A High-Toned Old Christian Woman
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
The High-Toned Old Christian Woman
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven.Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle.That's clear.But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets.Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones.And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began.Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince.But fictive things
Wink as they will.Wink most when widows wince.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The End
ADIEU, Madame! The moon of May
Wanes now above the orchard grey;
The white May-blossoms fall like snow,
As Love foretold a month ago--
Or was it only yesterday?
All pleasant things must pass away;
You would not, surely, have me stay?
I own I shun the inference! No!
Adieu, Madame!
Come, dry your eyes, for not this way
Should end your pretty pastoral play.
You have no heart--you told me so--
And I adore you, as you know;
Smile, while I break my heart and say
Adieu, Madame!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Liz Town Humorist
Settin' round the stove, last night,
Down at Wess's store, was me
And Mart Strimples, Tunk, and White,
And Doc Bills, and two er three
Fellers o' the Mudsock tribe
No use tryin' to describe!
And says Doc, he says, says he--,
'Talkin' 'bout good things to eat,
Ripe mushmillon's hard to beat!'
I chawed on. And Mart he 'lowed
Wortermillon beat the mush--.
'Red,' he says, 'and juicy-- Hush--!
I'll jes' leave it to the crowd!'
Then a Mudsock chap, says he--,
'Punkin's good enough fer me--
Punkin pies, I mean,' he says--,
Them beats millons--! What say, Wess?
I chawed on. And Wess says--, 'Well,
You jes' fetch that wife of mine
All yer wortermillon-rine--,
And she'll bile it down a spell--
In with sorghum, I suppose,
And what else, Lord only knows--!
But I'm here to tell all hands
Them p'serves meets my demands!'
I chawed on. And White he says--,
'Well, I'll jes' stand, in with Wess--
I'm no hog!' And Tunk says--, 'I
Guess I'll pastur' out on pie
With the Mudsock boys!' says he;
'Now what's yourn?' he says to me:
I chawed on-- fer-- quite a spell
Then I speaks up, slow and dry--,
Jes' tobacker!' I-says-I--.
And you'd ort o' heerd 'em yell!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Madame George
Down on cyprus avenue
With a childlike vision leaping into view
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe
Ford & fitzroy, madame george
Marching with the soldier boy behind
Hes much older with hat on drinking wine
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through
The cool night air like shalimar
And outside theyre making all the stops
The kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops
Happy taken madame george
Thats when you fall
Whoa, thats when you fall
Yeah, thats when you fall
When you fall into a trance
A sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
With your folded arms and history books you glance
Into the eyes of madame george
And you think you found the bag
Youre getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
In the corner playing dominoes in drag
The one and only madame george
And then from outside the frosty window raps
She jumps up and says lord have mercy I think its the cops
And immediately drops everything she gots
Down into the street below
And you know you gotta go
On that train from dublin up to sandy row
Throwing pennies at the bridges down below
And the rain, hail, sleet, and snow
Say goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
And as you leave, the room is filled with music, laughing, music,
Dancing, music all around the room
And all the little boys come around, walking away from it all
So cold
And as youre about to leave
She jumps up and says hey love, you forgot your gloves
And the gloves to love to love the gloves...
To say goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
Dry your eyes for madame george
Say goodbye in the wind and the rain on the back street
In the backstreet, in the back street
Say goodbye to madame george
In the backstreet, in the back street, in the back street
Down home, down home in the back street
Gotta go
Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Dry your eye your eye your eye your eye your eye...
Say goodbye to madame george
And the loves to love to love the love
Say goodbye
Oooooo
Mmmmmmm
Say goodbye goodbye goodbye goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
The loves to love the loves to love the loves to love...
Say goodbye, goodbye
Get on the train
Get on the train, the train, the train...
This is the train, this is the train...
Whoa, say goodbye, goodbye....
Get on the train, get on the train...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Suite Madame Blue
Time after time I sit and I wait for your call
I know Im a fool what can I say
Whatever the price Ill pay for you, madame blue
Once long ago, one word from your lips and the world turned around
But somehow youve changed, youre so far away
I long for the past and dream of the days with you, madame blue
Suite madame blue, gaze in your looking glass
Youre not a child anymore
Suite madame blue, the future is all but past
Dressed in your jewels, you made your own rules
You conquered the world and more ..............heavens door
America....america...america..america..
America....america...america..america..
America....america...america..america..
Red white and blue, gaze in your looking glass
Youre not a child anymore
Red, white, and blue, the future is all but past
So lift up your heart, make a new start
And lead us away from here
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sudden Enlightenment
Maybe telepathic messages between people
do exist, I felt bad, then received SMS from
sis - in bed, ill with something, leading to sud-
den enlightenment when Madame Pompadour
sent her SMS: also in bed, sinus attack
really bad, pain and incontinence
I should never have speculated about lack of
telepathic communication, sis is connected to
a bed-ridden Madame Pompadour, my feeling
ill caused by vibrations from those two - let me
apologise to the genies in the sky for ex-
pressing distrust of telepathy
Today I know everything we think and feel is
diffused through osmosis and picked up by a
sensitive medium like me; let me lock mental
doors, only keep an aperture open for my
lovely colleagues: Pollyanna, Heidi, Maria
Von Trapp and Wendy who said
All is well in Neverland, God is in heaven and
Madame Pompadour in her bed – AMEN –
Heidi replied - eyes twinkling with
merriment…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bloody Mary
When youre waltzing down the high street
Singing that sweet french perfume song
Looking out for the boys who couldnt sing along.
