I only like boutiques.
quote by Jane Birkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Mystiques: Amor Omnia Vincit
He peeks
she physiques
beaut... ekes.
Miss tweaks.
She seeks,
he techniques
boutiques.
They cheek to cheek.
He speaks...
it creaks
her creeks
He streaks,
She shrieks
He peaks.
For weeks
She knows
He sows
She glows,
He flows
She checks,
He checks,
Check-mate sex.
He peeks
She seeks
They cheek to cheek...
She checks his cheques.
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dans Paris
The beauty of a city
the breathtaking
awe-inspiring
captivating
somewhat magical Parisian charm
Paris captures the hearts of those who step into its glossy boutiques and cafes
Just as a beautiful and sensuous seductress ensnares her defenceless prey
The star-studded Eiffel Tower in all its glory
shining like a beacon of fire across the Parisian night sky
Taking a walk along the breezy boulevard of the Champs Elysees
The romantic artists painting their subjects on Montmartres's quaint streets and alleys
The sun sets over the Seine and the City of Lights comes to life
poem by Salwa Nuseiba
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tokyo Touch
(dedicated to people who love Tokyo)
harajuku
base ball
tea ceremony
cherry blossoms
shopping mecca
the neon lights
obsession
attraction
subwaywhirlwind
another planet
underground world
The Yoyogi Park
the grassy areas
street performers
everyone ends up
the food stalls
dancers, artists
massive garden
traditional temples
east meets west
mixed district
the nightlife
Roppongi
the clubs
restaurants
bars, cafes
Tokyo Dome
powerful
modern
eclectic
fas hion
Ginza Tower
Prada building
Boutiques Bulgari
Armani Ristorante
(inspired by Utada Hikaru's songs)
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I’m The Happiest Man Alive
I always find myself laughing
In the hour of marvelous confusion
Walking somewhere in the sunlight
With no real destination
Celebrating my beautiful disorientation.
Excitement fills my heart
With everyone woman I see
With her divine hair kissing her shoulders
And her long skirt
Flirting with her ankles.
I’m thankful for the windows of my eyes
Ceaselessly falling in love
With some elegant stranger
Whom I’d make love to right in the street
If she had the willingness and the time
And if a cop wouldn’t arrest us!
I’m prepared for every judgment,
Sentence me to this delirious insanity! !
Gazing into sidewalk windows
Of fashionable women’s shoe boutiques
And fainting at the sight
Of lovely sandaled feet! !
There are decadent sweet days
When I’m the happiest man alive,
I may throw away my long face
And smile for eternity! !
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every Woman Who Dresses Like You
Like King David’s bed,
My bed is swimming with tears,
The not seeing you down these lonely years
Of heartbreak and multiplying fears;
I’m dreaming of you, simply dreaming of you,
But these dreams are merely
A disappointing substitute.
I breathe your perfume in fashionable boutiques,
I gaze at bouquets you would have adored at floral shops,
I notice every woman who dresses like you
Of a certain age and height,
I imagine they’re you, I pray they’re you,
But it is all a mind device to console me.
I’ve been fasting in this emotional desert,
I’m losing my strength and my real essence,
I’m wasting away with such a hunger
To see the world through your eyes,
To watch your hair flirt with the sunlight,
To touch your hands in a theater or church pew,
To live my life entwined with you.
Everything is difficult now,
Sleep has flown away like a bird,
I remain awake in the pale moonlight
That has disowned me as a lover
And frowns at my presence in the night.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Anyone For Tennis
By eric clapton and martin sharp
Twice upon a time in the valley of the tears
An auctioneer is bidding for a box of fading years
And the elephants are dancing on the graves of squealing mice.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
And the ice creams are all melting on the streets of bloody beer
While the beggars stain the pavements with flourescent christmas cheer
And the bentley-driving guru is putting up his price.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
And the prophets in the boutiques give out messages of hope
With jingle bells and fairy tales and blind colliding scopes
And you can tell theyre all the same underneath the pretty lies.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
The yellow buddhist monk is burning brightly at the zoo
You can bring a bowl of rice and then a glass of water too
And fate is setting up the chessboard while death rolls out the dice.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anyone For Tennis
By eric clapton and martin sharp
Twice upon a time in the valley of the tears
An auctioneer is bidding for a box of fading years
And the elephants are dancing on the graves of squealing mice.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
And the ice creams are all melting on the streets of bloody beer
While the beggars stain the pavements with flourescent christmas cheer
And the bentley-driving guru is putting up his price.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
And the prophets in the boutiques give out messages of hope
With jingle bells and fairy tales and blind colliding scopes
And you can tell theyre all the same underneath the pretty lies.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
The yellow buddhist monk is burning brightly at the zoo
You can bring a bowl of rice and then a glass of water too
And fate is setting up the chessboard while death rolls out the dice.
Anyone for tennis, wouldnt that be nice?
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dedicated Follower Of Fashion
They seek him here, they seek him there,
His clothes are loud, but never square.
It will make or break him so hes got to buy the best,
cause hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
And when he does his little rounds,
round the boutiques of london town,
Eagerly pursuing all the latest fads and trends,
cause hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
Oh yes he is (oh yes he is), oh yes he is (oh yes he is).
He thinks he is a flower to be looked at,
And when he pulls his frilly nylon panties right up tight,
He feels a dedicated follower of fashion.
Oh yes he is (oh yes he is), oh yes he is (oh yes he is).
Theres one thing that he loves and that is flattery.
