Most Romantic
Rituals are wonderful, the marvellous ritual of
greeting beloved landmarks, when we were
small my sister and I used to greet a bridge
we passed frequently, I greeted a house
resembling an over-decorated cake
Nowadays I greet three wonderful white houses
as we drive to work, wondering about impressive
styles, how could their forms have evolved - the
third being the most romantic: a Baroque wall
with a glimpse into a sloping garden
Just a whiff of a gigantic house, luxurious, sprawling,
green poplars all round – whenever my attention
wavers and I do not see the last glowing white
residence so impressive; I feel cheated, can’t
wait for tomorrow to say hello…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Impressiveness Captures All!
Impressiveness captures the hearts of many!
Impressive advertisement captures customers.
Impressive poetry keeps all in spell bound state
Though rhyme and theme are clear to none ever!
First duty of poetry is amusement before knowledge;
Impressiveness does that job pretty well by experts!
Poets of romantic calibre surprise by magic, vision
And fantasy by transporting all to a world they create.
That is why the subjective, philosophical, individual
Style of poetry makes a mark in the realm of literature
By impressive expression of ideas amusing all at once!
So, there are romantic dreamers, visionaries, magicians
Who have permanent places in the heats of many
By their impressive art of expression forever and ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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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 Wrong House
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has big steps and a great big hall;
But it hasn't got a garden,
A garden,
A garden,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house,
It has a big garden and great high wall;
But it hasn't got a may-tree,
A may-tree,
A may-tree,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and it wasn't a house -
Slow white petals from the may-tree fall;
But it hasn't got a blackbird,
A blackbird,
A blackbird,
It isn't like a house at all.
I went into a house, and I thought it was a house,
I could hear from the may-tree the blackbird call…
But nobody listened to it,
Nobody
Liked it,
Nobody wanted it at all.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Say Its Wonderful
They say that falling in love is wonderful
Its wonderful, so they say
And, with a moon up above, its wonderful
Its wonderful, so they tell me
I cant recall who said it
I know I never read it
I only know they tell me that love is grand
And
The thing thats known as romance is wonderful, wonderful
In every way, so they say
To leave your house some morning
And, without any warning
Youre stopping people, shouting that love is grand
And
To hold a girl in your arms is wonderful, wonderful
In every way
So they say
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That's wonderful love.......
How wonderful to win your heart with a smile
How wonderful to kiss your lips with hopeful
How wonderful to get your heart with love
How wonderful to see your soul in me
How wonderful to laugh with your sweet words
How wonderful to hold you tight and kiss gently
How wonderful to fly with you to the dream land
How wonderful to drive you through the mountain valleys
How wonderful to be with you within four walls
How wonderful to give you what you look for
How wonderful to hug you and keep you in my arms
How wonderful to wear our wedding rings on our wedding day
How wonderful to bind your love to last for ever
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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White Mans Melody
In the bosom of europa
Little liza was caressed
By the music of the angels
Playing underneath her dress
She saw the great caruso
And thats when she fell in love
Shed think of him as elvis
If she knew who elvis was
Spinning round and round
You can hear her moan
Shes all by herself
But shes not alone
Wonderful things happen to me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
Wonderful wave - wash over me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
By the shores of the gitchee goomee
She was floating on her bed
She was deaming of al jolson
And what she thought he said
He was looking in the mirror
He was putting on the paint
Said the hardest thing about this job
Is being what you aint
Just an old white man
In a strange new world
Can you come out tonight
Little buffalo girl
Wonderful things happen to me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
Wonderful wave - wash over me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
From the loins of the liberace
Sprang a million little tunes
And they whirled around eliza
Like so many little moons
Every jewel held a secret
Every flourish held a clue
As he held her in a rapture
Singing Ill be seeing you
Wonderful things happen to me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
Wonderful wave - wash over me
Whenever I sing that white mans melody
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song: The House of Cards
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
and admire it's lavish facades.
