Related quotes: I thanked the gods for...

Madonna (new version)

I thanked the gods for you
and you were Madonna beautiful to me
as if something holy
radiated from your heart.

Your golden eyes
could look deep into my soul
and you could understand me
for who and what
I really am.

You could put your fingers
to strings and brushes
and the most beautiful words
could go out of your hands
and your sparkling voice
stays forever with me,
but Madonna,
you are gone.

Now I know that John Keats
and AG Visser
would have understood how it feels
when a princess
whom you tried to build a life with,
decides that she does not
like you, neverless love you
and I wonder
if there’s still a heart beating
Madonna, in your breast?

[References: La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, La belle dame sans merci by AG Visser, La belle dame sans merci by Gert Strydom and No red rose by Gert Strydom.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

La belle dame sans merci

Every day she unfolds leave on leave
drawing fascination from everyone.
Every day with greater beauty,
she spreads her life force
giving herself, giving all of her
without a leave withering or wilting.

So without scar,
without blemish she appears
and still she carries to eternity
the signs of her time
and still she can attract and charm so much
that you and I
fall under her spell.

[References: La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, La belle dame sans merci by AG Visser and No red rose by Gert Strydom]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Peggy Mitchell

Your smile came so easily
as a rose unfolding under the sun
and almost carelessly were we
in a true happy state
falling for each other

and yet although pure with great dignity
love sprouted as a simple flower
coming to its own perfection
but the thorns that it carried
brought pain, mercilessly tormenting
in madness, glee and selfishly
and still as joy unending

and carelessly you wanted to be free,
just as easily you left me, senselessly
as stripped leaves wither,
to flower for another
to have his heart at your mercy.

[References: Peggy Mitchell by the Irish poet Rafferty, Peggy Mitchell by James Stephens, Sy by A.G. Visser, Peggy Mitchell by Eugene N. Marais, La belle dame sans merci by John Keats, Madonna (new version) , No Red Rose and La belle dame sans merci by Gert Strydom.]

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Madonna

I thanked the gods for you
and you were Madonna beautiful to me
as if something holy
radiated from your heart.

Your golden eyes
could look deep into my soul
and you could understand me
for who and what
I really am.

You could put your fingers
to strings and brushes
and the most beautiful words
could go out of your hands
and your sparkling voice
stays forever with me,
but Madonna,
you are gone.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Here now John Keats, I salute you

Some of your poems
were met with contempt
and yet above most
English poets your work rise.

Your words are deep and wise
and sweep past time
in eloquence,
breaking right through history
with magic and imagery
and only after death
your true honour comes.

Now famous are your name
and on first reading
“Chapman’s Homer”
I was convinced
to read Homer’s Iliad and the Odyssey.

Your “La Belle Dame sans Merci”
and “Lamia” are reflected
in my own verse
and here now
John Keats, I salute you
while your words
are immortal to me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

What Kisses Had John Keats?

I scanned two lines with some surmise
As over Keats I chanced to pore:
'And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.'

Says I: 'Why was it only four,
Not five or six or seven?
I think I would have made it more,--
Even eleven.

'Gee! If she'd lured a guy like me
Into her gelid grot
I'd make that Belle Dame sans Merci
Sure kiss a lot.

'Them poets have their little tricks;
I think John counted kisses for,
Not two or three or five or six
To rhyme with "sore."'

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My barmaid

I

Let’s drink to life
and love and liberty
and in all things be free.

II

She’s got a variety of drinks
at the bar in her lounge
and likes JC Le Roux sparkling wine
and Dimple Haig whiskey
and when I visit
she pours KWV red wine
or some Hunters Gold cider
or Johnny Walker whiskey for me
and we chat like old friends do
and we play pool
and she beats me each time
and we slow dance
on Bob Marley and the whalers
and no woman no cry
becomes real to me
and although some other guys
may know her intimately well,
she stays totally magic to me
and far better than all of this
is when I kiss her
and take her in my arms
and she melts into me
and really intense sparks fly
and she becomes mine.

III

La belle dame sans merci,
this girl will forever,
be precious to me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Goddess

In the meadow the flowers tinkle like tin,
Birds snigger in the trees
'You don't belong! '
(Blood running down the wall)
But what have I done wrong?
What makes these faces leer and grin?
Is there some talk of murder as evening shadows fall
Or is it some ancestral sin
That turns the mind and makes the skin of daylight crawl?

Thoughts of lurid nightmare can appall
The waking soul and seize
The sanest sense with madness
Until at last a voice speaks out:
'La belle Dame sans merci hath thee in thrall! '

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Pesticide Fields

For Rachel Carson,1907-1968

In La Belle Dame sans Merci
John Keats writes about the sedge
That withered from the lake
And the birds that stopped to sing.