One week hes in polka-dots, the next week he is in stripes.
cause hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
They seek him here, they seek him there,
In regent street and leicester square.
Everywhere the carnabetian army marches on,
Each one an dedicated follower of fashion.
Oh yes he is (oh yes he is), oh yes he is (oh yes he is).
His world is built round discoteques and parties.
This pleasure-seeking individual always looks his best
cause hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
Oh yes he is (oh yes he is), oh yes he is (oh yes he is).
He flits from shop to shop just like a butterfly.
In matters of the cloth he is as fickle as can be,
cause hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
Hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
Hes a dedicated follower of fashion.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Match Of The Day
Released on spot the pigeon e.p., 1977.
Theres the reds and theres the greens
Super slicks and has beens,
Theyre accompanied by three men dressed in black,
Ones a whistle, two are flags, and quite often theyre the drags
Kick the ball into the goal, they put it back.
Yes match of the days
The only way, to spend your saturday
Each sides eleven men, with numbers on their backs
But at a distance they all tend to look the same
But some own their boutiques, well they clean up every week
Inciting riots, causing chaos, such a shame!
But match of the days
The only way
We spend our saturday
And thats not all, our mates the keepers
Slippin and sliding in the mud
Arms as long as creepers
Send him off ref ***!!++? ?
Where are your specs ref +++***!!!
Kick you to death ref !!xx**? ?
Oi! are you deaf ref x*+x*!!?
Theres a few things before we go
That I think you ought to know
Obstruction, body checking, heavy tackles
So put on your hat and scarf
Have a drink, have a larf
From the terrace you can see your men do battle
Yes match of the days
The only way
You can spend your saturday
Dont forget, the trainers with their sponges
Managers with open cheques, liquid business lunches
Send im off ref ***!!++? ?
Where are your specs ref !***&&&!!!
Kick you to death ref !!xx**? ?
Oi! are you deaf ref x&+x&+!!?
...phfff! good game ey, ron? ...
...dyou see that goal in the second half? oh!...
...bit of a dirty tackle that, mate!...
...i reckon I shouldve had a bet on it myself!...
...we paid 400, 000 pound for him, you realise that? ...
...oh - look out, here comes a bottle ...
...yes, fancy a pint then? my round...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home, Sweet Home
HOME, SWEET HOME
The rusty radiator leaks,
paint peals in sodden streaks,
sharp mouse, beneath bleak floorboards, squeaks,
the end result just reeks!
Warped window panes, if not antiques,
are holey, front door creaks,
we’re far too far from chic boutiques,
unknown are arab sheiks.
The port side neighbour seldom speaks
to cliques to starboard, piques
between old hippies and poor geeks
seem standard stress techniques.
Their frequent quarrels rise to shrieks,
as each one 'justice seeks'.
I haven't lived here many weeks,
Warm rooms elsewhere lost soul now seeks.
21 June 1975 revised 22 February 2009
robi03_0096_robi03_0000 WXX_JXX
for previous version see below
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
HOME, SWEET HOME
The rusty radiator leaks,
paint peals in sodden streaks,
a mouse, beneath the floorboards, squeaks,
the end result just reeks!
The neighbours' quarrels rise to shrieks,
as each one 'justice seeks'.
I haven't lived here many weeks,
Warm rooms elsewhere my soul now seeks.
21 June 1975
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Alright (feat. Sean Paul)
[Verse 1]
Uh, Uh, Uh
Baby girl
You know my situation
And sometimes I know you get impatient
But you don't put on a show to get ovations
Take it to court and go through litagations
And I respect you gangsta
Treat you like a princess
And put something on your neck to thank you
She's my pinch hitter
When the startin lineup ain't playin right
I come off the bench with her
It might sound like I'm gassin you
But it take time to get from the back seat to the passenger
We been creepin and sneakin
Just to keep it from leakin
We so deep in our freakin
That we don't sleep on the weekend
Wifey's a little bit uptight
Wonderin why I keep coming home in the middle of the night
It'll be alright if y'all bump heads it'll be a fight
But I said it'll be alright
[Chorus]
I really wanna be with you (be with you)
But I gotta be real with you (real with you)
I can't leave you alone (no)
And I know I'll live in wrong
But I can't let you go
You're the one I want in my life (want in my life)
I already got a wife (got a wife)
I can't leave you alone (no)
And I know I'll live in wrong
But I can't let you go
[Verse 2]
You ain't never step out of line
Or get out a pocket
So I made sure canary sent out your locket
To protect you I'll get out and cock it
And you know the barrel of my gun is big enough to spit out a rocket
Oh, you gone play dumb if cops do come through
I gotta keep the top up if my drop do come through
But I know the boutiques and the shops you run through
So I cop her one and cop you one too
You always get a daily page weekly ring
Plus you ain't too shy to do them freaky things
I ain't gotta put a band on your finger
Or worry about you tellin the whole world I'm your man while I spring her
At first you was somethin I denied
Something I would slide
Just to do somethin in the ride
But shorty
There's something you provide
Cause the entre ain't as good without somethin on the side you know?
[Chrous]
[Verse 3]
Uh
Uh oh, I might be leavin the earth soon
My girl gone kill me if she smells the scent of your perfume
It's gonna be a clip tossed if I go back
With stains of your lip gloss on my throwback
She won't care if I'm a platinum rapper
If she catch me with an empty Magnum wrapper
So keep it on the down low call the car celly
You seen what happened with Mr. Big and R Kelly uh
[Lil' Mo]
You know I care for you (care for you)
Anytime this chick is there for you (there for you yea)
These feelings I'm a share with you
Which makes it a little more clear for you
[Chorus to Outro]
song performed by by Fabolous
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sardinia
Poetto beach
Marina waterfront
Calamosca beach
Anfiteatro Romano
Cagliari, Piazza Palazzo
Cattedrale di Santa Maria
The Pinacoteca Nazionale
Museo Archeologico Nazionale
Idyllic with sun-burnt walls
Chiesa di San Francesco
A labyrinth of cobblestoned lanes
Alghero, charm of an old Spanish town
Barumini, Nuraghe Su Nuraxi
Sinis Peninsula, Nuragic sites
Oristano, Museo Antiquarium Arborense
Ruins on Ancient Tharros, loom by the sea
Cala Luna, Golfo di Orosei
Mamoiada, Festo di Sant’Antonio
Porto Rotondo, jewelry stores, boutiques
Nuoro, the Mediterranean marquis vegetation
Costa Verde, the Green Coast
Island of Sant’Antioco, island of San Pietro
Fluminimaggiore, a view of old Roman ruins
Iglesias, Argonese-style wrought iron balconies
3,500-year-old Nuraghic Village
Domus de Janus, the fairy houses
International Summer Music Festival
Necropolis di Anghelu Ruiu, ancient burial chambers
Costa Rei, shimmering white sands
Orgosolo, mural express of local population
Capo Carbonara, stretch out sensuously beaches
Grotto di Nettuno, the mysterious underground grotto
Porto Cervo, lavish villas of rich and famous
Sassari, 1600 BC nuraghe of Nurghes Valley
Isola della Maddalena, Macchia Mediterranean
Costa Smeralda, the Kingdom of Prince Karim Aga Khan
poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cant Let You Go
[fabolous]
Baby girl
You know my situation
And sometimes I know you get impatient
But you dont put to on a show to get patience
Take it to court and go through litagations
And I respect ya gangsta
Treat you like a princess
And put something on your neck to thank ya
Shes my pinch hitta
When the startin lineup aint playin right
I come off the bench wit her
It might sound like Im gassin ya
But it took time to get from the back seat to the passenger
We been creepin and sneakin
Just to keep it from leakin
We so deep in our freakin
That we dont sleep on the weekend
Wifey
A little bit uptight
Wonderin why he comin home in the middle of the night
Itll be alright if yall bump heads itll be a fight
But I said itll be alright
[chorus - lil mo]
I really wanna be with you (be with you)
But I gotta be real with you (real with you)
I cant leave you alone (lone)
And I know I live and grown?
But I cant let ya go
Your the one I want in my life (want in my life)
Already got a wife (got a wife)
Cant leave you alone (lone)
And I know I live and grown?
But I cant let ya go
[fabolous]
You aint ever step out of line
Or get out a pocket
So I made sure canary sent out your locket
To protect you, Ill get out and cock it
And you know the barrel of my gun is big enough to spit out a rocket
Oh, you gonna play dumb if cops do come through
I gotta keep the top up if my drop do come through
But I know the boutiques and the shops you run through
So I cop her one, and cop you one too
You always get a daily page, weekly ring
Plus you aint too shy to do them freaky things
I aint gotta put a band on your finger
I worry about you tellin the whole world Im your new allen springer
At first you were somethin I denied
Something I would slide
Just do somethin in the ride
But shorty
Theres something that you provide
Cause the entre pain is good without somethin on the side
[chrous]
[fabolous]
Uh oh, I might be leavin the earth soon
My girl gonna kill me if she smells the scent of your perfume
Its gonna be a clip towards if I go back
With stains of your lip gloss on my throwback
She wont care if Im a platinum rapper
If she catch me with an empty magnum wrapper
So keep it on the down low call the carsely
You seen what happened with mr. big and r kelly
[lil mo]
You know I get from you
Anytime this chick is there for you
Feelings imma share wit you
Which makes it a lil mo clear for you
[chorus]
song performed by by Fabolous
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Les promeneuses
Au long de promenoirs qui s'ouvrent sur la nuit
- Balcons de fleurs, rampes de flammes -
Des femmes en deuil de leur âme
Entrecroisent leurs pas sans bruit.
Le travail de la ville et s'épuise et s'endort :
Une atmosphère éclatante et chimique
Etend au loin ses effluves sur l'or
Myriadaire d'un grand décor panoramique.
Comme des clous, le gaz fixe ses diamants
Autour de coupoles illuminées ;
Des colonnes passionnées
Tordent de la douleur au firmament.
Sur les places, des buissons de flambeaux
Versent du soufre ou du mercure ;
Tel coin de monument qui se mire dans l'eau
Semble un torse qui bouge en une armure.
La ville est colossale et luit comme une mer
De phares merveilleux et d'ondes électriques,
Et ses mille chemins de bars et de boutiques
Aboutissent, soudain, aux promenoirs de fer,
Où ces femmes - opale et nacre,
Satin nocturne et cheveux roux -
Avec en main des fleurs de macre,
A longs pas clairs, foulent des tapis mous.
Ce sont de très lentes marcheuses solennelles
Qui se croisent, sous les minuits inquiétants,
Et se savent, - depuis quels temps ? -
Douloureuses et mutuelles.
En pleurs encor d'un trop grand deuil,
Tels yeux obstinés et hagards
Dans un nouveau destin ont rivé leurs regards,
Comme des clous dans un cercueil.
Telle bouche vers telle autre s'en est allée,
Comme deux fleurs se rencontrent sur l'eau.
