows,
her heart and soul to only those
who come to fall in love for just while.

But knowing this, my wondering still lies
as I recall Marie, her face,her eyes,
and she is just a memory
though what I'd have to always be,
if time was mine and not a thing that flies.

I trace my blood and line of ancestry
down through some troubled times of history
or is it that I've journeyed long
from when my life went all so wrong
but it's so far removed, my mind can't see?

These questions rake my mind and leave me cold,
Am I my father who's still growing old;
and who is she, to go away
to deju vu--to yesterday,
or has she layed our love to times' unfold?

I guess I'll find her on Champs Elysees,
or in the Champ de Mars, where children play
or where one day the guillotine
cut life away, and cut it clean,
but this is now, and that was yesterday.

O! I would lay my neck under the blade;
if there would ever be a diff'rence made
to end the pain she left in me
and stop the love for my Marie
but love--this love for her can never fade.

And so, as other loves they come and go,
as Paris says, and Paris makes it so,
I wait and wander by the Seine
but know not where, and know not when,
for love of my Marie, she'll come, I know.
© Ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Poem Details | by Edlynn Nau |
Categories: dedication, grief, love, paris,



The Avalanche 
Of Bullets in France,
I held My red sore heart 
In both My handsThe darkest shadows were questioned...
What Shall We do now? 
Amour Vous les uns les autres plus.
You love Each other more
Plus D'amour.
More Love

-Edlynn Nau

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: art, dream, heart, longing, love, paris, romantic,

Love Letter

I do not know her
I daydream of her
who writes me love letters

Poem Details | by arthur vaso |
Categories: art, integrity, paris, philosophy, religious, spiritual, wisdom,

Act of Love

Act of Love

Cain and Abel
no love lost
the bible
filled with blood
where is love?

White doves flies high
mocking those who preach
fields sowed in hate
at the acropolis

History repeats
the reaper has many followers
flying religious flags 
bow and arrows ready in
anger, yet still their blood weeps

Black flocks of the orthodox
abusing children sweet
evil in candy colors
tastes sour yet pastries they shall tempt
In darkness, all the gods hold contempt

Beware the man luring with flowers
seeking the unholy
havoc on the generations
the universe will build for him
his very own black hole

believe in love without gods power
the universe is 
the garden of good and evil
twisting inside atoms and eve
able is the scientific mind

Poem Details | by Julie Smith |
Categories: beautiful, cute love, happy, paris, romantic, summer, sweet,

Because of you

In a little street café
Summer's ending, fall begins
Paris, the best place to be
Because of you and nothing else

Poem Details | by Milan Georges Burovac |
Categories: beautiful, beauty, celebrity, fashion, love, muse, paris,

The great Parisian model

to a sweet navel of glutinous oracle
sticks the fairytale makeup
because the model caressed the tree
since the model recognizes the apple
as the model eats the grass
a carrot from Hollywood paradise
a green salad with organic smelly

Poem Details | by Nileisha Giselle Deliz Diana |
Categories: feelings, flower, garden, girl, life, love, paris,

Sophie's Garden

In a lost garden afar from Paris
Only known by its young guardian

Hands playing through the tall grass
And fingers tracing by its nature

Surrounded by pink and red flowers
There stood the young woman, Sophie

Naturally pretty in her white, flowery dress
The wind blowing her long, beautiful hair

Her bare feet touching the soft, tender grass
And her eyes looked at the open, great lands

Soft, pink skies from the sunset
And its yellow rays of the young sun

This brought an eternal youth from the light
And from the mysterious magic of Sophie

Butterfly perched on her delicate finger
Sophie's eyes is filled with wonder

Fly away, young and beautiful butterfly
At least you'll be happy and free!

The pink and red flowers of all kinds
Will forever be protected through Sophie's kindness

Whether filled with happiness or sadness
She will carefully tend by her smiles and tears

May the smiles from Sophie be like the sun
So the pink flowers will sing for her sweet, hopeful memories

And may the tears from Sophie be like the rain
So the red flowers by like the invisible blood from her heartbroken pain

One day, true love will cross her destined life
But this faraway garden of Paris, it's all Sophie will now have

Oh, dear and sweet Sophie...
This lost garden forever be your life!

Even you're its ever only guardian...
Let the flowers of life be your guide!

Poem Details | by Vee Bdosa |
Categories: life, true love, youth,

Girl of Paris at Champ de Mars

Beneath the girds of steel, rising to the sky;
where tourists go to watch the world go by;
the children come to play, and lovers walk
through myriads of life and idle talk,

this is the Champ de Mars where Paris goes
to show that side of life that only Paris shows,
with donkey rides and jugglers all for fun
where you'll forget a love, or meet someone

A troubadour will sing her memory
so you'll forget tomorrow has to be,
and people watching is the thing in style,
each painted face, each heartbreak, every smile.

Where madamoiselle forgets what she must wear
throws caution to the wind, lets down her hair
an orange blouse, and skin tight yellow hose,
she shows the world someone it never knows.

She's looking for that locking of her eyes
and touching of her heart, as time it flies,
and someone she has known, but never met,
the first kiss of her life she'll not forget.

And Paris knows, yes Paris knows what's real
the love she comes to know and love and feel
it never will leave her, as time goes by
and she will think on it, many times, and cry.
© RON Wilson Arbuthnot 
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet