En.Citatepedia^®.ro

From a Great Height.

Beneath her balcony he’d sing
and promise love eternally.
The maiden spurned his offering.
She knew of his philandering.

But undeterred he’d nightly sing.
Experienced in the ways of maids.
He knew she would be listening
to hear his mandolin tinkling.

Eventually she would relent
appear upon the balcony.
Although she doubted his intent.
By trial and experiment.

He’d found that curiosity
A fatal weakness in young maids
would bring her to the balcony.
It always worked successfully.

It always had done in the past.
This maid was made of sterner stuff.
She vowed tonight would be the last
and down upon his head she cast.

The contents of her chamber pot.
Which served to dampen his ardour
Attar of roses it was not.
Although he deserved what he got.

I felt some little sympathy
to see him so discomfited.
To be drenched unexpectedly
in his intended victims pee.

A message that he’d not forget.
This lady was no easy prey.
The chamber pot she had upset
Has soaked him in Eau de Toilet.

He quickly hurried from the scene.
His pride damaged beyond repair.
His parting comments were obscene.
At least I thought they must have been..

No longer does the troubadour
Sing below her balcony
Sweet serenades about amour
No one has seen him any more.

07/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Swan Dive

The windows were open
The night air was cold,
The curtains were blowing
Like ribbons of gold,
We stood there forever
Both Henry and me,
The night his wife dived
Off the balcony.

We looked at each other
We each shook our head,
And waited to hear if
The poor girl was dead,
I looked at my watch
It was just after three,
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.

I waited a moment, then:
'What did I say?
Was that a faux pas about
You in Calais?
Or did she take umbrage
When I poured the tea?
Is that why she jumped
Off the balcony? '

'Don't think for a moment,
Old chap, ' he had said,
'I thought she had mumbled
And stumbled to bed!
She'd said she had someone
Tomorrow to see,
So why would she dive
Off the balcony? '

We walked very gingerly
Out through the door,
And peered on down from
The fifty-sixth floor,
I thought I could see a small
Splat by a tree,
Just where she had dived
Off the balcony.

Could that be your Gwendoline,
There on the ground?
That's funny, she dived all
That way, made no sound!
Not one little scream -
Did you hear? ' - 'Not me! '
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.

The police galloped up
By the lift, through the doors,
'That splat in the courtyard, sir,
Could it be yours? '
Then Henry admitted that
It could well be,
His wife, who had dived
Off the balcony!

They made us go down with
A bucket and mop:
'Clean up every vestige,
Remove every drop!
You can't go round leaving
Wives haphazardly,
Whenever they dive
Off the balcony! '

They made us feel humble,
We lowered our heads,
I picked up her armpits,
He mopped up her legs,
But bits of her weren't where
In truth, they should be,
When Gwendoline dived
Off the balcony.

Much later he told me that
Wives one and two,
Had left in the very same way,
I said, 'True? '
It seems Gwendoline had been
Wife number three,
Who'd taken a dive
Off the balcony.

Now Henry has married
Again, number four,
He's moved his apartment down
To the ground floor,
He locks all his windows
And tells Stephanie,
'Don't ever you dive like
Wives one, two and three! '

3 June 2009

poem by David Lewis Paget
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A Miracle for Breakfast

At six o'clock we were waiting for coffee,
waiting for coffee and the charitable crumb
that was going to be served from a certain balcony
--like kings of old, or like a miracle.
It was still dark. One foot of the sun
steadied itself on a long ripple in the river.

The first ferry of the day had just crossed the river.
It was so cold we hoped that the coffee
would be very hot, seeing that the sun
was not going to warm us; and that the crumb
would be a loaf each, buttered, by a miracle.
At seven a man stepped out on the balcony.

He stood for a minute alone on the balcony
looking over our heads toward the river.
A servant handed him the makings of a miracle,
consisting of one lone cup of coffee
and one roll, which he proceeded to crumb,
his head, so to speak, in the clouds--along with the sun.

Was the man crazy? What under the sun
was he trying to do, up there on his balcony!
Each man received one rather hard crumb,
which some flicked scornfully into the river,
and, in a cup, one drop of the coffee.
Some of us stood around, waiting for the miracle.