Tel front semble un bandeau
Sur une pensée aveuglée.
Telle attitude est pareille toujours
Dans tel cerveau rien ne tressaille.
Quoique le coeur, où le vice travaille,
Batte âprement ses tocsins sourds.
J'en sais dont les robes funèbres
Voilent de pâles souliers d'or
Et dont un serpent d'argent mord
Les longues tresses de ténèbres.
Des houx rouges de leur tourment
D'autres ont fait leurs diadèmes ;
J'en vois : des veuves d'elles-mêmes
Qui se pleurent, comme un amant.
Quand leurs rêves, la nuit, s'esseulent
Et qu'elles tiennent dans la main
Le sort banal d'un être humain,
Elles savent ce qu'elles veulent.
Si leur peine devait finir un jour,
Elles en seraient plus tristes peut-être,
Qu'elles ne sont inconsolables d'être
Celles du taciturne amour.
Au long de promenoirs qui dominent la nuit,
De lentes femmes,
En deuil immense de leur âme,
Entrecroisent leurs pas sans bruit.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Le bazar
C'est un bazar, au bout des faubourgs rouges :
Etalages toujours montants, toujours accrus,
Tumulte et cris jetés, gestes vifs et bourrus
Et lettres d'or, qui soudain bougent,
En torsades, sur la façade.
C'est un bazar, avec des murs géants
Et des balcons et des sous-sols béants
Et des tympans montés sur des corniches
Et des drapeaux et des affiches
Où deux clowns noirs plument un ange.
On y étale à certains jours,
En de vaines et frivoles boutiques,
Ce que l'humanité des temps antiques
Croyait divinement être l'amour ;
Aussi les Dieux et leur beauté
Et l'effrayant aspect de leur éternité
Et leurs yeux d'or et leurs mythes et leurs emblèmes
Et les livres qui les blasphèment.
Toutes ardeurs, tous souvenirs, toutes prières
Sont là , sur des étaux et s'empoussièrent ;
Des mots qui renfermaient l'âme du monde
Et que les prêtres seuls disaient au nom de tous
Sont charriés et ballottés, dans la faconde
Des camelots et des voyous.
L'immensité se serre en des armoires
Dérisoires et rayonne de plaies ;
Et le sens même de la gloire
Se définit par des monnaies.
Lettres jusques au ciel, lettres en or qui bouge,
C'est un bazar au bout des faubourgs rouges !
La foule et ses flots noirs
S'y bousculent près des comptoirs ;
La foule - oh ses désirs multipliés,
Par centaines et par milliers ! -
Y tourne, y monte, au long des escaliers,
Et s'érige folle et sauvage,
En spirale, vers les étages.
Là -haut, c'est la pensée
Immortelle, mais convulsée,
Avec ses triomphes et ses surprises,
Qu'à la hâte on expertise.
Tous ceux dont le cerveau
S'enflamme aux feux des problèmes nouveaux,
Tous les chercheurs qui se fixent pour cible
Le front d'airain de l'impossible
Et le cassent, pour que les découvertes
S'en échappent, ailes ouvertes,
Sont là gauches, fiévreux, distraits,
Dupes des gens qui les renient
Mais utilisent leur génie,
Et font argent de leurs secrets.
Oh ! les Edens, là -bas, au bout du monde,
Avec des glaciers purs à leurs sommets sacrés,
Que ces voyants des lois profondes
Ont explorés,
Sans se douter qu'ils sont les Dieux.
Oh ! leur ardeur à recréer la vie,
Selon la foi qu'ils ont en eux
Et la douceur et la bonté de leurs grands yeux,
Quand, revenus de l'inconnu
Vers les hommes, d'où ils s'érigent,
On leur vole ce qui leur reste aux mains
De vérité conquise et de destin.
C'est un bazar tout en vertiges
Que bat, continûment, la foule, avec ses houles
Et ses vagues d'argent et d'or ;
C'est un bazar tout en décors,
Avec des tours, avec des rampes de lumières ;
C'est un bazar bâti si haut que, dans la nuit,
Il apparaît la bête et de flamme et de bruit
Qui monte épouvanter le silence stellaire.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forward
Have you ever made a quilt? I have. its one of the most therapeutic and calming things Ive ever done. and I had a huge sense of accomplishment when I finished.
Both of my grandmothers made quilts, my mama did, and my aunt jeannie did. I loved to open that big box at christmastime knowing it was a quilt that one of them had made. I was so flattered that after all the time and energy they had spent on that quilt, they had selected me to receive it. even as a young girl, I knew a quilt was a gift I would cherish always.
Back when I was living at home, I remember during the winter months mama would set up her sewing machine in the living room over by the window. at night when wed all be in there watching tv after supper, mama would be over at her sewing machine, making another quilt from the scraps left over
From a dress or blouse she had made for one of us earlier.
Then, when she had sewn all the squares sewn together, shed lay the batting on the living room floor, lay the quilted piece on top of that, and then start tacking it down. when that was completed, shed sew the border around it. then it was finished. all that remained was for mama to decide who would be the proud recipient of her precious handiwork which represented so many hours of love.
I feel very blessed to have received one of mamas quilts. I sleep under it every night Im home. it doesnt match the fancy comforter we bought in los angelos, but it feels better than anything you can imagine. just because I know my mama made it just for me.
When daddys mother died in 1950, one year before my sister alice was born, mama got the trunk that held all of the quilts, china, crystal, silverware, and knickknacks that grandma had collected during her lifetime. mama discovered that grandmas trunk also included a few quilt pieces that she had started but had never finished. my sister susie eventually wound up with those quilt pieces and we all figured she would finish them out and keep them for herself.
