Tete a tete
The choice i made was good,
My wounds were healed,
The secrets i sealed,
It was better though mild,
Understand me please
Come for tete a tete
Dont put me in a corner my love
Im wrong i accept my love,
Whose tear should fall,
Lets have a talk my love,
Tete a tete be it
You are evrything i need,
Im everything you both need,
Its a dilemma,
I need a tete a tete
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Related quotes
T.
t
IS the tea party
i have with me
i slice my cake
and eat it
without anybody
seeing me
t
is my own tete-a-tete
with my own
temple
my own soul
a
T
Truth
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love and Hate
God knows why I can't read my own fate!
God knows why love has turned into hate!
God knows I have no more love to waste!
God knows why I am in wretched state!
God knows why we had no tête-à-tête!
God knows why I am not your playmate!
God knows you were like my heaven's gate!
God knows how you can now compensate!
God knows your love could make my life great!
But it seems it has become too late!
poem by Asif Andalib
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By pass
Require by pass
Replacement meet
Giridhar.
Require love
Consult Gopal
AT lifeline.
Require peace harmony
Read Gajanan
At poems hunter.
Remember this world
Ours and we all
Supra tete-a-tete
And that terminate.
Each is others friend
And in friendship
Nothing begin
Nothing end.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Now Look Here Prof
This is in answer to Ron Atkinsons poem 'Ernestine'.
Now look here Prof, I never expected such a super write.
But what you've done I reckon, is pretty 'down right' polite,
I never thought that I would see my name up there in lights,
But one can never tell quite, when one hits such heady heights.
I'm overwhelmed by all the words you've said to me today,
And I am just so thrilled with them, they really are Okay,
So thanks a bunch for thinking up this lovely tete-a-tete,
Your poems are on my wavelength, and to you I sure relate.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Thunder
Weather-bureau godly telegraphing busy
Messaging in morse-code of distant sounds
Decoded to roll on in soft beats
Metric in simple, duple, triple
Restless but in lightning ardency
Accelerated additive to down-beats
To din-din the earth, a 'tete-a-tete' scenario
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Tête-à-Tête
You talk about success?
How are you going to obtain that...
And you socialize all the time?
Your looks may carry you across
Someone's threshold...
But even trophies lose their glitter,
And rust.
And fading looks minus substance...
Equals a significant loss,
In those superficial circles!
Those of true success,
Get little sleep and not much rest.
Having little time for a tête-à-tête
With ex-convicts who now conduct seminars...
On topics regarding proper etiquette,
For those being taught how to hoodwink...
For fun and profit!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Baby you are my soul mate
Baby you are my soul mate
But now it seems it's too late
O those old days were so great
Then secretly we could date
But now we can't change our fate
Coz now it seems it's too late
Sometimes we had tete-a-tete
I stared at you when you ate
You were like my heaven's gate
But now it seems it's too late
Your love has turned into hate
Coz you are now so upset
Your thought now makes my eyes wet
Coz now it seems it's too late
Everything is not said yet
Read my poems in internet
You will forgive I can bet
Though now it seems it's too late
Forget me not don't forget
Otherwise you will regret
Don't treat me like a lost pet
Though now it seems it's too late
poem by Asif Andalib
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Paintings
colours, they bring back
scenes and scents
your painting, it brings
brings me back all the years
still i can sit in that chair of
that long lost cafe and
have the privilege of a
tete a tete with friends,
imagined and real
of things we all cherish
the love of art and all the things
that it brings - scenes,
scents, and the time
we thought is lost
forever in time
Second Version
--
colours, they bring back
scenes and scents
your painting, it brings
brings me back all the years
still i can sit in that chair of
that long lost cafe and
have the privilege of a
tete a tete with friends,
imagined and real
of things we all cherish
the love of art and all the things
that it brings - scenes,
scents and geniuses
overheated talents
that drove them lunatics,
madmen manoevring
with the coldness
of the arctics
volcanoes that explode
splotches, dashes
splashes, onto the
canvas of their dreams
colours, they bring back
scenes and scents
paintings, they bring back
all the years nature plods on
against adversities to help
the artist pour out its best onto canvas
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Escritoire
Here we are again
In a tête-à-tête,
A soliloquy,
And I shall again
Fillet my bones
To divulge
My pawned head,
Half smiling,
Half dead.
You are fortunate
To be dead
And not to feel,
And that this message
Wouldn't matter,
And that you wouldn't care
If I scathe your swarthy veneer
As I etch the weight
Into the frail paper
Reaching your
Solid, cold core.
But you wouldn't pick up the beads
Nor tell me that it is falling
Into this broken poem.
You are lucky,
You are dead
Far from the hurting
Of the living.
poem by Norman Santos
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To Verbalize In A Void
To Verbalize in a Void
Tired of talking to god who never answers and watching silence
drip like tears from the ceiling beams, I walked down to the new
café, the one at the fruit market, for a cup of coffee.