Moving like a dancer on the ballroom floor,
Sweet ballerina get me begging for more
When youre rolling your eyes behind your dior shades.
Bloody mary, the queen of the ball,
Bloody mary, you want it all.
Ive been looking for you, looking for me.
I like sugar in my woman more than saccharine,
Too much sweet talk make a nice boy mean.
All in all, mary, youre no good for me.
Just like a bee-sting, babe, youre a pain in my heart
Hurting me more and more.
You get me down on my knees when you talk dirty to me.
Bloody mary, the queen of the ball,
Bloody mary, you want it all.
Ive been looking for you.
Bloody mary, bloody mary,
Bloody mary, bloody mary.
You know that madame palm and her five sweet daughters
Couldnt give a man what the doctor ordered.
Ooh, mary, I love the way you turn it on.
(solo)
Bloody mary, the queen of the ball,
Bloody mary, you want it all.
Ive been looking for you.
Bloody mary, bloody mary,
Bloody mary, bloody mary.
You know that madame palm and her five sweet daughters
Couldnt give a man what the doctor ordered.
Ooh, mary, I love the way you turn it on.
I told, ooh, mary, I love the way you turn it on.
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it.
quote by Madame de Stael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Palm Sunday
Because it is the day of Palms,
Carry a palm for me,
Carry a palm in Santa Chiara,
And I will watch the sea;
There are no palms in Santa Chiara
To-day or any day for me.
I sit and watch the little sail
Lean side-ways on the sea,
The sea is blue from here to Sorrento,
And the sea-wind comes to me,
And I see the white clouds lift from Sorrento
And the dark sail lean upon the sea.
I have grown tired of all these things,
And what is left for me?
I have no place in Santa Chiara,
There is no peace upon the sea;
But carry a palm in Santa Chiara,
Carry a palm for me.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Radio Activity
Radioactivity
Is in the air for you and me
Radioactivity
Discovered by Madame Curie
Radioactivity
Tune in to the melody
Radioactivity
Is in the air for you and me
Morse:
Radioactivity is in the air for you and me
Radioactivity discovered by madame curie
Radioactivity tune in to the ... Kraftwerk
Radio Aktivitaet
Fuer dich und mich in All entsteht
(=For you and me in Space comes into being)
Radio Aktivitaet
Strahlt Wellen zum Empfangsgeraet
(=Sends waves to the receiver)
Radio Aktivitaet
Wenn's um unsere Zukunft geht
(=When its about our future)
Morse:
Radioactivity is in the air for you and me
Radioactivity discovered by madame curie
Radioactivity tune in to the ... Kraftwerk
Radioactivity
Is in the air for you and me
Radioactivity
Discovered by Madame Curie
Radioactivity
Tune in to the melody
Radioactivity
Is in the air for you and me
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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See Not At All
The high and mighty lady who seldom
honours state office with her graceful
presence told Madame De Lafayette,
supervisor - off for follow-up tests
Still not coming to the office while the
rest of us are threatened with legal
procedures should we violate any
regulation pertaining to absence
Stunned by these double standards
some openly mimicking Madame La
Pompadour's haughty manner - the
Calvinistic work ethic of colleagues
Enabling them to do her work also, no-
body lodges a complaint; such good
officials, used to oppression for no
apparent reason other than
Management's inefficiency which only
intimidate the law-abiding while serial
offenders are untouchable - best is
to see La Madame not at all…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feeling You In Palms.....
In the deep REALM of loneliness
and desert of silence
unseen and unsaid things
merge with each other
where silence is thirsty of happenings
thirsty of noise of creation
thirsty of itself
creating EXUBERANT canvas of moments
your powerful thoughts
appears in cloves of my soul
I try to hold your feelings in my palm
as if the palm is the complete LOVE to beloved one..
and every line of palms
every moment of palms…
even every silenced voice of palm
making me thrill for a moment
where i find
nails engraving YOUR name
Finally a forced- reminder
TO FULFIL THE LONGING
OF DRY LIPS..