I can tell what I saw next; it was not a miracle.
A beautiful villa stood in the sun
and from its doors came the smell of hot coffee.
In front, a baroque white plaster balcony
added by birds, who nest along the river,
--I saw it with one eye close to the crumb--

and galleries and marble chambers. My crumb
my mansion, made for me by a miracle,
through ages, by insects, birds, and the river
working the stone. Every day, in the sun,
at breakfast time I sit on my balcony
with my feet up, and drink gallons of coffee.

We licked up the crumb and swallowed the coffee.
A window across the river caught the sun
as if the miracle were working, on the wrong balcony.

poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Don Juan's Serenade

Darkness descends
on Alpujara's golden land.
My guitar invites you,
come out my dear!

Whoever says that there are others
who can be compared to you,
whoever burns for your love,
I challenge them all to a duel!

Now the moon
has set the sky alight,
come out, Nisetta, oh come out, Nisetta,
on to your balcony, quickly!

From Seville to Granada
in the silence of the nights,
one can hear the sound of serenades
and the clashing of swords.

Much blood, many songs,
pour forth for the lovely ladies;
and I, for the loveliest one of all
am ready to give my song and my blood.

Now the moon
has set the sky alight,
Come out, Nisetta, oh come out, Nisetta,
on to your balcony, quickly!

poem by Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy
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She Is fir MY Lady Irene

My lady strolls to take the air.
The flowers bow as she goes by,
because they know they can’t compare
with my lady, so they don’t try.
The song birds sing my lady’s praise,
sweet music to my lady’s taste.
Here as she walks the woodland ways
They flock to sing to her; in haste
Where e’re she walks a cool breeze blows
plays with the glory of her hair.
It is as if all nature knows
my lady’s more than passing fair
She walks in beauty naturally.
she is as she was meant to be.

01/04/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It was just a typical London flat, but it was in a great neighborhood. It was across from the Playboy Club, diagonally. From one balcony you could read the time from Big Ben, and from the other balcony you could watch the bunnies go up and down.

quote by Harry Nilsson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something So Feminine About A Mandolin

By: jimmy buffett, jane slagsvol
1975
It was late in the evenin, just a few of us pickin
But the lady she played so easy and fine
And the chords that she strummed were so tastefully clever
They planted this song in my mind
Chorus:
cause theres somethin so feminine about a mandolin
The way that they feel, the way that they ring
Just to see slender fingers, movin so quickly
Made this boy want to sing
And when I get older and I have a daughter
Ill teach her to sing and play her my songs
And Ill tell her some stories I can barely remember
And hope that she will sing along
And maybe one day shell take a fancy to pickin
cause when that bug bites you, you live with the sting
And if she could just strum a few simple measures
She could make some young man sing
cause theres somethin so feminine about a mandolin
Way that they feel, the way that they ring
And that evenin in a pasture somewhere near austin
That mandolin made me sing
Her mandolin made me sing

song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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6 degrees Celsius

-6 degrees Celsius.
from my balcony,
yes, the atlas
of my balcony,
with the music
of the masters
pouring forth
from within,
I follow the stars
direction Norway
and Sweden
while around the corner
one looks towards Iceland
and 'those islands'.
Kleve is just across the way
and Paris and Brussels
down the road.
this is my mainland!

poem by John O'connell
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So this is all a game

So this is all a game

I put my name tag on
You look at my face
Complete

And you are there lurking
From a balcony
Looking at me

I am real. I am the specimen.

You are all wearing masks
In a balcony of
Darkness

I am real.

And you all laughed so hard

“How can this real guy be so stupid? ”

The bastards are still alive.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Standing Beside Fay One Saturday.