A profound philosophical conversation ensued. The young girl,
who served me asked if I wanted cream in my brew; after a brief
pause, I said no. The slight pause was caused by a sudden need
to tell her I have diabetes and full fat cream is bad for me, but
since this information had little to do with her question I let it pass.
That was the extent of my tête-à-tête for the day, but it was
fulfilling though, a question had been raised and a comprehensive
responds had been given.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Time to Talk
as words flow
to my inspiration
from a source
a million light years away
scores of lines
stream onto the screen
per few minutes
a meaningful friend
came by to have a tete a tete
quite unaware
of the fact that
i am a world away
from this world
my heart and mind
logged onto another source
i nodded only to his conversation
as words trail the screen
from the other world
so many worlds in this world
when talking about
entrapments and awareness
inspired by
A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
Robert Frost
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Chat Last Night
i am good at words.
familiar with metaphors, and you stumble
upon an
oxymoron that i offer you and which you by
confusion, have so lightly taken,
i do have to say, how much is your smile,
what is the price of your kiss,
i will be too abrupt, and blunt and you may
not like them,
though that is what it
really is: love cost this amount
per unit of convergence
divisible moments, maximizing income.
beautiful killer, you are,
tremendously slow, in conclusions,
i buy you some confounding,
this is or this is not, to be or not to be,
you this, and you do not know about that,
how time consuming
to woe and yet not to let you know
that we are not really talking and i am not
taking you for
love: a commodity, a trade in for dignity,
an excuse to gallivant like
an etherized valentino,
stuffed juliet, and frozen romeo, undressed
they all appear like
dressed chickens in a row, for sale,
three for two,
a little tete a tete, something for a bric and brac,
guess some more,
'i love you'
i really love you, and i said oh i love you too
webcams off. what kind of face did you wear then?
was it the mask? is it the face with a crown of thorns
Jesssez! for God's sake! stop talking about love,
i am freezing in coldness. Love is strange now
as we age, we do not believe about its value anymore,
wrinkled skins, and hollow bones,
empty promises of the salvific nature of
divine love,
what for? this i can say. I do not think anymore like
a philosopher, i live like a an ant now,
following pheromones, doing and doing, and hauling and hauling,
just a creature on this anthill
nothing more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Secret Temptation II
Tossing and turning the entire night, I'm used to losing my sleep.
Can only see her vaguely, I'm cursing my lacking of binocular.
In these rainy days I long to see her dancing under her umbrella.
Seemingly impossible, but for her I could play my part of D.J.
Just for a single glimpse I wait for entire day as she seems as elusive as Cinderella.
For gods and goddesses, she struggled and feigned the disease of sitophobia.
And in every infinitesimal moment she resides in my reverie, but I've had them all crushed.
When, like some herb-smoking sage with their naked body smeared with ash.
All my friends preach me like some centenarian swami.
However I usually find myself lending my ears to hear the silence of her talk.
And the pain of her absence abates miraculously as her smile acts as an anaesthesia.
One day I should face her tete-a-tete with all my might and power.
And that day I'll shout to the world that she resides in every ups and downs of my sulci and gyri.
poem by Menash Mohan Shrestha
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Poetry and Prayer
When hopelessness or passion's throes ignites us,
lost emotion casts confusion everywhere.
When hatred of our flesh's prison grates us,
how much easier is forgetting that we care?
Where we turn to in the furnace glare is telling,
whether up or in is more than circumstance.
Where we run to seeking comfort is our heart's truth
just a cry for absolution's withered chance.
Do we run the risk of giving up the certain
for subjective hells of sanity and science?
Do we easily forget how fast we're broken,
that we've never been a race for self reliance?
Is salvation such a dangerous conclusion
can we not believe the father or the wraith?
Is creation just a fallable illusion
isn't lack of proof a tete a tete with faith?
It's funny where the arguments can take us,
hither tither, yonder yore, or anywhere.
It's funny how, when sanity starts slipping,
we're occupied with poetry and prayer.
poem by Poet Dragon
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I Dreamt Of My Father Last Night
I dreamt of my father last night
with an indifferent boy to his height
out from a hazy meadow into my sight
on his face was this grave grin
as he paused a little for me to join
while the boy looked away in vague pain
I might have been curious who he was
but father took out his cigarette case
that exuded its old taciturn wince
humbly I took the cigarette
though we both had long since quit
and leaned forward for father to light it
somehow my rusty puff snuffed out father’s light
the only inexplicable one for the night
while my apologetically lit cigarette was alright
I handed it over for father to light his cigarette
which he puffed hard but could not manage it
even if the two were closely joint tête-à-tête
knowing it was a dream I did not want daylight
in that haziness my cigarette was only thing alight
I waited and waited for father to get his light —
poem by Dr Ronnie Bai
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Epilogue
Having forsaken all paths open to me
I come to you
Always.
