Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as six poetry collections.
Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print).
She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. ‘Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders?’ (Kelsay Books July 2022) and ‘Whistling in the Dark’ (Taj Mahal Publishing House July 2022), are both available on Amazon.
I love Paris
We can’t write about the moon.
It’s been done.
Can we still mention soft summer nights
pierced by the cicadas’ insistent
call for sex? The smell of wet earth—
is it still acceptable in a poem?
And worse—to come full circle—
we used to visit Paris April… May,
when blossoms tumbled, loosened by sharp
spring winds and delighted us with architecture,
eclairs, Les Deux Maggots and the horse-drawn
carriage in which we used to hold
hands in the Bois de Boulogne.
The pharaoh’s dream:
seven ears of corn
blasted by the east wind.
Moses summons the east wind
to bring the locusts
and to part the Red Sea.
The east wind.
Destruction of the wicked
called forth by God himself.
Mary Poppins arrives
carried by the east wind
and will stay
‘until the wind changes.’
Sherlock: ‘There’s an east wind coming, Watson.’
‘You left the East Wind to me,’ said Gimli,
‘but I will say naught of it.’
‘That is as it should be,’ says Aragorn.
‘In Minas Tirith they endure the East Wind,
but they do not ask it for tidings…’
In ‘Bleak House’, Mr Jarndyce:
‘I am always conscious of an uncomfortable
sensation now and then
when the wind is blowing in the east.”
Genghis Khan: the east wind
that changed the map of the world.