Oh, mia bellissima
Men dream of dames' angelic perfection
brusquely are inspired by divine strophes
because females are conferring affection
to those who survived war catastrophes.
Gallant warriors expect dames' embraces
and when noblest ladies bestow honors
a whipped cream cappuccino leaves traces,
on their beards and darkened colors.. (lol)
Oh, mia bellissima, soldati sing to the gals,
donne will throw roses amore to comprise,
while uomini cantano from Venetian canals
atop gondolas, alzare their baritone highs.
Enigmatic eyes stare erotically from blinds
as the bearded gondollieri amount on arias
the well-favored dames involuntarily grind,
as flower petals unfold, pensieri di dahlias.
Light diminishes, as passion esteems dusk;
lint-laced contesse aspettano to be favored
and gentiluomini soldati perfumed with musk
sing to signiorinas who wish to be flavored.
© 2012, All rights reseved
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Related quotes
To All The Dames
To all the dames
Wrapped in gold,
Silver fame
And fantasy, bold.
Write you not on paper,
Write you not walls
This moment be somber,
Upon the lads that call
Upon your pillars,
Languid or full of vim -
Oh the dames, your wine cellars
They fill these lads to the brim.
To all the dames, stiflingly poignant
Askew are the lads with their flimsy hands
Upon the curves of a dame so rampant
That even the gods sigh in disdain upon lands.
To all the dames who wage a war
To all the dames with lips ajar
And to all the dames who pledged with scars
This be a game of mad men, a swineherd too farce.
If I were to love
All the dames
I’d be a shabby dove
Bursting in flames.
If I could snare all the dames
And let them shatter in one of the games
Then I could bathe with the tepid hellfires
And sulk in the moments of an embellished ire.
I wish not to love all of you,
Only to tell all of you in the strangest hue
That when the heavens roared madly,
The heavens ebbed in a tangle of a woman’s melody.
This be sure, there is a flame
Never to be extinguished inside a woman’s caress.
This be sure, such fatal sadness in a picture frame
There is a mirth to be found not inside a woman’s dress.
A woman’s breath,
A woman’s breadth.
A woman’s idiosyncrasy
Over lacquer and musical fancy
A woman’s sigh
A woman’s bliss
Never a woman’s thigh
Or a woman’s hot kiss.
And so to all the dames
These are everything I know about the majesty
There are certain deaths in the journey and the travesty
All for a dame, all for a dame.
To all the dames,
Good night.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sirens
Redemptive Sirens song and whisper
comely to stars' noctilucent mystery,
a sainted unspoiled nod to ascribe,
a mystery rightly to hold and imbibe.
Airy forms, on beatitude's pastures,
they walked; to paths where mortals,
once only go as the winds assuage
the dreamy fate of the Sirens' wage.
Still, with a becoming of dark stare,
sing above waves with a stygian care
to evaluate men unattackably virile,
unlovely wicked, with ill favored vile.
Beauteous, and even better looking
exquisite dames, are wickedly stalking
nautilus lives with songs entranced,
ardent and deadly, in dreams glanced.
Beamy and brilliant beckon forbidding,
talk to men souls, defenses abrading,
insatiable thirst of crimson, avarice,
in Hades flower beds, Dante's Beatrice.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Bar Talk
You remember that dame
who didn't want to talk to
you and then later she did
by which time you had met
some other chick who really
turned you on? Joey said well
she's like that with most guys
she thinks it gives her a kind
of power you know the type
was probably kept under her
old man's thumb or maybe her
brothers kept her in her place
and she wants to break out or
in whatever the case may be
so I shouldn't take it to heart
Bud don't let it get to you
anyway if you see her again
give her the cold shoulder or
spin her some yarn that you
only go out with good looking
dames and Bud looked over at
Joey who was smoking a cigar
and holding a glass of beer and
said I know dames I was born
from one and I had four sisters
all of whom were nice chicks
and really made my youth one
hell of a heaven if that ain't a
contradiction so I don't need
no lessons on dames see I know
them and so Joey shrugged his
shoulders and sipped his beer
and drew heavy on his cigar
and said so be it next thing
you'll be telling me is you've
slept with your darn ma.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Statesman's Holiday
I LIVED among great houses,
Riches drove out rank,
Base drove out the better blood,
And mind and body shrank.
