may we all be heard
words are bells
let them ring!

Thom World Poet Austin, Texas, USA
Global Radical networker and activist for promoting the live Creative Arts,
at every possible opportunity, especially in his home-city, Austin, Texas, USA

Sunday, September 11, 2011


Enter via Eurotunnel(Folkestone-lined up and security checked
Drive in to a double storey air conditioned carriage
each containing five cars parked snugly together
Directions are given via information LED-
20 minutes later we see Calais.
Sortie(EXIT)A16 to Boulogne on "The Opale Coast"
Sweet sea town with a one way system.
We seek her mysteries.Park and walk.

Was it her visual feast or the sweet aromas of treats
that led us in to the French lettered display of cakes
Baguettes later,filledwith crab,ham,cheese
with desserts Pan des cholate and Swiss
we are given a gift of croissants/as welcome
Smiles for the digital camera.A sit down feast
Every corner offers brioche,glace,tarte,pan chocolate-
aromas invite us inside.The smell of real cofffee calls-
rich as Croesus,the best of Gourmandie inside us.

Art is everywhere-sculpturesof sports figures on the A16
Verdigris green bronze statues of French Academy members
still standing in free flowing French fountains
Avenues named for Victor Hugo.Napoleon survives
as Rue de Napoleon(and we do!)-finding two centimes shining
yet the art we love and are most involved in is green-
one giant aubergine standiing ina roundabout tall and curved
Later,we seek the leek that lurks/those mushrooms that sprout
in public spaces where cars must adore them
Lifeis too fast to photograph/mere memories remain
Our love for food and art is sculptural
Call me-aubergine!

Thin streets .We park and walk/window shop
Perambulate past astonishing displays of art
buy only the basic essentials-
a Chinese fur horse with a knobbly knee
One pop gun with no pops
Cereal for the French milk morning
Chips for a bus shelter feast
Water to wash all these treats down
We seek the sea(the tide is out-
we walk to the water/on sand as solid as history
Hope loves the sea.She takes her shoes and socks off
and paddles to infinity

Hope asks as we see tiny fish and secret crabs
in the clear rock pools(rocks and sand surrounding)
Net men with their children are harvesting the retreating waves
for moules(mussels),flatfish,cockles,razor clams
As the tide comes in ,we retreat away
One huge cauliflower cloud overshadows
Wimereaux hotels and skyline.We sit on rocks
and dream ofhere as home.Night is coming.
We must find the tent.Temporary as tomorrow
We still have tonight!

FRENCH MOVIES(Les Guerrres est finie)
A fist fight erupts upon the streets of Wimereaux
We are watching from a five fist distance
One man,agitated,seeks another
as a lover(lost,angry) Alcohol?or just an argument?
The recipient judo kicks the punchdrunk
Women scream.Men separate the lovers.
Even dragged away,he must return-
a lesson to learn in the back of a van
full of le flic with witnesses in French
writing statemenst of slander.This moveie
camein colours of bruises-nothing black nor white
With no subtitles nor translation.

At Reception,she is laughing at me
when i ask for a discount for free humour
dispensed generously upon arrival
Her husband as flat as a blackcoffee
He sees only work and morbidity
She giggles like a little schoolgirl
when i asked "who killed your Indians?"
This is a theme camping park with tipis
and a huge cigar store Indian standing tall
like an accusation at the entrance
We all feel at home here(FRONTIERLAND!-
L'ete Indian Caravaning-like pioneers in a foreign land
We speak little French/laughter the boat
with so many passengers/defying translation.

TENT VS WIND & RAIN(French Indians)
It was blue calm when we arrived-
we had seen tipis on the horizon
swerved in circles towards them
went in to the Offfice(INQUISITION)
asked for a site for the evening
Passport,license,ID and 34 Euros later
Lot 121 on a grassy knoll our campsite
The tent is blue and moderrn,we are ancients
The bed is air inflated,we are the foot pumpers
The day is warm and we must set up settlement
before impending clouds bring in wind and generous rain
By miracle and black cat distraction,the tent is now diagonal
One side shelters mother and daughter
the otherfather and son.Between these,this snoring poem
We are by battery light beseiged by rain andnight
A gentle symphony of snores will soon zip these
adventures into one we will share for ever more
before the dawn...

In the blue tent(which is a chanber of laughter)
Max discovers a daddy longlegs
Hope discovers a moth in full flight
Previously,a black kitten with several exotic diseases
A tabby cat with a wobbly leg/both of which were freely bequeathed
by the camping establishment to anyone foolish enough
to feed them jambon and let them rest upon their sleeping bags
So the Boulange Camping Circushad now a managerie
ofimaginary spiders,migratory moths,oneblackkitten with exoticdiseases
one tabby cat with a wonky leg/2 smiling children dreaming of rescue
under the rain that stayed and played upon the tent
where a family dreamed Boulonge French dreams
imported from England..

Wissant-along the Coastal Road by morning
we made our way to Calais-stopped
by joggers and wads of walkers country hopping
Concrete poetry bunkers fromWorld War2
still remembered German eyes/while we
saw only digital camera witnesses to history
Ahain we stopped and shopped and walked
in a pilgrimage for coffee /past flowers and sculptures
and gardens that beamed Sunday.
We found our Eurotunnel way -dreamed home
Folkestone,Lyminge,Kent,Sunday September 11,2011

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