But unlike the poet’s merciless Dame
You, Rachel, you were a Lady
Of great compassion.

The eels and the scombrids still swim
Under the Sea Wind somehow
Yet your Silent Spring evokes
A verdant season without bird song
On the pesticide fields.

Half a century ago you warned
That the abuse of DDT
And other chemicals harm
And kill animals and humans.

And then the chemical corporations
Reacted to your words
With savage furor and venom.

They accused you with all sort of things:
Of being a hysterical woman
Without proper scientific training
Who did not understand the need
To weigh potential risks against benefits.

They also accused you
Of being responsible
For millions of deaths around the globe
Caused by malaria
Because DDT can kill mosquitoes
And a ban on it would hinder control
Of malaria transmission.

These were untrue
And malicious accusations.
In fact, you never suggested
To ban DDT or chemicals.
You just said to use pesticides
With caution and to spray
With as little as possible.

Since then your vision
Has been vindicated
And remarkably, the poisonous campaign
Of the chemical industry against you
Backfired.

The public became aware
Of the dangers of pesticides
And governments outlawed
The use of DDT.

However, you became gravely ill
In the struggle.
I don’t know
Whether the breast cancer you contracted
Was caused by environmental degradation
And pollution
Augmented by the toxic fumes
Of a vicious campaign against you.

Who knows?

Rachel, my brave and fragile,
My wise and farsighted lady,
We only know that you died
Of a heart attack.

poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Song Of Keats

'TIS a tarnished book and old,
Edges frayed and covers green!
But, between the covers, gold —
Gold and jewels in between.
And this written (see, O see!
How old Time has made it dim)
'For one song Keats gave to me
I kneel down and worship him.'
He who wrote these lines is dust;
All of him is passed away;
Some hand closed his eyes, I trust,
Drew the blind to darken day.
Did lips kiss him at the end,
Love-lips tremulous yet brave?
Had he mistress, child, or friend
To sow green grass upon his grave?
Nay, we know not — it is long
Since he tired of Life's deceits,
Closed his ears to sigh and song,
Parted with this book, JOHN KEATS.
Year by year the Poet thrives;
Summer smiles and winter weeps;
La Belle Dame Sans Merci lives,
But a heart that loved her sleeps.
Who would woeful go to miss
Roses red in thorns arrayed,
When he might with surer bliss
Love a milkwhite Devon maid?
Beauty kindles man's desire,
Beauty dwindles, growing faint;
But the girls who never tire
Are the girls that poets paint.
When the moon has taken wings
And the twilight hour is come,
Grey the woods, and no bird sings:
Grey the world beyond, and dumb:
Neither light is there nor breeze,
Rose to redden, thorn to pain;
Till, look! look! Among the trees
A sudden bird! a scarlet stain!
So he tired of Fate's defeats,
Life's dead trees and woodlands grim,
Till sudden-sweet a song of Keats
One magic moment gave to him.

poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery's child:
Her hair was long, her foot was ligh,
And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true!"

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild, sad eyes---
So kissed to sleep.

And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed, ah! woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried---"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill side.

And that is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Original version )

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

poem by John Keats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

La Belle Dame Sans Regrets

Dansons tu dis
Et moi, je suis
Mes pas sont gauches
Mes pieds tu fauches
Je crains les sots
Je cherche en vain les mots
Pour mexpliquer ta vie, alors
Tu mens, ma Soeur
Tu brises mon coeur
Je pense, tu sais
Erreurs, jamais
Jcoute, tu parles
Je ne comprends pas bien
La Belle Dame sans Regrets
Je pleure, tu ris
Je chante, tu cries
Tu smes les graines
Dun mauvais chne
Mon bl senvole
Tu en as ras le bol
Jattends, toujours
Mes cris sont sourds
Tu brises mon coeur
Je pense, tu sais
Erreurs, jamais
Jcoute, tu parles
Je ne comprends pas bien
La Belle sans Regrets

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Auntie (Ma Ma Ma Belle, Early Version)

Got love, if thats what you need
I got three or four babies sittin on my knee
I got love waitin for you
I come sneakin round the corner of the avenue
You gotta ma-ma-ma belle, or I will get you
You know you gotta ma-ma-ma belle, before I get you
Theres one thing thats on my mind
And thats getting hold of you before I serve my time
Ill keep on, with my heavy load
Till I see you come a strollin down that open road
You gotta ma-ma-ma belle, or I will get you
You know you gotta ma-ma-ma belle, before I get you
I love you ma-ma-ma belle
Thats why I want to get it all well Im sure you can tell
I got, good soul, runnin so deep
Gonna get you in the corner so that I can keep
Cant you hear me once ma-ma-ma belle
You gotta ma-ma-ma belle, or I will get you
You know you gotta ma-ma-ma belle, before I get you