The Streetlamp in Paris, Near Passage Dauphine

Tonight, a glint from rain reflects

your lonely lilt of light, diffused

in pearl-like half-dream,

on a single street violinist

who serenades you

with Massenet’s Meditation.

A blackbird’s flight stirs your glow

of peaceful rays like a wandering

prayer or contemplation,

and casts a Dracula shadow

on dewy cobbles—lifeless stone,

centuries old, older than the song,

the man, and the women

who bore him and his fathers.

Your black iron column stands

oblivious to leanings

of waiting beaus, or scents of dogs

who sign your visitor’s book.

Four glassy eyes follow

dingy ginnels and peer

into nightwrapped bedrooms

where sleeping couples wrap

around each other and children

wait for tooth fairies; along pitted

and potted walls of empty

artisan shops put to bed

until morning; along last threads

of sinewy smoke from dying

fires left by parents

too exhausted to wait

for adolescent children

who lean on lamp posts kissing,

smoking, testing limits

under your watchful eyes—

the lantern, illuminating

never telling.

*****

Thank you for spending a moment with my words. If you like the way I play with letters from the alphabet, I would be honoured to have you as my guest, on my profile, where you can read whatever takes your fancy.

Teresa Renton has a first-class degree in English Linguistics and Language Creativity. Her work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Ink in Thirds, Flash Fiction Magazine, Across the Margin, Stick Figure Poetry, 101 Words, and elsewhere. She has recently been a finalist in Women on Writing’s Autumn ‘25 flash fiction competition.

Here’s a recent flash fiction of mine:

and a recent winning poem:

Once again, if you've got this far, I thank you for reading my work.