But as only susie would do, she cut the makings of the quilt into four squares, had them quilted, put a picture of grandma mcentire and a descripion of the quilt ogether, and had them framed for alices, my brother pakes, and my christmas present.
Thats how thoughtful susie is. she could have kept the quilt for herself, but, instead, she shared with her brother and sisters something so special, which had belonged to a woman none of us had ever met. thats part of susies charm.
Thats also the charm of a quilt. like a mother, it wraps its arms around you-sosoft, yet so sturdy, and so comforting. in my grandmas time the sewing of a quilt would bring friends and neighbors together, and in quilting circles today that lovely tradition continues. now we live in a time when so many women do not even have a sewing machine in their home and when country quilts hang in the fanciest boutiques and galleries selling as decorative art. that would sure give my grandma and her circle a good laugh and more than a few shakes of the head.
Can you just imagine the visiting, the stories, and the fellowship that have gone on during the making of all the wonderful quilts through the years? and can you imagine all the children who have been tucked in securely underneath them in their beds night after night? and us adults too?
Thats what you call comfort from a country quilt. I hope this book is as comforting to you as my mamas quilt has always been to me. like a quilt, this book is made up of small pieces of material-some of my favorite stories, memorable experiences, and more than a few opinions-written, rather than sewn, from the stuff of my life. I have stitched these pieces together with my sincere hope that you will find the quilt of a book friendly, warm, and enjoyable, something you can turn to for comfort and entertainment and for sharing with friends and family.
So grab your favorite quilt, wra up, get comfortable, and enjoy.
From me to you.
Love,
Reba
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0148 Dear Jenny Joseph...
Dear Jenny Joseph,
How are you getting along these days?
Now that you've hit our 'top poems' list?
I'll bet that, as a National Treasure
you're asked to give readings
at a minimal fee
with the request
'please wear a red hat and a purple cloak -
our members would like it...' aw shurrup...
I'm contemplating a parallel
to raise the status of old men
God knows we need it...
Where shall I start?
I guess the secret is
it's fun confounding expectations,
so, first on the list,
anything that labels you British - out!
(then we can start again from scratch) :
out with the stiff upper lip -
weep in public - preferably a full rush-hour commuter train
from Surrey or Gloucestershire
or Berkshire would do;
and watch the men freeze
into emotional ineptitude;
Get on a jam-packed tube train
around the evening rush hour, when they think they're tired,
those poor 20-year-olds who clubbed all night on E
and say very loud
'Which of you young people is going to give up your seat to me?
(And if there's no move
and everyone hides behind their papers or suddenly closed eyes,
repeat the question louder and louder
until even the kind-hearted of your own age
hate you...) :
When the train stops in a tunnel
and everyone goes quiet,
whistle out of tune one that everyone knows;
And don't forget that
garlic and an open mouth
can gain you valuable personal space.
Open doors for all ladies, and expecially those
wearing pierced noses and lips and eyebrows, tattoos,
SM gear and/or short haircuts
and when they walk past without a glance
say 'Thank you...? ' very loudly;
Walk round the snootiest 'boutiques'
and the more the assistants bridle,
stand near you
or raise their eyebrows at their fellow assistants
the longer you hang around, natch,
and when you say 'Just looking...'
look them in the eye
like Clint Eastwood who just hit town;
At formal weddings,
when it gets to the butt-clenching 'just cause...? ' bit
clear your throat loudly
as if about to speak...
it will give the dry cleaners
extra work.
Talk to all children with their parents
especially those whose parents quickly pull them away;
feel free to embrace all and especially sundry;
just check you have the address of your Citizen's Advice Bureau
for free legal representation;
Talk to Friends of Friends whom
you're meeting for the first time
as if you know them well;
it's amazing how many 'friends'
you can cross off that way;
Cold callers
who introduce themselves
with their Christian name
(even though Hindus calling from India..)
and are pushy (be kind to the others...)
- pretend you know them
and discuss some past
scandalous relationship with them,
then accuse them of misleading you;
Be natural - but very very publicly so;
in Victorian times, you could pee in the road
on please, only on the offside of horses;
so don't choose motorways
(though the central reservation is OK - I mean, who's going to stop
to be offended in the fast lane, or ring the police on the mobile while driving?)
and if anyone objects to your peeing in the gutter
that's what gutters used to be for
and who asked them to look anyway?
Clothes-wise, it's up to you -
though of course if 'dress-code..' is requested, well, that's obviously
inviting trouble - do they want to see you in person,
or what you bought or hired?
Or are they wanting free film extras
in the home movies of ego?
Oxfam permitting,
wear the clothes that 15-year-olds do -
that really pisses them off.
If people dropp a word
about your undone zip in public
and they're polite about it
thank them with a smile
perhaps explaining the circumstances
in friendly fashion;
but if they comment disapprovingly
threaten
further measures.
Sitting on the pavement, that sort of thing -
well, that's personal; if you enjoy it, do it...
Above all - Embarrass Your Children. Mortally.
' D-a-a-d....! '
(This Poem is an Expanding Poem -
there's more cringe-making stuff to come just here...
as Rusty says, that's what parents are for...)
Doesn't sound very exciting, you may be thinking?
OK, just try one of these, and see if
you can't cut the atmosphere with a knife.
-That's not yet court evidence, but it could be,
in a nanny state - 'The witness observed
that you could cut the atmosphere with a knife, m'lud...'