It was Saturday morning
and Fay stood beside you

on the balcony of the flats
looking over the Square

she pointed at the baker
and his horse drawn cart

down by the wall below
my daddy says he's Jewish

she said
those who asked

for the death of Christ
you followed the baker

as he made his way to the stairs
carrying his bread basket

I don't think he was involved
you said watching the baker

until he disappeared up the stairs
she looked right over the balcony

gripping the brick wall
with her hands

I don't think he's Jewish at all
she said letting her feet

dropp back on the floor
and it doesn't matter if he is

I think he's a nice man
she added

looking at you
with her bright blue eyes

and you gazed at her
standing there

her flowered dress
colourful and coming

just below her knees
her battered sandals

having seen
better days

and her fair hair
tied into a ponytail

at the back
she looked over

the balcony again
I like to feed his horse

with sugar cubes
I get from home

she said thoughtfully
you lean over the balcony

beside her
your elbow touching hers

the pulse of her being
vibrating into your arm

you imagine
don't your parents mind

you taking their sugar?
you asked

she looked guiltily away
they don't know

she said softly
daddy would punish

if he knew
she paused and then said

you won't tell them will you?
the baker came along

the balcony behind you both
whistling happily

of course not
you said

taking in her
trembling jaw line

her blue eyes
and her lips slightly open

her words gone
it's a nice day

the baker called
yes

you both replied
I don't think he's Jewish

she said
anyway.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Changes At The Un

I spent my youth with a gun and a dog in the fields of Clare,
Hunting rabbits and pheasants and ducks and fast running hare,
So the long tail feathers of the cock pheasants, I knew well,
Then I became a member Canadian navel personnel.

At the UN in the mid 50s looking down from balcony,
A pheasant feather in a lady’s hat amid UN pageantry,
Sitting down there at the Irish desk but she didn’t care,
That the face on the balcony came all the way from County Clare.

But those were the days when the UN had a very good name,
Not like nowadays when so many tend to viciously complain,
But that was very long ago and I was much younger then,
Am I the only one who noticed the change, now among the old men?

JAN 19th,2011

poem by James Bredin
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Twilight in Valencia for M lady Onelia

The sun goes down and daylight fades
as love sick swains sing serenades
beneath fair ladies balconies.
Their voices carried on the breeze
to reach the ears of old women.
Who are no longer beautiful
and don’t appeal to younger men
Though now demure and dutiful.
they had their hey day in the sun.
When they had suitors by the score
So now they listen just for fun
It doesn’t matter anymore.
But still they smile remembering
Duennas can’t see every thing.

27-Oct-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Monentary aberration.

A brief encounter innocent
Of any forethought or intent
We touched almost by accident
and yet I must confess it meant.
A sudden pang of discontent
Which quickly came and quickly went.
A moment that devil sent
To tempt me was his sole intent.
It was a failed experiment.
My love for you is permanent.
It would be to my detriment
to give my assent or consent.
To any plot he could invent.
I hold all cheats beneath contempt.

Monday,29 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sing Heigh-Ho!

There sits a bird on every tree;
Sing heigh-ho!
There sits a bird on every tree,
And courts his love as I do thee;
Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

There grows a flower on every bough;
Sing heigh-ho!
There grows a flower on every bough,
Its petals kiss-I'll show you how:
Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

From sea to stream the salmon roam;
Sing heigh-ho!
From sea to stream the salmon roam;
Each finds a mate, and leads her home;
Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

The sun's a bridegroom, earth a bride;
Sing heigh-ho!
They court from morn till eventide:
The earth shall pass, but love abide.
Sing heigh-ho, and heigh-ho!
Young maids must marry.

Eversley, 1847.

poem by Charles Kingsley
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Once Again In The Southwest Balcony

what connects me to you
and this southwest balcony?
it's the same balcony
it's the same sky
and the chair too is the same...

you know, this late summer evening
the lightly-cast sky over the balcony
moved to descend on me sitting
as usual insulated in the accustomed chair
that typical cool early summer evening breeze
came swinging in fits only after
caressing the capricious clouds
it brushed past my forlorn cheeks
setting ablaze the memories i tightly
gift-wrapped and kept securely
in a tiny wicker-basket in my heart
the same passing cloud this time
released trillion needles of rain drops
even on my eye lids making it difficult for me
through the blurred vision there appeared
your persona once on the cloud
once between the real big rain drops
unique to a summer shower
alluring and eluding my grasp

an unknown destination beckoned me

between you and me
did i miss my way?

31mar2010
19.40hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Misapprehension

A blue eyed blonde but rather dim.
Or so he thought
But she still made a fool of him.
Just for the sport

He thought he would have his way
then leave her flat
but she saw things a different way.
I fancy that

she led him a merry dance.
She knew his game,
right from the start he had no chance.
But all the same

The lesson was long overdue
he had to know.
That he was not entitled to
just take and go.

She had met men like him before
and knew full well
He wanted to add to his score
so he could tell.