And when for a while I am with you
I go beyond myself for eons
In measuring the distance of a single word.
I exhaust the breath count
Of my vanquished life-span
In the midst of your victorious centuries.
The single moment with you
Which becomes the digit of my fate
Remains deprived of any count.
The seasons exhaust all their four guise-embodiments
And snows of uncounted millenia
Continue piling up in heaps
On the poles
From beginning to the end of time
While you sit near the fireplace
Soaking yourself in the warmth
Of a tete-a-tete.
The horizons of this room
Like your love
Are indeed vast
But my uprooted feet
Can't find their footing in space
And I perforce
Seek reincarnation again and again
Each time I loose my life's dream
In your eyes.
This time (however)
I ' ve nothing to loose or gain
No great battles remain to be fought
All I wish is
To die the last time
Living the remainder of my life.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Vicissitude IV: Autumn
Undraped from the silver jewelries
And donned with jaded gold
Gravity sat on his eiderdown
Girdling everything in his core
Usurping the land and filleting it
Until it is naked and splinted
From the cumbersome aftermaths
And I, too, unfurl a gilded soul
Married to a wraith of constant brawl
On and on, the creed falls
Shrouded from a multitude of brevity
I wither and fall in acquiescence
With the halcyon cacophony
Laboring honesty, eagerly and haplessly
Only to find it crisp and frangible
Crumbling to pieces only to fall
In autumn's omniscient spell
I watched the brown river flow
And the drifting current to take me
So the topple endures the invigoration
That I held for a sangfroid resistance
Gnawing teeth and kneading hands
In a tête-à-tête with malignance
I cajoled and begged for a consummate defeat
Under this wrecked vicissitude's feet
One last fall, one last shattered hope
One final string of a gilded rope
poem by Norman Santos
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Calm of the Sea
the whole day
the coconut leaves rustle
and punctuate
our tete a tete
allowing us to savour
the fineness of the tropics
the warm wind
titilates our senses
in way only humans
could know
the whole day
by the beach
the waves roar
leaping against the pier
a little sampan
bobs up and down
the sound of a
young couple on love bed
an enclosed
insect circling
a case looking for
the crevice of freedom
the sea crushes on and on
in the waves
i seek a calm
my worries trail its sound
emptied as the bubbles
burst into nothing
the sea of desires
that tugs at my heart
i submerge in the vast morass of water
left on the sand
pensive footsteps
lead me to my thoughts of Buddha
his walk to enlightenment
away from the ceaseless
waves of wants
that pound against
the human heart day after day
in these footsteps
i find zen
a calm in the frenzy of waves and wind
nirvana
where the sea
remains so serene
it reflects the peace
of all around
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Chanson de fou (1)
Le crapaud noir sur le sol blanc
Me fixe indubitablement
Avec des yeux plus grands que n'est grande sa tête ;
Ce sont les yeux qu'on m'a volés
Quand mes regards s'en sont allés,
Un soir, que je tournai la tête.
Mon frère ? - il est quelqu'un qui ment,
Avec de la farine entre ses dents ;
C'est lui, jambes et bras en croix,
Qui tourne au loin, là-bas,
Qui tourne au vent,
Sur ce moulin de bois.
Et Celui-ci, c'est mon cousin
Qui fut curé et but si fort du vin
Que le soleil en devint rouge ;
J'ai su qu'il habitait un bouge,
Avec des morts, dans ses armoires.
Car nous avons pour génitoires
Deux cailloux
Et pour monnaie un sac de poux,
Nous, les trois fous,
Qui épousons, au clair de lune,
Trois folles dames, sur la dune.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Honesty Begets Honesty
Honesty begets honesty
It is equivocatingly disparaging
Because honesty is an esoteric riddle
And a riddle begets a riddle
When you think it is inequitable
That life begets death
And not the pulp of life,
And death begets life
When you appealed for death
It is because they are one and similar
The equivocal correlation
Is but another juggle of affectation
In supercilious entanglement
So we fumble on the hills
Of the pre-determined sequence
Wretched friends, we are all dazed
About religion and politics,
And stereotypes and chauvinism,
And philosophy and geometry,
In a tête-à-tête with disparity
It is all but the same
From the encrusted veneer
To the profane epicenter,
As with veracity and metaphors
We are reveling gypsies
With pawned feet of stones.
When honesty begets honesty
You will figure for yourself
That life is but a game
And we are all to topple
In the treacle of sincerity
Because honestly,
Nothing begets nothing
Equivalent to an enema for the eczema
The paranoia protracts in an echolalia
Do not hand down your honesty
Because honestly,
You would abscond honesty.
poem by Norman Santos
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