poem by Seema Gupta
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Exemplary And Lavish Extravagance
Aaah, Madame La Pompadour needs time off
from the office they had built her, soundproof,
air-con, and everything she wants inside, today
she plays chauffer to the children in her neigh-
bourhood and visiting her mother in the old-age
home - she condescendingly told us - though
there is really no need why we should know
where she is, she is the free incumbent
Madame La Pompadour suffers agoraphobia
at home and claustrophobia in the office, her
problems are debilitating; she needs a bigger
office of course, with user-friendly interior
decorating - I sigh in admiration, such a very
exemplary and lavish extravagance, with the
cool presumption that a James Bond would
envy her, she does what she wants
Madame La Pompadour looks down on the
mundane civil servants - us - who man the
open-plan office, why should she earn her
salary like a slave when she gets it without
ever leaving her home?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Wink For Me
Wink for me today
For I know I’m full of life
Wink when you work
I’ll be reminded of my work
Wink when entering the toilet
I’ll know others are half attached
Wink when you eat
I’ll buy my own lunch
Wink when kissing
I’ll miss my wife more
While driving still wink
I’ll work and buy my own
When you die please wink
I’ll prepare my suitcase for take off
Please wink for me
poem by Lawrence s. Makola
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A Prima Donna
Madame La Pompadour cannot come to work,
the world is spinning out of control, her dog
needs medical attention, her car cannot start in
the morning, her dog needs another vet, now
Madame Pompadour's newly built office is
empty - it was given as a compelling condition
for her return to work, yet it seems something
is lacking still, can we guess what it is
Maybe a chauffeur to drive her to work every
morning, a special kennel next to her office so
she can bring her dogs to be with her all day,
maybe a built-in a humidifier so she can breathe
freely without germs, maybe a Jacuzzi so she can
get rid of the tension right here at work, maybe
her own cook and kitchenette so she can order
the right meals with the same aplomb as
A Lady Gaga, surely Madame La Pompadour has
already dethroned both Madonna and Lady Gaga
for being a prima donna who gets her own way!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.
quote by Charles W. Chesnutt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Repent And Be Converted
Repent and be converted,
For there is very little info of the seven heavens that we can see;
Repent and be converted,
For the third heaven is totally hidden from us at this time;
Repent and be converted,
For only a few will be saved in the long run!
But in this never-ending universe,
We need to be very wis in all that we do.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Wallace Stevens
The sea was the house and the world was the nave
You were the sea and you were the nave
The nave was stormy, the sea was calm
While the house was waiting for the world
To come in by the navy of the sea
The sea was a nave, the world was a house
You were the nave in the sea—
The house and the world
The world was the navy in the sea
And the sea was the house
poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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The pleasures of the world are deceitful; they promise more than they give. They trouble us in seeking them, they do not satisfy us when possessing them and they make us despair in losing them.
quote by Madame de Lambert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Madame de la Pompadour (Revised)
Madame de la Pompadour puts Darcy’s condescending
aunt in ‘Pride and Prejudice’, Lady Catherine de Bourgh,
to shame by being more arrogant than said worthy Lady
ever was when scolding the poor into harmony and plenty
Madame declines to come to work like we poor peasants
yet regards Mary Poppins disdainfully, judging her useful
discovery of an element of diversionary fun in boring
jobs a doddle that is wanting in every ethical respect
She’s blissfully above ethics involved in rigidly maintaining
State policy regarding personal leave, stays home indolently
claiming social life ineffable excuse to remain insensitive
of mutual obligations towards her State employer
Scolding one and all into administrative prowess and bland,
textbook translations finely tuned to dissonant registers in which
the original score was produced - while emitting clouds of smoke
that would be the envy of a Cruella DeVille planning to
make coats from Dalmatian skins; Hannibal Lecter in ‘Silence
of the Lambs’ would be proud to claim her acquaintance as
fellow cannibal and Pollyanna, who routinely finds excuses for
delinquents, failed come up with quaint innovative pretexts
making a catch-all smoke-screen valid for the Madame’s
continuous absence – only Sherlock Holmes would be able
to find dysfunctional clues particular to which mental screws
are loose in Madame’s imperious imbalanced indolence…
[ORIGINAL]
Madame de la Pompadour puts Darcy’s condescending
aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice to
shame by being even more arrogant than that worthy Lady
ever was when scolding the poor into harmony and plenty
While Madame cannot come to work like the rest of the
poor peasants; she regards Mary Poppins with a disdain-
ful eye, finding her discovery of an element of fun in every
job that has to be done, wanting in every ethical respect
While blissfully ignorant of the ethics involved in following
State Policy regarding leave, gaily stays at home claiming
her social life as valid excuse for remaining obtuse re obli-
gations towards an employer, scolding one and all into
Administrative prowess and bland, textbook translations
finely tuned to the dissonant register in which the original
score was produced - while emitting clouds of smoke that
would be the envy of a Cruella DeVille planning to make
Coats from Dalmatian skins, Hannibal Lecter in Silence of
the Lambs would be proud to claim her acquaintance as a
fellow cannibal, Pollyanna always finds excuse for every
delinquent, but even she can no longer come up with
Pretexts that would make a valid smoke-screen for the
Madame’s continuous absence – only Sherlock Holmes
would be able to find clues as to which screws are loose
in Madame’s unfathomable mental processes…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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