Related quotes: Dear strange lass, I know...

To A Strange Lass

Dear strange lass,
I know you are there
Wafting with the southern gale
Coruscating a subtle enigma
Maybe, not too subtle
For when I see you
I'll know everything
Is laid in there
In your open palms
Withholding the erratic flight
Of a tacit butterfly,
And the stashed grandiosity
Among callow moths
And vapid star lights.

Do you have a patrician smile
Or a languid beam of wry?
Will you bend a soigné one
With a mammoth credence
And a hummingbird decadence?
Do you have a face
That cradles a labyrinth
Worthy to be traversed
By these cold famished feet?

Do you have a statuesque line,
Or a rendour body,
Or a bosomy frame
Teeming with so much heart?
Do you dance with the fireflies
With the elegance
Of a feral danseuse?
Does your body invite a soul
Like a scorching aperitif
Into a secret garden
In the least carnal inebriation?

Do you care
If I can only care too little
About your morning breath
Or your bed hair?
Do you posses the redolence
That makes on love the dawn late
And tether a soul to a pillowcase?
Do you have lazy tresses
In black, auburn, or russet
With strands lacing to
A somnolent poetry?

Do you read poetries
Or fabricate one in your head?
Would you read one to me?
Would you read mine
And find a riveted man
In a labyrinthine tale?
Would you make one
And divulge your light
To cast your shadows?

Do you drink, do you smoke?
Do you do it for the stroke
Of life, of death?
Do you wake the mirror
From sleeping in a vulnerable place?
Do you traverse the sea, the sky?
Do you winnow the sailing
Of unfettered cries?

Do you suffer in small talks
Or maneuver like a queen
In every picturesque scene?
Would you endure me
And my impertinent reclusion,
And my glassine frailty
Against a surfeit of svelte abandons?

Dear stranger lass,
Do you posses a pendulant penchant
For sincerety? Or blarney?
Would you let me try
And pry
To haul you from the fumes
Of vapidity or vanity
And extend a hand
In the veil of estrange ignorance
And hesitance?

Dear stranger lass,
I am a multitude of fractions
With coercions, from coercions
And I am an empire
And I can pour it on to you
If you would let me
Take you to take me.

Dear stranger lass,
Pray tell, do you have
A name or a face?
And if not
Can you be that old
Same familiar place?

poem by Norman Santos
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There Was a Bonie Lass - A fragment

There was a bonie lass, and a bonie, bonie lass,
And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear;
Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms,
Wi' mony a sigh and tear.
Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a stranger to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.

poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stay With Me (o' Dear Heart Of Mine)

stay with me
o' dear heart
live with me
my soulheart
come with me
sit with me
talk with me
sing with me
dream with me
o' dear heart of mine

kneel with me
feel with me
smile a joy with me
pain a tear with me
frown with me
but come with me
and stay with thee
dance with me
chance with me
cleanse my heart
and stay with me
o' dear heart of mine

plan with me
journey with me
run with me
walk with me
o' dear heart of mine
brand with me
trend with me
trek with me
pray with me
thirst with me
quench with me
o' dear heart of mine
deal with me
seal with me
not steal with me
but steel with me
care with me
tenderly, humbly
o' dear heart of mine

friend with me
blend with me
mend with me
bend with me
nod with me
unto lord with me
come on board with me
o' dear heart of mine

fear not with me
as far as i see
a life to be
with you and me
o' dear heart of mine
corn with me
form with me
shape with me
tape with me
face with me
race with me
sense with me
nurse with me
o' dear heart of mine

nap with me
not a trap with me
this time
o' dear soul of mine
proud is me
rock with me
my heart
o' dear heart
of mine

map with me
wap with me
come with me
alone with me
stare with me
not to sick me
nor seek me
but stay with me
o' dear heart of mine
cross with me
boss with me
sail with me
rail with me
if i cry
cry with me
when i die
die with me
o' dear heart of mine

cold with me
fold with thee
rainbow with me
shine with me
rise with me
fall with me
stay with me
o' dear heart of mine

share
and care
with thee
o' dear heart of thine

**stay with me o' dear heart of mine** january 2012 ebook
(r) opn
(c) 09.01.2012
2159hrs

***ntema's unique poetry (nup)

(p) all rights of this piece are those of the poet.