But I'm very open to suggestions
from others, to make this
second childhood
even better than the first, OK?
And Jenny, by the way, are you married?
It could be fun...
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tu mettrais l'univers entier dans ta ruelle (You Would Take The Whole World To Bed With You)
Tu mettrais l'univers entier dans ta ruelle,
Femme impure! L'ennui rend ton âme cruelle.
Pour exercer tes dents à ce jeu singulier,
Il te faut chaque jour un coeur au râtelier.
Tes yeux, illuminés ainsi que des boutiques
Et des ifs flamboyants dans les fêtes publiques,
Usent insolemment d'un pouvoir emprunté,
Sans connaître jamais la loi de leur beauté.
Machine aveugle et sourde, en cruautés féconde!
Salutaire instrument, buveur du sang du monde,
Comment n'as-tu pas honte et comment n'as-tu pas
Devant tous les miroirs vu pâlir tes appas?
La grandeur de ce mal où tu te crois savante
Ne t'a donc jamais fait reculer d'épouvante,
Quand la nature, grande en ses desseins cachés
De toi se sert, ô femme, ô reine des péchés,
— De toi, vil animal, — pour pétrir un génie?
Ô fangeuse grandeur! sublime ignominie!
You Would Take the Whole World to Bed with You
You would take the whole world to bed with you,
Impure woman! Ennui makes your soul cruel;
To exercise your teeth at this singular game,
You need a new heart in the rack each day.
Your eyes, brilliant as shop windows
Or as blazing lamp-stands at public festivals,
Insolently use a borrowed power
Without ever knowing the law of their beauty.
Blind, deaf machine, fecund in cruelties!
Remedial instrument, drinker of the world's blood,
Why are you not ashamed and why have you not seen
In every looking-glass how your charms are fading?
Why have you never shrunk at the enormity
Of this evil at which you think you are expert,
When Nature, resourceful in her hidden designs,
Makes use of you, woman, O queen of sin,
Of you, vile animal, — to fashion a genius?
O foul magnificence! Sublime ignominy!
— Translated by William Aggeler
You'd Stick the World into Your Bedside Lane
You'd stick the world into your bedside lane.
It's boredom makes you callous to all pain.
To exercise your teeth for this strange task,
A heart upon a rake, each day, you'd ask.
Your eyes lit up like shopfronts, or the trees
With lanterns on the night of public sprees,
Make insolent misuse of borrowed power
And scorn the law of beauty that's their dower.
Oh deaf-and-dumb machine, harm-breeding fool
World sucking leech, yet salutary tool!
Have you not seen your beauties blanch to pass
Before their own reflection in the glass?
Before this pain, in which you think you're wise,
Does not its greatness shock you with surprise,
To think that Nature, deep in projects hidden,
Has chosen you, vile creature of the midden,
To knead a genius for succeeding time.
O sordid grandeur! Infamy sublime!
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Tyranny of Woman
Aye, you would bed with the whole universe,
Lewd woman! Ennui makes your soul perverse;
Cruel, you whet your teeth at this weird play,
You need a fresh heart in the rack each day.
Your eyes blaze like illumined shops or lights
Of serried lamps on festive public nights,
They use a borrowed puissance haughtily
Unconscious of their beauty's tyranny.
Blind, deaf machine, geared to increase man's pain,
Tool primed to suckle blood from his last vein,
Have you no shame when every looking glass
Betrays your faded beauties as you pass,
When cunning Nature's hidden plans begin
To use you, beast! woman, vile queen of sin,
To fashion genius in carnality?
O shameless might! Sublime ignominy!
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
You'd Take the Entire Universe to Bed with You
You'd take the entire universe to bed with you,
I think, just out of boredom, you lecherous, idle shrew!
You need, to keep your teeth sound, exercise your jaws,
Daily, for dinner, some new heart between your paws!
Your eyes, all lighted up like shops, like public fairs,
How insolent they are! — as if their power were theirs
Indeed! — this borrowed power, this Beauty, you direct
And use, whose law, however, you do not suspect.
Unwholesome instrument for health, O deaf machine
And blind, fecund in tortures! — how is it you have not seen,
You drinker of the world's blood, your mirrored loveliness
Blench and recoil? how is it you feel no shame? confess:
Has never, then, this evil's very magnitude
Caused you to stagger? — you, who think yourself so shrewd
In evil? — seeing how Nature, patient and abstruse —
O Woman, Queen of Sins, Vile Animal, — has made use
Of you, to mould a genius? — employed you all this time?
O muddy grandeur! — ignominy ironic and sublime!
— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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La mort
Avec ses larges corbillards
Ornés de plumes majuscules,
Par les matins, dans les brouillards,
La mort circule.
Parée et noire et opulente,
Tambours voilés, musiques lentes,
Avec ses larges corbillards,
Flanqués de quatre lampadaires,
La Mort s'étale et s'exagère.
Pareils aux nocturnes trésors,
Les gros cercueils écussonnés
- Larmes d'argent et blasons d'or -
Ecoutent l'heure éclatante des glas
Que les cloches jettent, là -bas :
L'heure qui tombe, avec des bonds
Et des sanglots, sur les maisons,
L'heure qui meurt sur les demeures,
Avec des bonds et des sanglots de plomb.
Parée et noire et opulente,
Au cri des orgues violentes
Qui la célèbrent,
La mort tout en ténèbres
Règne, comme une idole assise,
Sous la coupole des églises.
