En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Fiddler

In a little Hungarian cafe
Men and women are drinking
Yellow wine in tall goblets.

Through the milky haze of the smoke,
The fiddler, under-sized, blond,
Leans to his violin
As to the breast of a woman.
Red hair kindles to fire
On the black of his coat-sleeve,
Where his white thin hand
Trembles and dives,
Like a sliver of moonlight,
When wind has broken the water.

poem by Lola Ridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wine From The Water

[parsons/bairnson]
You can take me up, you can wind me down
Theres no escape, but Ill never drown
No wires or strings, no rough and smooth
Just fire and stings, watch me closely, watch my every move
I can count your money while I check your hand
And you know I just cant lose
Wine from the water, gold from a tree
I wouldnt fool you, theres nothing up my sleeve
Look for a mirror, theres nothing there
I get rings out of nowhere, money from thin air
I can break these chains, while Im upside down
Well it may seem strange, I dont hit the ground
Now you see my hand, is quicker than your eye
You should know by now, what you see here, all of its a lie
I can count your money while I check your hand
And you know I just cant lose
Wine from the water, gold from a tree
I wouldnt fool you, theres nothing up my sleeve
Think of a number, Ill get it right
Throw me in the river, tie my hands up tight
I can wind you up, I can turn you round
No cunning stunts, till the ladys found
No coils or springs, just nice and smooth
No knaves or kings, find the lady, watch my every move
I can count your money while I check your hand
And you know I just cant lose
Wine from the water, gold from a tree
I wouldnt fool you, theres nothing up my sleeve
Look for a mirror, no, nothing there
I get rings out of nowhere, money from thin air
Wine from the water, gold from a tree
Now I wouldnt fool you, theres nothing up my sleeve
Think of a number, Ill get it right
You can throw me in the river, tie my hands up tight
Wine from the water, gold from a tree
Now I wouldnt fool you, theres nothing up my sleeve
Look for a mirror, theres nothing there
I get rings out of nowhere, money from thin air

song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Sense Of Humor

And God created man!
Yellow, black and white men
They all love each other?
Yellow men in Asia
Black men in Africa
White men in Europe
All color of men in America
They all love each other?

And God created woman!
Yellow, black and white women
They all love each other?
Yellow women in Asia
Black women in Africa
White women in Europe
All color of women in America
They all love each other?

And God created man and woman!
Yellow, black and white men and women
All living together in a love, hate relationship
All living together in America
With rainbow colored children
Black and white children
Yellow and black children
Who just love to be a free American?

For Drew and Allan

poem by Doris Dzameshie
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Pearls Girl

Rioja. rioja. reverend al green.
Deep blue morocco. the water on stone.
The water on concrete. the water on sand.
The water on fire. smoke.
The wind. the salt. the bride boat coming.
Dave in the water. old man.
Einstein on top of his house. white deep blue
Andalusia red yellow red yellow black car.
Red light. far. black place. walls. blue chair.
Morocco. hamburg. paris.
The pieces of the puzzle are waiting.
The water of the dark boats gliding.
The bride boats gone out to sea and
Dave is floating. dave is floating.
And old man einstein crazy in his attic.
Crazy.
White room. sun room. shadow room.
Night transmitting cars across the room.
These things sent to dance across the room.
Eye watching from your bed. returning to you.

song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In My Own Choice Of Peace...

on a murky water
a catfish shows its mouth

drinking a cup of air
handed by the hand of the wind

i see the joys of its eyes
it jumps

and dives back in the water
creating a crease of so many ripples....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White Hat White Coat

To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....

White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair

White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'

Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style

White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet

White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock

White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'

White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest

White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two

White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town

White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray

White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '

poem by Debbie Gregory
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Paris with Her

What would it be like to go to Paris
on a whim with a woman
who is as mystical and magical
as the city of Love
What would it be like to sit at a Café
drinking our wine eating our cheese on
Avenue des Champs-Elysées but seeing only her
What would it be like to hold her hand
strolling over Pont Neuf to the Eiffel Tower
her hair swirling in the wind, d'issay Miyake
clouding my mind
What would it be like to hide in a corner
of Notre Dame Cathedral
and kiss her passionately her eyes holding mine
what would it be like to make love under a Paris moon
on the green grass of Champ de Mars with the woman I love
It would be Heaven.

poem by Barry Renee
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Over His Latte.

He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter

waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress

serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at

the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,

but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows

her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.