The hearth's as transparent,
as the heart of young Faust,
in the beautiful house of cards.
And on the balcony suite, where all powers meet;
as made men they're known as goodfellas.
See the play of elites, who admit no defeats,
but display their true corporate colours.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
lest like glass it shatters to shards.
When you hold up a mirror,
they scatter like grouse,
in the beautiful house of cards.
Like fat cats in heat, or on hunting retreat,
at ranches, estates, gated villas.
All pall-bearers beat or quail at their feet,
as befits these natural born killers.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
protected by cameras and guards.
No-one 'scapes notice,
not even a mouse,
in the beautiful house of cards.
And on the mezzanine floor, they scrabble and squall,
to preen their fine hubris, unscissored.
And in congress they roar, they babble and bawl,
their small-minded rubrics like wizards.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
the home of the brazen canards.
The cowboy and spouse,
in faux denim strauss,
in the beautiful house of cards.
Like insects they swarm, as a cold war gets warm,
or pick at the dead flesh like buzzards.
As the press runs to form, in the frat house and dorm,
and hazes the public as dullards.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
once praised by the poets and bards.
What pest not oppressed
will soon be deloused,
in the beautiful house of cards.
While the huge hulking mass, of opinion is crass;
as it sits on it's ass to prove,
that the lumpen foundation of once a great nation,
like bedrock is slow to move.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
for the debris is minimally charred.
The walls may be burning,
but soon will be doused,
in the beautiful house of cards.
Come look at the house,
the wonderful house,
while the world still gives it's regards.
A dream once espoused,
is now lost, and anonymous,
in the beautiful house of cards.
poem by David SmithWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Little Ghost
I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high—higher than most—
And the green gate was locked.
And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone—
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.
By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do—and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled—there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.
She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.
And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused—then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Early one afternoon
Early one afternoon
I walked through the streets
of a small village
and it had to be in Italy
and was probably in Corona
or Tuscany.
a Baker with a white overcoat
and white hat on his head
rang on his bike’s bell for me
and pedalled pass,
with an old green bike
at the Pizza Palour.
There were long white breads
and green wine bottles,
in the baskets of his bicycle
and he had a big bush
of red blue lanvender flowers in one hand.
Across from me there were three small tables
with white table-covers,
at the Villa Toscana
and I could read some dishes
from the menu on the wall.
At the wall a young woman
with dark hair and an indigo dress
laughed sharp and bright,
while she waited
that a well built waitress
pour some more wine.
The image of the beautiful waitress
with black hair and deep dark eyes,
that bends forward
still stays with me.
In front of me at Le Art
there were a row of paintings,
depicting nudes to the finest detail
on painter’s easels.
I walked nearer
and I could see rows of violet lavender bushes
against the ridge in the distance
and Villa’s, that stand yellow gold
up on the hill
and looked impressive
against the deep blue sky.
When I got back to myself
I was at the fountain
in front of the mural
in our garden
and the golden Persian cat,
watched me from the top of the wall
with a woolly tail that curled down
and it looked with golden eyes at me.
[Reference: Tuscan mural by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1417_Early_one_af ternoon.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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What A Wonderfull World
I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I love you.
I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Wonderful
How wonderful life can be
How happy is another day
All you know is all you feel
Till its passed you by
How wonderful life can be
How come you walked this way?
All you know is all you feel
Sometimes it makes me cry
The kids are in the street
The sun is in the sky
Im still their old fool
Theyre the apple of my eye
The dog barks at the gate
The rain pretends to fall
Im still in love with you
The fears not there at all
How wonderful life can be how happy is another day
All you know is all you feel
Until its passed you by
How wonderful life can be
How come you walked this way?
All you know is all you hear
Sometimes it makes me cry
The colors of the season
Changing day by day
The leaves already falling
A cold wins on its way
And how I have a reason
To settle back and say
How wonderful lifes become
Just living with the ones I love.
song performed by by Paul Carrack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blessings
God bless the little orchard brown
Where the sap stirs these quickening days.
