Notre-Dame de Paris
Notre-Dame de Paris, also known as Notre-Dame Cathedral or simply Notre-Dame, is a historic Catholic cathedral on the eastern half of the Île de la Cité in the fourth arrondissement (district) of Paris, France. The cathedral is widely considered to be one of the finest examples of French Gothic architecture, and it is among the largest and most well-known church buildings in the world. The naturalism of its sculptures and stained glass are in contrast with earlier Romanesque architecture.
Notre-Dame de Paris was among the first buildings in the world to use the flying buttress (arched exterior supports). Many small individually crafted statues were placed around the outside to serve as column supports and water spouts. Among these are the famous gargoyles, designed for water run-off, and chimeras. The statues were originally colored as was most of the exterior. The paint has worn off, but the gray stone was once covered with vivid colors.
We return to Paris to visit another iconic location. Let the muse use this location as its inspiration. The architecture, the location, the gargoyles, even the bell towers (Yes, Quasimodo Lives!) are fair game.
Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild 
Te link is to my rambling account of a day trip to Paris with my son and grandson, three years ago, https://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/07/14/more-paris/ .
The first time I saw Paris, when said son was 15, it was freezing cold and we sat over a hot air vent in Notre Dame, and the second time was with my new husband, one freezing February and the same hot air vent was enjoyed. I had flu.
There followed many visits for seminars and exams while I was studying for my Open University degree, but those two first trips stand out in my memory.
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What a delightful journey. Thank you.
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Very nice: i loved the layers of experience revealing age, time, changes… And all the things that never change. Kids! Le sigh.
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July 23 – Notre Dame
Honorable Mention
Man’s attempt to glorify God
Through architectural wonders
Causes pause to worldly eyes
Yet purpose meaninglessly lost
The designers get the accolades
History ensures their notoriety
Most designers on the other hand
Did not do it for self or fame
But to glorify the One True God
Who may get honorable mention
Or no mention at all
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What If?
I’ve been alone
in large church buildings
at night
and I know
how creepy it can be.
What would it be like
to be locked up
in Notre Dame Cathedral
on a quiet
moonlit night?
The creaks, the statues,
the stained-glass shadows.
Would one
start believing
in ghosts?
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yes, i think so! oooh, what a spooky, unexpected take. beautiful.
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NOTRE DAME DE PARIS
When it was built,
most of Paris lived on the island;
when it was built,
the people of Paris built it
over the years,
over the decades,
over the centuries.
When it was built,
it was a cathedral,
a church,
a sanctuary,
a home.
When it was built,
it stood over all the huts on the island,
reaching for heaven
so that Our Lady might smile on it;
standing over the homes and people of Paris
so that Our Lady might smile on them,
for it was built at a time when
a church was the people’s house.
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Paris.
I was there.
The rain-sleeked
streets never dried,
staining the city steel.
–
[I interrupt this poem to thank y’all for the fantastic prompt and excellent responses. I humbly add mine to the list (first time submitting here, though I’ve been browsing for months). Cheers! -Sweeper of Dreams]
–
(When the rain silvered more,
you could have taken it for
Granite. Glinting in the street lamps,
glittering through the fogged
net where cigarette smoke
settles to socialize and sense
the dull sharpening of the world.)
I loved steel.
I loved the streets,
small dog shits and all.
I loved fumbling through
Desolees and Parlez-vous Anglais?
I really loved the way the
lined, lean men gobbled me up
with famished eyes. Nobody owned me;
I braced, I softened.
Brazened.
The rose window of Notre Dame
watched me come and go. Watched the men,
the dogs, the rain, the streets, blanketing us
with shards of appraisal. Rainbows.
They gave me the creeps. Guilt, or something.
I hid from her, sliding round the curves
of the beetle-green Metra pole,
down into the absinthe hole,
I hid from her, my Rose. I hid from her in Paris,
from her glances there, from all shades of them.
Green.
Later, I would find salvation jaune at
Notre Dame de la Garde. But that is an
otro conversation, altogether, one for
the sun-burnt squeaky café tables
tucked round the docks in Marseilles,
between the abandon of Paris and the peacocks of Barcelona.
Stick to the story – C’est la vie.
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On Gargoyles
Why sculpt ugly animals
just to rid a building
of water? Why not
an angel whose wings
would divert water
from walls of building,
even structures
of complexity,
like Notre Dame.
Since it was built
as a Catholic school,
angels would be preferable
to demons. Chimeras
make me shiver.
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[…] for Phoenix Rising, Day 23 Image from Flickr Commons-00: No restrictions, no limitations. Cornell University Library Digital […]
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[…] PHOENIX RISING JULY P.A.D. TRAVELOG – DESTINATION: POETRY (NOTRE DAME de PARIS CATHEDRAL) […]
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THE BELL’S SANCTUARY
They sit silent.
Looking down upon Paris
like the many stone sentinels who sit
perched along the high pitched walls.
The sanctuary offered is embraced,
a hiding place from whence their song emanate.
The deformed bellman lives no more,
the score as written does not play.
There is no song today;
the bells hide away.
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