[email protected]

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Emerald's & Diamond's [Reprise]

Lie down 'side me lass, in dark green meadows
Your blouse flouncing free in th' teasing breeze
The grass blades feel so cotton.....when we love
Lay beside me now......and feel my passion rise

Open field, honeysuckle sweet, annoints my yen
We search for clovered stems....in leaves of four
No cloud veils th' scape of choice to pleasure on
Again, I ask you lass, come lay you down, by me

Come close love...read my tell-tale emerald eyes
Smiling back into yo'r warm black diamond eyes
Take my hand lass, I vow to you on bended knee
That Emeralds and Diamonds....never fade away

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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If I Were a Queen

Three lasses in the evening dresses
were dreaming near the fire place.
With such a grace the first lass said:
If I were a queen I would weave a beautiful carpet
you had never seen before
and much much more.
I would like to confess, - said the second lass,
If I were a queen,
I would dance and sing for my king.”
If I were a queen, - said the third one,
I would give birth to five sons,
our life could be such a fun.
The moral of this fable:
Any lass is able
to become an enchantress
if she is loved by a king.
She can dance and sing,
she can move mountains,
make beautiful fountains,
fill the world with flowers
if she gets a queen’s powers.

©Larisa Rzhepishevska
November the 8th,2010

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A Song Of Riches

What will you give to a barefoot lass,
Morning with breath like wine?
Wade, bare feet! In my wide morass
Starry marigolds shine.
Alms, sweet Noon, for a barefoot lass,
With her laughing looks aglow!
Run, bare feet! In my fragrant grass
Golden buttercups blow.

Gift, a gift for a barefoot lass,
O twilight hour of dreams!
Rest, bare feet, by my lake of glass,
Where the mirrored sunset gleams.

Homeward the weary merchants pass,
With the gold bedimmed by care.
Little they wise that the barefoot lass
Is the only millionaire.

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass

Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
She is walking through the grass
With the wind blowing in her hair,
She is looking for the man
She calls her own and take his hand
But sadly, he is never ever there,
As she is heading back home
And again she is all alone
As again GOD had ignored her thoughts,
But sadly no one does care
What she is doing over there
As she’ll never find, what she had sought.

Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie lass
Whom I had just past
As I shied away from happily,
I have known of her before
As she had knocked upon my door
But now the door is shut and I am free,
As it was not that long ago
When she filled my heart with woe
Then threw my heart and life away,
As she smiled as though she cared
But never worried how I had faired
And goodbye to me she never did say.

Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass
Love for you it never did last
And your hopes and dreams are now all gone,
Someday though you will get old
And you will be standing all alone
As you will be walking upon your lawn,
You will be seeking someone new
So you can say again, I love you
As your walking down life’s final path,
But no one will ever be there
As the winds blows though your hair
My Sweet Bonnie, Bonnie Lass.

poem by Randy McClave
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My Dear Dearest

My Dear, Dearest, Dear, [Oh dear dear me]

Are you too blind to see?

Far apart is the sea from the sky

And when did I last see you laugh?

And when did I last see you cry?

So far away

Does space divide?

The heart from the body?

It was so long ago

I saw you smile

I glimpsed your soul

Across a table one wooden space between

Did I ever really know you?

Is love what it seems

Or is love just for breaking

And awakening in dreams.?

My dear, dearest dear,

We have come to this place

But I must start this letter

Oh my dear, dear me!

What a waste!

poem by Yvette Smith
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My Bonnie Lass

My Bonnie Lass From Scotland
Whom I love with all my heart
Across the sea, she came to me
From her, I shall never part.
As she is my everything
As I wander throughout my life
And like a prayer, she is always there
So now my Lass, has became my wife.
As she is the beauty
That enters into my thoughts
So now when I close my eyes, I realize
She was my victory in a battle hard fought.