Soon in a white and rosy gown
The trees will give great praise.
God knows I have it in my mind,
The white house with the golden eaves.
God knows since it is left behind
That something grieves and grieves.
God keep the small house in his care,
The garden bordered all in box,
Where primulas and wallflowers are
And crocuses in flocks.
God keep the little rooms that ope
One to another, swathed in green,
Where honeysuckle lifts her cup
With jessamine between.
God bless the quiet old grey head
That dreams beside the fire of me,
And makes home there for me indeed
Over the Irish Sea.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Empty Houses
I
THERE’S not a person in the street,
This merry-making summer day!
The houses stand in dull array;
No profit on their doors to beat,
For all their owners are away.
The gardens blossom white and red
All solitary in the sun,
Save where some timid creatures run;
Secure across the lawns to tread,
No human dangers here to shun,—
Since men have gone on holiday;
Have left the still, suburban street
For that wide park, where people meet
In pleasures till the eve is grey.
Oh, but the home-coming is sweet!
II
There’s not a person in the street
Where wandering in grief I go.
These strange small houses, set in row,
Send out no human form to greet,
No busy footfalls to and fro.
Tall poplars raise their shafts beside;
And mingled shades and sunbeams bless
God’s Acre, in its quietness—
God’s town, where men are drawn to bide
Untroubled by the world’s distress.
There comes no opening of the gate,
Though to my friend I plead and pray.
‘Patience!’ the trees and sunbeams say.
‘Here only empty houses wait,
While souls are keeping holiday.’
poem by Mary Colborne-Veel
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I Opened The Casements Of My House
I opened the casements of my house
Onto the wild, wild sea
The billows were on it austere and free
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
At dice or in the games of life at will
And still the casements opened and opened
As if by magic trance or guided else
By a thousand small invisible goblin-hands
That from the sea-main seemed to fly and come
Over the billows austere and free
As the sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
Beyond, beyond the vista low and large
A plain of beach sand lapped by the waves
And here and there an oasis of sweet palms
That bent their olive heads in the winds’ waffling
And coming and going over the sea.
Where the white billows raged saliva-like
Or like bent god-thrones cool and flexible
In that long windy plain, in that salt sea
Upon the which my magic casements opened
That day, that long and windy day of life
The sea-wind with every house-corner neighed
And with the bending palms in the garden played
And that was long ago, not days or months,
But years, whole years and now my hair
Is turning fast to white and my breath shorter goes
Than it was then that long and windy day
The sea-cliff raged all white like the salt sea
And hid unseen the waves in the inlet small
All hidden from the eyes of curious men
Waxed green and green – ah! it is so to-day
And still
Long windy days come oft and come as go:
And the sea-wind with every house-corners neighs
And with the bending palms in the garden plays.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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The house in Panorama Street
I once had a stretch of red rocky ground
on the street side
of a rented house
in Panorama street in Rooihuiskraal.
The cars criss-crossed past
and the bank took it back
and rented it out
and nobody else
wanted to make that house
his own.
I decided to let flowers,
sprout out
of that rocky earth.
There were small carnations
that grew creeping over each other
with the most wonderful smell
and opened
in colours of white, red and purple blue.
There were geraniums
that easily grew out of cuttings
and become big strong bushes
that was covered with flowers.
Vygies crept all over the place
and just where you look
the rocky soil stood in flower
and I wanted to stop the bank
when I got two months notice
and other people
bought that house
with my beautiful garden.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Into White
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice
Tables of paper wood, windows of light
And everything emptying into white.
A simple garden, with acres of sky
A brown-haired dogmouse
If one dropped by
Yellow delanie would sleep well at night
With everything emptying into white.
A sad blue eyed drummer rehearses outside
A black spider dancing on top of his eye
Red legged chicken stands ready to strike
And everything emptying into white.