No Oscar ruled the table,
But I'd a troop of friends
That knowing better talk had gone
Talked of odds and ends.
Some knew what ailed the world
But never said a thing,
So I have picked a better trade
And night and morning sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
Am I a great Lord Chancellor
That slept upon the Sack?
Commanding officer that tore
The khaki from his back?
Or am I de Valera,
Or the King of Greece,
Or the man that made the motors?
Ach, call me what you please!
Here's a Montenegrin lute,
And its old sole string
Makes me sweet music
And I delight to sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
With boys and girls about him.
With any sort of clothes,
With a hat out of fashion,
With Old patched shoes,
With a ragged bandit cloak,
With an eye like a hawk,
With a stiff straight back,
With a strutting turkey walk.
With a bag full of pennies,
With a monkey on a chain,
With a great cock's feather,
With an old foul tune.
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Statesman's Holiday
I lived among great houses,
Riches drove out rank,
Base drove out the better blood,
And mind and body shrank.
No Oscar ruled the table,
But I'd a troop of friends
That knowing better talk had gone
Talked of odds and ends.
Some knew what ailed the world
But never said a thing,
So I have picked a better trade
And night and morning sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
Am I a great Lord Chancellor
That slept upon the Sack?
Commanding officer that tore
The khaki from his back?
Or am I de Valera,
Or the King of Greece,
Or the man that made the motors?
Ach, call me what you please!
Here's a Montenegrin lute,
And its old sole string
Makes me sweet music
And I delight to sing:
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
With boys and girls about him.
With any sort of clothes,
With a hat out of fashion,
With Old patched shoes,
With a ragged bandit cloak,
With an eye like a hawk,
With a stiff straight back,
With a strutting turkey walk.
With a bag full of pennies,
With a monkey on a chain,
With a great cock's feather,
With an old foul tune.
Tall dames go walking in grass-green Avalon.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Circle Of Amour
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Best friends as far as I could tell
Chearleaders except 4 denise
She was the wild one
She was the beast
She was the one who named the group
The original gang of 4
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Circle of amore
10th grade central in september
That was a year I remember
On this chilly cold afternoon
I overheard the gang in the locker room
Rendezvous, marys house
Dirty words and wine
Needless 2 say they all spend the day
Just counting time, counting time
Halfway through her history class
Denise she kindly raised her hand and asked
If she could be excused (can I be excused? )
Then she ran from school (ran from school) in a hurry,
The other girls, ooh they knew
This is what friends are really 4
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Circle of amore
Circle of amore
Imagination showed a window (imagination)
On a cold september day (ooh)
Leaves are brown (brown), passion sounds (ooh)
Memory self astray
4 hands in the place where the feet connect
(gang of 4)
Circle of sex
In the vicious race 2 maturity
Theyre almost phased from ecstasy
Sweat upon the necks of dames
Loser in the circle game
Cause memories r worth so much more (so much more)
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Circle of amore
(ooh)
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Circle of amore
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Mary, claire, denise and belle
Circle of amore
Circle of amore
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give a lift to a tomato, you expect her to be nice, don't ya? After all, what kind of dames thumb rides, Sunday school teachers?
quote by Martin Goldsmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream On (live, MTVIcon)
Every time that I look in the mirror
All these lines in my face gettin' clearer
The past is gone;
It went by like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way?
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay
I know nobody knows
Where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin;
You got to lose to know how to win.
Half my life's in books' written pages,
Live and learn from fools and from sages
You know it's true,
All the feelings
Come back to you.
Sing with me,
Sing for the year,
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear.