Des feux, tordus comme des hydres,
Se hérissent, autour du catafalque immense
OÙ des anges, tenant des faulx et des cleps
Dressent leur véhémence,
Clairons dardés, vers le néant.
Le vide en est grandi sous le transept béan
De hautes voix d'enfants
jettent vers les miséricordes
Des cris tordus comme des cordes,
Tandis que les vieilles murailles
Montent, comme des linceuls blancs,
Autour du bloc formidable et branlant
De ces massives funérailles.
Drapée en noir et familière,
La Mort s'en va le long des rues
Longues et linéaires.
Drapée en noir, comme le soir,
La vieille Mort agressive et bourrue
S'en va par les quartiers
Des boutiques et des métiers,
En carrosse qui se rehausse
De gros lambris exorbitants,
Couleur d'usure et d'ancien temps.
Drapée en noir, la Mort
Cassant, entre ses mains, le sort
Des gens méticuleux et réfléchis
Qui s'exténuent, en leurs logis,
Vainement, Ã faire fortune,
La Mort soudaine et importune
Les met en ordre dans leurs bières
Comme en des cases régulières'.
Et les cloches sonnent péniblement
Un malheureux enterrement,
Sur le défunt, que l'on trimballe,
Par les églises colossales,
Vers un coin d'ombre, où quelques cierg
Pauvres flammes, brÛlent, devant la Vieri
Vêtue en noir et besogneuse,
La Mort gagne jusqu'aux faubourgs,
En chariot branlant et lourd,
Avec de vieilles haridelles
Qu'elle flagelle
Chaque matin, vers quels destins ?
Vêtue en noir,
La Mort enjambe le trottoir
Et l'égout pâle, où se mirent les bornes,
Qui vont là -bas, une à une, vers les champs mornes;
Et leste et rude et dédaigneuse
Gagne les escaliers et s'arrête sur les paliers
OÙ l'on entend pleurer et sangloter,
Derrière la porte entr'ouverte,
Des gens laissant l'espoir tomber,
Inerte.
Et dans la pluie indéfinie,
Une petite église de banlieue,
Très maigrement, tinte un adieu,
Sur la bière de sapin blanc
Qui se rapproche, avec des gens dolents,
Par les routes, silencieusement.
Telle la Mort journalière et logique
Qui fait son ceuvre et la marque de croix
Et d'adieux mornes et de voix
Criant vers l'inconnu les espoirs liturgiques.
Mais d'autres fois, c'est la Mort grande et sa
Avec son aile au loin ramante,
Vers les villes de l'épouvante.
Un ciel étrange et roux brûle la terre moite
Des tours noires s'étirent droites
Telles des bras, dans la terreur des cré
Les nuits tombent comme épaissies,
Les nuits lourdes, les nuits moisies,
OÙ, dans l'air gras et la chaleur rancie,
Tombereaux pleins, la Mort circule.
Ample et géante comme l'ombre,
Du haut en bas des maisons sombres,
On l'écoute glisser, rapide et haletante.
La peur du jour qui vient, la peur de toute attente,
La peur de tout instant qui se décoche,
Persécute les coeurs, partout,
Et redresse, soudain, en leur sueur, debout
Ceux qui, vers le minuit, songent au matin
Les hôpitaux gonflés de maladies,
Avec les yeux fiévreux de leurs fenêtres roug
Regardent le ciel trouble, oÙ rien ne bouge
Ni ne répond aux détresses grandies.
Les égouts roulent le poison
Et les acides et les chlores,
Couleur de nacre et de phosphore,
Vainement tuent sa floraison.
De gros bourdons résonnent
Pour tout le monde, pour personne
Les églises barricadent leur seuil,
Devant la masse des cercueils.
Et l'on entend, en galops éperdus,
La mort passer et les bières que l'on transporte
Aux nécropoles, dont les portes,
Ni nuit ni jour, ne ferment plus.
Tragique et noire et légendaire,
Les pieds gluants, les gestes fous,
La Mort balaie en un grand trou
La ville entière au cimetière.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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La maison des morts
S'étendant sur les côtés du cimetière
La maison des morts l'encadrait comme un cloître
A l'intérieur de ses vitrines
Pareilles à celles des boutiques de modes
Au lieu de sourire debout
Les mannequins grimaçaient pour l'éternité
Arrivé à Munich depuis quinze ou vingt jours
J'étais entré pour la première fois et par hasard
Dans ce cimetière presque désert
Et je claquais des dents
Devant toute cette bourgeoisie
Exposée et vêtue le mieux possible
En attendant la sépulture
Soudain
Rapide comme ma mémoire
Les yeux ses rallumèrent
De cellule vitrée en cellule vitrée
Le ciel se peupla d'une apocalypse
Vivace
Et la terra plate à l'infini
Comme avant Galilée
Se couvrit de mille mythologies immobiles
Un ange en diamant brisa toutes les vitrines
Et les morts m'accostèrent
Avec des mines de l'autre monde
Mais leur visage et leurs attitudes
Devinrent bientôt moins funbèbres
Le ciel et la terre perdirent
Leur aspect fantasmagorique
Les morts se réjouissaient
De voir leurs corps trépassés entre eux et la lumière
Ils riaient de voir leur ombre et l'observaient
Comme si véritablement
C'eût été leur vie passée
Alors je les dénombrai
Ils étaient quarante-neuf hommes
Femmes et enfants
Qui embellissaient à vue d'oeil
Et me regardaient maintenant
Avec tant de cordialité
Tant de tendresse même
Que les prenant en amitié