My Bonnie Lass from Scotland
Whom I love with all my soul
And in my brain, she will always remain
As never will I let her go.
When I close my eyes and off to sleep
My mind though is still wide awake,
Sometimes I wonder, as though I ponder
How do I live, if from me, she GOD did take.
For I love her more than the red, red rose
That blooms in the summertime
And I will love her till, my heart stands still
Till then, I know that she is mine.

My Bonnie Lass from Scotland
You are the reason that I do live
As in this world of take, and remake
To you and only you, I will always give.
And though in times that we might fight
But in my heart I am holding your hand
I can take the pain, like the falling rain
As always I know, I am your man.
In years from now when its my time to leave
And our present will become your past
With tears in my eye, I will always cry
That I love you my Bonnie, Bonnie Lass.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Beneath the cloy mountain grass

Oh come hither my lass to the hills
Where the valleys gorge calls out
And sing, dance and shout my love
For what this life is all about?
And if it isn't to be merry my love
And if it isn't to be glad;
Then bury me my bonny lass
Beneath the cloy mountain grass.

Oh come gather me in your arms my lass
Take me back to the sea and the stars
And if there's nothing shinning my love
Tarry with my heart in your lonesome arms
For the waters all around me love
Are deep and dark, and black
So if it isn't to be glad my lass
Bury me beneath the cloy mountain grass.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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The Long Trail

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun,
Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the dover,
"And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new!

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun
Or South to the blind Hom's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate --
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp,
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz south on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her brows, dear lass.
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new?

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread,
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless, viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Grinfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are flaked by the sun, dear lass
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start
We're steaming all too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song-how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows we may do
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull-down, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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L'envoi

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
Or South to the blind Horn's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate;
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp;
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new?

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread!
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Gunfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,
our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.

Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start --
We're steaming all-too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows what we may do --
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Left Apart

Over that fresh green grass
A sweet face did say to me with hush
O me handsome lad, will ye go apart
From the dear green land of Ireland
Though I promised not to
But fortune decided to
For me to break the vow
And from the dear ol' isle I did part

And on that ship I went over
For fortune to dig with me shovel
Leaving all that sweet green
And dreaming of money's stream
Behind the ocean so wide
Putting a shamrock by me side
To somewhere I don't have to hide
And the ship from the dear isle did part

Limerick, Corcaigh and Donegal
Connemara, Tara and the all
Oh how I miss Belfast and Derry
And don't forget the shores of Kerry
Dreams come and go
With a memories' flow
Until appeared the first glow
Of the land after I left the dear isle apart

Money and fame I did have
And for lassies didn't give a laugh
For me heart never chose
But the lass in the blues
Now years passed me by
And I'm getting even so high
No one can deny
After I left the dear Ol' isle apart

After all this and that to the dear I did come
So blissing the air I did breathe with no gloom
But then into a cemetery I did get
And on an engraved stone I did read
'O ye passer by,
sit a little and cry
say your pray, then a goodbye
to the dear ol' isle that ye left apart'

poem by Taher Shemaly
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One Tear

Last night, when at parting
Awhile we did stand,
Suddenly starting,
There fell on my hand

Something that burned it,
Something that shone
In the moon as I turned it,
And then it was gone.

One bright stray jewel -
What made it stray?
Was I cold or cruel,
At the close of day?

Oh, do not cry, lass!
What is crying worth?
There is no lass like my lass
In the whole wide earth.

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Armour and Amor

Now listen to me now
And to me pay attention
Sometimes the course of love
Needs a mother's intervention

Now listen to my tale
How some Armour old and rusty
Led Lass to discover
Love deep and true and lusty

One day while cleaning house
Mom found a coat of Armour
She didn't want the dusty thing
To clutter up her parlor

She made Lass take it back
And thats how Lass met Laddy
He was a big improvement
Over Tom and Dick and Harry

It worked out for the best
And thus did Lass acquire
A true love who's a knight-
She didn't settle for his squire.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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For A' That

Tho' women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift, and turn, an' a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist-
A consequence I draw that.