Sing it with me
If it's just for today,
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.
(aaaaaaaaa...)
Sing with me,
Sing for the year,
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tear.
Sing it with me
If it's just for today,
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.
(come on )
Dream on, dream on, dream on,
Dream yourself a dream come true.
Dream on, dream on, dream on,
Dream until your dream comes true.
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on,
Dream, Dream ,Dream come true
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on, Dream on
Dream on, Dream on, Dream on (aaa...)
song performed by by Train
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Musing over Latte.
Floptin sits outside
the cafe on the mall
and watches the three
plump dames sitting nearby
one slightly plumper
than the others
and as he stares
it reminds him
of his first lady
the one who showed him
the ropes of sexuality
who sucked away
his innocence one night
and he recalls
how liberated
he felt back then
how her plump flesh
flapped against him
and the sound was like
nothing he had heard before
and she said to him
sweet boy
you're a man now
you can tell your friends
you have made the grade
and now sitting at the cafe
on the mall
watching the plump dames
feeding her mouths
their chins moving
their eyes excited
their voices booming
and their laughter
sexual and loud
and looking at
the plumpest dame
how her hair
was pulled back
so and so
he smiles to himself
and wonders how
she'd make him feel
with her flesh flapping
and her eyes aglow.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come Join The Abolitionists
Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye young men bold and strong.
And with a warm and cheerful zeal,
Come help the cause along;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more,
When Slavery is no more.
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When Slavery is no more.
Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye men of riper years,
And save your wives and children dear,
From grief and bitter tears;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more,
When Slavery is no more,
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When Slavery is no more.
Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye dames and maidens fair,
And breathe around us in our path
Affection's hallowed air;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when woman cheers us on,
When woman cheers us on, to conquests not yet won.
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When woman cheers us on.
Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye sons and daughters all
Of this our own America-
Come at the friendly call;
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, when all shall proudly say,
This, this is Freedom's day-Oppression flee away!
'T is then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When freedom wins the day.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sing My Love
Sing to me my little flower
Sing me the songs of tenderness and love
Sing to me as you stare
Into this intricate and beautiful creation
Alone yet not alone
Comforted by the silent tingle of love
Flowing through my immensely proud hands
Sing to me my precious flower
Sing though you have yet to grasps the art of speaking
Sing to me my love
For soon I shall retire
Sing to me my precious flower
Sing me the songs of tenderness and love
poem by Mustafa Marconi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Woman Called
A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worry over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ass.
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ass
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for erection.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Could Not Love You
There're a billion people in the world
All of them equal but of different worth
I find you to have a value equaled by no other
You are a rare and beautiful flower
But I'm sorry that I could not favor you
And make you the queen of my heart as I should
That instead I chose a different group
And I chose to favor them more than you
To favor a person means that you are two
And I'm sorry that I could not be with you
And a favored another one more fair
Although you are a true queens heir
And amongst a million kings and princesses
You always claimed that you were the fairest
And though your heart is the kindest I knew
I apologies that I could not favor you
And instead I chose to favor another
Not your equal, but not your better
I see a million faces each day but only acquaint with a few
You and I went different ways so I could not favor you
You and I once had our chance but I chose to let it go
You had no fault at all as I made the choice alone
And instead I chose to look for another
And I did favor them more than you
Although in my eyes you are a flower
I'm sorry that I could not be with you
And value you as a queen like I should
But just as I favored another more than you
Another favors you more than any other
And chose to be with you and no-other
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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Want Change
I want change I mean we want change
like a car merging in another lane without skin jumpin' off the frame where minds are tamed and souls are lifted like cranes
and all colors stand tall like gray dames
with only knowlegde entering the brain
I want change I mean we want change
poem by Damion Willis
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All eyes are opened, or opening, to the rights of man. The general spread of the light of science has already laid open to every view the palpable truth, that the mass of mankind has not been born with saddles on their backs, nor a favored few booted and spurred, ready to ride them legitimately, by the grace of God. These are grounds of hope for others. For ourselves, let the annual return of this day forever refresh our recollections of these rights, and an undiminished devotion to them.
quote by Thomas Jefferson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Modern Love XV: I Think She Sleeps
I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low
Hangs that abandoned arm toward the floor;
The face turned with it. Now make fast the door.