Tout à coup
Je les invitai à une promenade Loin des arcades de leur maison
Et tous bras dessus bras dessous
Fredonnant des airs militaires
Oui tous vos péchés sont absous
Nous quittâmes le cimetière
Nous traversâmes la ville
Et rencontrions souvent
Des parents des amis qui se joignaient
A la petite troupe des morts récents
Tous étaient si gais
Si charmants si bien portants
Que bien malin qui aurait pu
Distinguer les morts des vivants
Puis dans la campagne
On s'éparpilla
Deux chevau-légers nous joignirent
On leur fit fête
Ils coupèrent du bois de viorne
Et de sureau
Dont ils firent des sifflets
Qu'ils distribuèrent aux enfants
Plus tard dans un bal champètre
Les couples mains sur les épaules
Dansèrent au son aigre des cithares
Ils n'avaient pas oublié la danse
Ces morts et ces mortes
On buvait aussi
Et de temps à autre une cloche
Annonçait qu'un autre tonneau
Allait être mis en perce
Une morte assise sur un banc
Près d'un buisson d'épine-vinette
Laissait un étudiant
Agenouillé à ses pieds
Lui parler de fiançailles
Je vous attendrai
Dix ans vingt ans s'il le faut
Votre volonté sera la mienne
Je vous attendrai
Toute votre vie
Répondait la morte
Des enfants
De ce monde ou bien de l'autre
Chantaient de ces rondes
Aux paroles absurdes et lyriques
Qui sans doute sont les restes
Des plus anciens monuments poétiques
De l'humanité
L'étudiant passa une bague
A l'annulaire de la jeune morte
Voici le gage de mon amour
De nos fiançailles
Ni le temps ni l'absence
Ne nous feront oublier nos promesses
Et un jour nous auront une belle noce
Des touffes de myrte
A nos vêtements et dans vos cheveux
Un beau sermon à l'église
De longs discours après le banquet
Et de la musique
De la musique
Nos enfants
Dit la fiancée
Seront plus beaux plus beaux encore
Hélas! la bague était brisée
Que s'ils étaient d'argent ou d'or
D'émeraude ou de diamant
Seront plus clairs plus clairs encore
Que les astres du firmament
Que la lumière de l'aurore
Que vos regards mon fiancé
Auront meilleure odeur encore
Hélas! la bague était brisée
Que le lilas qui vient d'éclore
Que le thym la rose ou qu'un brin
De lavande ou de romarin
Les musiciens s'en étant allés
Nous continuâmes la promenade
Au bord d'un lac
On s'amusa à faire des ricochets
Avec des cailloux plats
Sur l'eau qui dansait à peine
Des barques étaient amarrées
Dans un havre
On les détacha
Après que toute la troupe se fut embarquée
Et quelques morts ramaient
Avec autant de vigueur que les vivants
A l'avant du bateau que je gouvernais
Un mort parlait avec une jeune femme
Vêtue d'une robe jaune
D'un corsage noir
Avec des rubans bleus et d'un chapeau gris
Orné d'une seule petite plume défrisée
Je vous aime
Disait-il
Comme le pigeon aime la colombe
Comme l'insecte nocturne
Aime la lumière
Trop tard
Répondait la vivante
Repoussez repoussez cet amour défendu
Je suis mariée
Voyez l'anneau qui brille
Mes mains tremblent
Je pleure et je voudrais mourir
Les barques étaient arrivées
A un endroit où les chevau-légers
Savaient qu'un écho répondait de la rive
On ne se lassait point de l'interroger
Il y eut des questions si extravagantes
Et des réponses tellement pleines d'à -propos
Que c'était à mourir de rire
Et le mort disait à la vivante
Nous serions si heureux ensemble
Sur nous l'eau se refermera
Mais vous pleurez et vos mains tremblent
Aucun de nous ne reviendra
On reprit terre et ce fut le retour
Les amoureux s'entr'aimaient
Et par couples aux belles bouches
Marchaient à distances inégales
Les morts avaient choisi les vivantes
Et les vivants
Des mortes
Un genévrier parfois
Faisait l'effet d'un fantôme
Les enfants déchiraient l'air
En soufflant les joues creuses
Dans leurs sifflets de viorne
Ou de sureau
Tandis que les militaires
Chantaient des tyroliennes
En se répondant comme on le fait
Dans la montagne
Dans la ville
Notre troupe diminua peu à peu
On se disait
Au revoir
A demain
A bientôt
Bientôt entraient dans les brasseries
Quelques-uns nous quittèrent
Devant une boucherie canine
Pour y acheter leur repas du soir
Bientôt je restai seul avec ces morts
Qui s'en allaient tout droit
Au cimetière
Où
Sous les Arcades
Je les reconnus
Couchés
Immobiles
Et bien vêtus
Attendant la sépulture derrière les vitrines
Ils ne se doutaient pas
De ce qui s'était passé
Mais les vivants en gardaient le souvenir
C'était un bonheur inespéré
Et si certain
Qu'ils ne craignaient point de le perdre
Ils vivaient si noblement
Que ceux qui la veille encore
Les regardaient comme leurs égaux
Ou même quelque chose de moins
Admiraient maintenant
Leur puissance leur richesse et leur génie
Car y a-t-il rien qui vous élève
Comme d'avoir aimé un mort ou une morte
On devient si pur qu'on en arrive
Dans les glaciers de la mémoire
A se confondre avec le souvenir
On est fortifié pour la vie
Et l'on n'a plus besoin de personne
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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