She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over

the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother

would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the

waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman

in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,

as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,

having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly

away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.

poem by Terry Collett
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I Love The African Woman

I Love The African Woman
I love the African woman
Her golden eyes
Burnt by smoke yet remained pure
Her black hair
Burdened by loads yet remained long
I love the African woman
Her dark lips
Kissed and chewed by men, Black and White
Yet remained full and thick
Her tender breast
Fondled by hands, smooth and callous
Yet remained firm and tall
At her back great men slept
On her laps heroes were nursed
At the meeting of her thighs all men dream
Her feet, hardened and bruised
Yet she keep moving
With pride
With dignity
I love her African heart
I love her African passion
I love the African woman

poem by Joseph Eli Atisu
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Give a Hungarian a glass of water and a Gypsy fiddler and he will become completely drunk.

Hungarian proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song #10.

The dew fell on her upturned brow
That is as white's the lily;
The moonlight in her yellow hair,
In her hand a daffodilly;
The violet's perfume in her breath,
Her cheeks like roses grew,
And as I prest her milky hand
I murmured, 'I love you!'
She looked at me with eyes that shone
Like stars among the roses,
While my heart like a dream-bird sang
Quick in the dewy closes;
And with a tone that sweetly thrill'd
The while I held her hand,
She whispered, 'I have loved you long,
And now I understand.'

poem by Robert Crawford
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Black And Blue

You never call me, babe,
Until your man is gone,
I know it's you
When I pick up the
telephone.
You ask me how I am
And if I'm doing well,
When all you want from
me
Is just to ring your bell.
Take your time, we can
do some lines,
'Cos it's alright.
We can feel fine drinking
midnight wine,
'Cos it's alright.
Black and blue, black
and blue,
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
You got the key to love
Dressed in your innocent
smile,
You know you touched
me baby,
So won't you stay for a
while.
And take your time, we
can do some lines,
'Cos it's alright.
We can feel fine drinking
midnight wine,
'Cos it's alright.
Black and blue, black
and blue,
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
Black and blue, black
and blue,
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
(Solo)
Take your time, we can
do some lines,
'Cos it's alright.
We can feel fine drinking
midnight wine,
'Cos it's alright.
Black and blue, black
and blue,
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
Black and blue, black
and blue,
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
I said come over here,
baby,
And love me till I'm
black and blue.
Black and blue...
TOP
She's A Woman
She got everything I
need,
She makes me smile, she
makes me bleed.
'Cos she's a woman.
She got the end, she got
the means,
She's in my heart and in
my dreams
An' it makes me cry. I
wanna make her mine.
She ain't black, but, she
got soul,
She ain't young, she ain't
old,
She shine like silver, burn
like gold.
'Cos she's a woman,
she's a woman.
She got everything I
need,
She got comfort, she got
speed.
She's a woman, she's a
woman.
She do me bad, she do
me good,
She got the Gypsy in her
blood.
Cos' she's a woman,
she's a woman.
She ain't black, but, she
got soul,
She ain't young, she ain't
old,
Shine like silver, burn
like gold.
She's a woman, she's a
woman.
She got a fire in her eyes,
I know she sees through
all my lies,
'Cos she's a woman,
she's a woman.
I know I'm the danger
zone
If I leave her all alone.
'Cos she's a woman,
she's a woman.
She ain't black, but, she
got soul,
She ain't young, she ain't
old,
Shine like silver, burn
like gold.
She's a woman, woman,
She's a woman, she's a
woman.
(Solo)
She's a woman, woman,
She's a woman.
She got everything I
need,
She make me smile, she
make me bleed.
She's a woman, she's a
woman.
She got the end, she got
the means,
She, make me shiver in
my jeans.
'Cos she's a woman,
she's a woman.
She ain't black, but, she
got soul,
She ain't young, she ain't
old
She shine like silver, burn
like gold.
'Cos she's a woman,
she's a woman.
She's a woman...
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song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strong Black Woman

I am
a black woman strong
beyond definition
standing tall by my words
humming a song to defy my place
and claim my space till time
looks on me with tears
and renew itself

I am a black woman
poised to vanquish night
and usher in the day
veer the wind southward
that moist clouds rise for me
to feel joy that kindles blue meridian skies

I am a black woman
fulfilling my call
as a strong black woman
never to bow nor bend to heartaches and
the pain that brings tears to eyes
I am a black woman
still carrying the warm smiles of my youth

I am a black woman
gathering my songs into fiery Zulu spears
to kill tears still dancing on our foreheads
and when morning star rises tomorrow
everything will be bright before us
because yesterday ended last night

poem by Padmore Enyonam Agbemabiese
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King Death

King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! ­Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!

poem by Barry Cornwall
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Burst Your Face, Did He

Do not let it fall unto the ground.
Do not wast it, drink it all.
Drink all the purple light.
Purple, white or yellow light instead?
The further out I go I swim in haze.
The closer in you come.
Tell me your name.
Should America die full of such strong woman.
Schizophrenic yet I see.
Purple, yellow hued,
one or two are blue,
black and white the pearls around your neck.
The woman music makes the madness claims.
Your love for him that when he came your face.
I saw it burst into the colors, I above described.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Shattered windows, Colors of white

Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.