I built my house from barley rice
Green pepper walls and water ice...
And everything emptying into white
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In His House Of Standard Things
to make perhaps an impression of what is beautiful
he lets me in his house
he gives me some drinks and he begins to tell me
what indeed is beautiful
he chooses his colors
mostly green with whites embedded like pearls
on blue green seaweeds under a deep blue sea
he chooses the shapes that fit
mostly spherical and embossed
he likes static things like sculptures of the
busts of great men that he adores
light is not as bright as he wants it to be
more of dusks and twilights
for he does need not so much light to make his life visible
he likes the touch of silk and threads
he adores the gentleness of the wind
exquisitely plucked from a dawning breeze
and then after i have seen them all
he asks me to leave
it is a matter of simply having me in
for a showroom
a lecture on what is beautiful
how i wish to be back in that house again
green and white and shades of these two colors
but it is over
and the house has since been flown to the sky
and its doors and windows closed
and the door bell
had since been concealed with a thick wall
and the gate is locked with steel bars
well, for wherever he is
and whether his house was real or not
let me say, (and that i really forgot)
thank you sir
tomorrow, i will build a house of my own
but it will not be green and white
i will choose the pastel orange side of things like the sunset of my life
and some reds and pinks for the love of my life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lovely, Lovely, Lovely Memories Too
Lovely 6
On Sundays papa buys some kilos of big crabs
He cooks them and puts shredded coconuts inside them
Cooked in pure white coconut oil
All the family prays for this sumptuous dinner
No one is late & everyone is present.
Lovely 7
The white ducks all gather in the backyard during the black night
After eating brown snails in the green ricefield the whole day
Early morning you gather all their white eggs
Scattered everywhere like white stones
Your big brown basket is full as they look at you without any quack.
Lovely 8
It is midnight and everyone is asleep
You hear the slow rain dripping by the window pane
On a nipa roof
As you write your 8th love poem
Her face is still beautiful even when completely asleep
Lovely 9
25 years you have not heard of her
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day
In your email a valentine’s greeting pops up
It is from her and you save it
Tomorrow morning you will open it again
Looking for the right words to read.
Lovely 10
Your music teacher now at 76 drops by
Your house this morning
You are invited for tea in his flower garden
Then he plays some pieces of Mozart
A little white dog wags its tail at you
As your heart jumps with joy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Green Grass Of Home
The old home town looks the same as I step off the train
Meeting every train in my mind's eye till the man in mail came
Hair like gold, lips like cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
Green, green grass of home, green green grass of home.
Only dream I know of is to be found hair like gold, lips like a cherry
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me, on the steps of my sweet dream
It's good I dreamt the green, green grass of home
I wait and look around me at the broken walls that surround me
And out here I was on the ground.
There's a garden in the path of progress unharmed through winter's day break
Then I'll touch the green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me from the chains of the old dark hollow
The green, green grass of home
They'll all come to greet me on the steps, my sweet dream
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Christmas To Cherish And To Remember Always.
Christmas is the time to celebrate
precious memories with loved
ones,
Family and friends sit in front of
the fire place,
The scent of firewood burning,
Gives the house that fresh Christmas
smell,
We Feel the warmth through out
the house,
Making it cozy and relaxing,
Stockings hung up above the fire
place,
soon to be filled with toys big
and small,
Names written on each stocking,
colorfully laced and decorated,
We share old memories of how
things were in our childhood days,
Sipping and savoring every taste of
warm hot chocolate,
Christmas tree decorated from top to
bottom,
Lights twinkle, giving the Christmas
tree a magical look,
Christmas photos on the wall,
Christmas decoration surround us,
We have walked into a Christmas
house filled with holiday cheers,
And a Christmas wreath to fill the
guests with a cheerful greeting,
The scent of ginger bread cookies,
the aroma of cinnamon candles to
delight the guests,
This is a joyful and happy time of
the year,
A Christmas to cherish and to remember
always.
poem by Derek James
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