Sleep on: it is your husband, not your foe.
The Poet's black stage-lion of wronged love,
Frights not our modern dames:--well if he did!
Now will I pour new light upon that lid,
Full-sloping like the breasts beneath. 'Sweet dove,
Your sleep is pure. Nay, pardon: I disturb.
I do not? good!' Her waking infant-stare
Grows woman to the burden my hands bear:
Her own handwriting to me when no curb
Was left on Passion's tongue. She trembles through;
A woman's tremble--the whole instrument:--
I show another letter lately sent.
The words are very like: the name is new.
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Lady Playing The Harp
Thy tones are silver melted into sound,
And as I dream
I see no walls around,
But seem to hear
A gondolier
Sing sweetly down some slow Venetian stream.
Italian skies--that I have never seen--
I see above.
(Ah, play again, my queen;
Thy fingers white
Fly swift and light
And weave for me the golden mesh of love.)
Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the dusky eyes
And soft dark hair,
'T is thou that mak'st my skies
So swift to change
To far and strange:
But far and strange, thou still dost make them fair.
Now thou dost sing, and I am lost in thee
As one who drowns
In floods of melody.
Still in thy art
Give me this part,
Till perfect love, the love of loving crowns.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Song Of Roses
'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.
One song for true love's roses of sweetest deepest red,
Some heart will wear you faithfully when life itself hath fled,
And for the white rose sing a song--the white rose for the dead.
And ah! the yellow roses, of brightest, lightest gold,
King Midas must have touched their leaves in mystic days of old,
Or they were made of sunshine, and gilded, fold by fold.
And the roadside rose, sweet-briar, we would remember thee
And the cinnamon rose that evermore enthralls each passing bee,
You old, old-fashioned roses, a-growing wild and free.
'Tis time to sing of roses! of roses all ablow!
They come again, as sweet, my dear, as those of long ago.
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here you know.
poem by Virna Sheard
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Wildwood Flower
I will twine with your mingles of raven black hair
With the roses so red and the lilies so fair
With myrtle as bright as the emerald dew
The pale and the lyd-er and eyes of light blue
Oh he promised to love me; he promised to love
And to cherish me always all others above.
I woke from my dream and my idol was clay
My passion for loving had vanished away.
Oh he taught me to love him; he called me his flower
A blossom to cheer him through lifes weary hour
But now he is gone and left me alone
The wild flowers to weep and the wild birds to mourn.
I will dance and Ill sing and my life shall be gay
I will charm every heart and each crown I shall sway
Though my heart now is breaking he never shall know
How his name makes me tremble, my pale cheeks to glow.
I will dance and Ill sing and my heart will be gay
Ill banish this weeping, drive troubles away.
Ill live yet to see him regret this dark hour
When we won and neglected this frail wildwood flower.
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why don't you come? [De ce nu-mi vii?]
Behold! The birds will fly away
And walnut leaves will soon decay,
The rime has made the vineyards numb
Why don't you come, why don't you come?
Oh, come again with all your charms
I want to feel you in my arms,
To lay my head upon your breast
And there to rest, and there to rest!
Remember how we used to stray
Over the hills and far away,
How we were walking in the rain
Time and again, time and again?
I know there are a lot of dames
Whose eyes are burning like two flames,
But doesn't matter what they do
They're not like you, they're not like you!
Therefore you are my only goal
For you can stir my drowsy soul
And you are brighter than the sun,
My precious one, my precious one!
The autumn everything will seize
The leaves are falling from the trees
And all the fields bare have become,
Why don't you come, why don't you come?
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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