His friends about his new conquest.
But she declined
and told him he was just a pest.
Then she consigned

him swiftly to the garbage heap
where he belonged
and she would lose no beauty sleep.
Though he felt wronged.

Philanderers should make a note
to change their ways.
or surely they will miss the boat.
Alone always.

the maiden knew instinctively
she could not trust.
She spotted you immediately.
So go you must.

With your desire unsatisfied.
The lady’s wise
she sees quite clearly that you lied.
To your surprise.

23-Jul-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sibling Rivalry

Petunia was a pretty pig
though rather small she was not big
But she could sing and she could dance
and she did both at every chance
Her Sire thought it infra dig

Although she was quite undersized
No one could fail to be surprised
To see such talents in a swine
her sense of timing was divine.
The tricky steps which she devised.

Were praised by all who saw her dance
Her audience she would entrance.
Her talents caused disharmony
arousing sibling jealousy.
So much she was denied entrance.

To the comfort of the stye.
Petunia knew the reason why.
She showed them that she did not care
for she was welcomed everywhere
to dance and sing. Ecstatically.

26/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Balcony

Balcony

By Ashraf Gohar Goreja

Sweet laughter, melodic and dulcet chatters
Evaporating smell of blooming fragrance
Confining beauties, descended from the blue havens
Afternoon hours of sobering rest
But this somber, lonely street was alive with zest.

Devout friends, their glamour and laughter in the balcony
Unimaginable saga of adventuring love
Conferred onto those passing by strangers
Who never pay heed to inducing allure
Merely, this enchanting mise en scene is demure

Copyright: June 30th,2003.
Ashraf Gohar goreja

poem by Ashraf Gohar Goreja
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direct from Orlando

at the balcony
he smokes his cigar hiding from the view
of his wife who is washing the dishes after we had dinner
over stuffed squid and
fish fillet

what i like is the rice
i evaded the hide and seek of what i think is still harsh
direct from Orlando

lost business
unpaid mortgage
bad economy
they blame it on
bad economy

as he smokes
circles form above his head
and from time to time he peeks at the side of the door
seeing to it that no one sees him

i am not that dumb
to know that there is a big problem
the reason why they are back

i like the sauce
the chili that runs like a jagged knife inside my mouth

he is jobless
and does the laundry and kitchen works
children had to quit school and start to work
to pay the heater and the water
snow is cold, it is colder now

meanwhile i glanced at the sunset
the balcony overlooks the bay of Dapitan
once a hero and a white woman made love there
we knew the ending
it was sad.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gil, the Toreador

THE QUEEN sat in her balcony,
The Loveliest of Spain;
Beneath rode all the chivalry,
And roses fell like rain
To crown the gallant gentlemen
The gonfalon who bore:
A woman’s favor fell for one,—
Gil, the Toreador.

Beneath the royal canopy,
To see the red bull slain,
They sat, like loyal lovers,
The King and Queen of Spain.
Came marshal, noble, knight and squire,
Chulo and picador:
Of all a woman saw but one,—
Gil, the Toreador.

The trumpets clanged, the sport was on,
The royal sport of Spain;
Maddened by shouts and thrust of lance
The bull now charged amain:
Down to their death went chulos then,
And many a matador:—
A woman only knew there fell
Gil, the Toreador.

When through the streets of proud Madrid
Swept next the courtly train,
Sat not upon her balcony
The Loveliest of Spain.
Long live the King and his fair Queen,
Still loyal thousands roar:—
None know what woman died when fell
Gil, the Toreador.

poem by Charles Harper Webb
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Jolie

Boudleaux and felice bryant
Jolie...
Jolie, jolie my cherie
Pretty little french girl I met in paris
Jolie cute as she could be
Throwing me her kisses from her balcony
She had come hither eyes
And charm from her head to her feet
Really my jolie was neat
Golly my jolie was sweet
Jolie, jolie my cherie
Wish I had my jolie over here with me
She had come hither eyes
And charm from her head to her feet
Really my jolie was neat
Golly my jolie was sweet
Jolie, jolie my cherie
Wish I had my jolie over here with me
Wish I hadnt left her over in paris
On her balcony
Jolie my cherie
Jolie, jolie, jolie, jolie...

song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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