On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.

A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.

The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.

The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.

poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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The Wood And The Shore

The low bay melts into a ring of silver,
And slips it on the shore's reluctant finger
Though in an hour the tide will turn, will tremble,
Forsaking her because the moon persuades him.
But the black wood that leans and sighs above her
No tide can turn, no moon can slave nor summon.
Then comes the dark: on sleepy, shell-strewn beaches,
O'er long pale leagues of sand and cold, clear water
She hears the tide go out towards the moonlight.
The wood still leans… weeping she turns to seek him,
And his black hair all night is on her bosom.

poem by Muriel Stuart
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When The Smoke Comes Out

when the smoke comes out
they are there to say that there is fire
on the chimney
when the smoke is black
they all say i have decided
when the smoke is white
they keep on praying since
no one is chosen
to lead the lost flock
without their grazing ground
during winter time

what if the smoke comes out
from my eyes and the smoke is black
and there is no fire in my heart?

what if i am lost? shall you care?
please don't. I must tell you i am happier
when left alone.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Attadale, West Highlands

A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at furthest ebb supine in sleep,
Reversing, mirrored in its luminous deep
The calm grey skies; the solemn spurs of hill;
Heather, and corn, and wisps of loitering haze;
The wee white cots, black-hatted, plumed with smoke;
The braes beyond--and when the ripple awoke,
They wavered with the jarred and wavering glaze.
The air was hushed and dreamy. Evermore
A noise of running water whispered near.
A straggling crow called high and thin. A bird
Trilled from the birch-leaves. Round the shingled shore,
Yellow with weed, there wandered, vague and clear,
Strange vowels, mysterious gutturals, idly heard.

poem by William Ernest Henley
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We Have Not Met Yet

as you read my poems
you imagine what my face would be
given said facts and thoughts like
the way i spend my nights writing
and facing the computer till twilight,
i must be thin, and since i have
lesser sleep, i must have dark
deep, sunken, almond eyes
like the insomniac's night,
my lips may have cracked
due to many coffee cups
giving liveliness to my lines,
my shoulders may have fallen,
due to extreme exhaustion,
my skin may have dried and
my hair may have been scattered
by the strong wind
like those poets who no longer
care for their health and hygiene.

i am sorry but you are wrong.
You have to see me to know me.
You have to touch my hand and
feel the warmth of my palms.
You have to touch my hair to
feel the softness of my soul.

i will that poet who orders plain
mineral water instead of beer.
I may wear a black coat but
there will be no white carnations
inside the pocket of my chest.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The King's Daughter

WE WERE ten maidens in the green corn,
Small red leaves in the mill-water:
Fairer maidens never were born,
Apples of gold for the king’s daughter.

We were ten maidens by a well-head,
Small white birds in the mill-water:
Sweeter maidens never were wed,
Rings of red for the king’s daughter.

The first to spin, the second to sing,
Seeds of wheat in the mill-water;
The third may was a goodly thing,
White bread and brown for the king’s daughter.

The fourth to sew and the fifth to play,
Fair green weed in the mill-water;
The sixth may was a goodly may,
White wine and red for the king’s daughter.

The seventh to woo, the eighth to wed,
Fair thin reeds in the mill-water;
The ninth had gold work on her head,
Honey in the comb for the king’s daughter.

The ninth had gold work round her hair,
Fallen flowers in the mill-water;
The tenth may was goodly and fair,
Golden gloves for the king’s daughter.

We were ten maidens in a field green,
Fallen fruit in the mill-water;
Fairer maidens never have been,
Golden sleeves for the king’s daughter.

By there comes the king’s young son,
A little wind in the mill-water;
“Out of ten maidens ye’ll grant me one,”
A crown of red for the king’s daughter.

“Out of ten mays ye’ll give me the best,”
A little rain in the mill-water;
A bed of yellow straw for all the rest,
A bed of gold for the king’s daughter.

He’s ta’en out the goodliest,
Rain that rains in the mill-water;
A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,
A comb of gold for the king’s daughter.

He’s made her bed to the goodliest,
Wind and hail in the mill-water;
A grass girdle for all the rest,
A girdle of arms for the king’s daughter.

He’s set his heart to the goodliest,
Snow that snows in the mill-water;
Nine little kisses for all the rest,
An hundredfold for the king’s daughter.

He’s ta’en his leave at the goodliest,
Broken boats in the mill-water;
Golden gifts for all the rest,
Sorrow of heart for the king’s daughter.

“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”
Running rain in the mill-water;
“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”
The pains of hell for the king’s daughter.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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