Religious Zealot
He rose from the sea
On the third day of his death
A murmuring night
A haar, breathing to the shores
Of the Bay of Bengal
Silent sea mist
A whispering: Bora, Bora my love
Forget me not.
The saint’s longing for purity
Drowned in terror and blood.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Bora Bora 2005
In a taxi I did ride,
having such a fun time.
It was Bora Bora the island
in the south.
It was such a fun time
without a doubt.
Driving with a guy in a dress,
you don't believe me?
Oh, yes…
His boyfriend was in the backseat.
Wholly pete! but he was really sweet,
and small as can be.
Drove up the mountainside,
ate mangos and saw
skirts made with die.
Then I did shop and buy,
something that caught my eye.
A straw hat for my puppet,
she wore it sitting on a tuffet.
Taxi driver did receive,
button of me and Melodie.
Same with people off
the cruise ship,
they video taped me
taking a dip.
At Bora Bora's hotel,
please don't tell.
For I did crash the beach,
with my doll Mel.
Then a lady at pearl jewelry store,
recognized me from before,
but couldn't think of what for.
She's sitting in the executive suite
thought I was sweet and as a treat,
I could stay in Bora Bora for free.
Jewelry lady did finally realize,
she saw me on the button
buttoned to dress of taxi guy,
happy with all smiles and sunshine.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on Feb 21,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Bora Bora Connection
Bora Bora was an island with strong connection
I believe I lived there in a past life
I did not need a past life regression.
The Air Tahiti Nui logo is a flower that I draw
it is in my Sarah's Special Birthday book
I never before saw.
I also have a birthday ceremonial chair
they use the same chair in these islands
when people get married-
it has an extra flair.
Now Paul Gauguin was a French painter
who painted a fruit basket with a knife—
I would like to revisit Bora Bora
like Gauguin did who lived there at end of his life.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 17,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Bora Bora Button
Riding in a taxi around the mountain side
I was in Bora Bora have a very funtime.
I was with Melodie and Razel who wore
their island gowns-
we were being driven all around Bora Bora's towns.
Taxi driver was sweet and Melodie said so
she gave him a button that sparkled not glowed.
He wore on his dress to the Pearl Jewelry store,
the pearl jewelry owner remembered Melodie
who she adored.
For we met her in the airports first class waiting room
she recognized Melodie first as Melodie sang her tune.
Jewelry store lady said "I saw you on a button when the
taxi driver came in—he was very happy to have met you both—
he is a true fan."
One day I will go back and visit, I hope his button is holding up
if not I will give many more he can wear around to the shops.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on June 27,2012
www.suechevalier.com www.christinapoems.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Theodora
Hyacinth windows made of Chrome
Out the door the madness roars
See the summer vines glow with thyme
Vassels of the Queen of light
Beautiful as mysterious Bora Bora
Deep and lovely like poetess Theodora
Shall I suffer like shells without a sea
You are the wine of Chaucer
Fields of silver verse
I am the prisoner of your charm
She is the gracious moon adorned
Longing for sweet beauty of Theodora
Fountains of joy tresses the summer
She ponders like a breeze of lovers
Fruit trees with blossoms so true
Starlings sing in seas of blue
Some Goddesses are angels of lore
Hear the bells ring for elegant Theodora
Laurels strewn in the fire of night
Candles watch the shadows flight
She is a glade by a river of romance
My desire is not waned or fenced
My garden I am cold and torn
Waiting for the fire of Theodora
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Bloody Mary's Bora Bora
Driving up Bora Bora's hills
Cab driver told me he got the thrill
The thrill of having Chuck Norris in his cab
he lived on the island which was never drab.
I went to the restaurant Bloody Marys
where there is a sign
a sign to show you who entered that was
famous some point in time.
They told me at the bar
that Pamela Anderson was one such star-
there was a long list carved in wood
it would be great to be apart.
Then of course we took photos
by statues surrounded by plants
restaurant had a sand floor
but there was no ants.
It is at the southern tip of Pofai Bay,
it was a fun time I have to say.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 17,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Donald Trump's Safe Kept Secret By Suzae Chevalier
Light bulbs flash and celebrity smiles,
all for a photo in "Fashion & Style".
Now at Palm Beach Today,
photographer Sue Chevalier,
snaps photos of Donald & Melania
on the morning of Easter Sunday.
Just around the same time that year,
Melania conceived a gift that was very dear.
Now Sue heard the news and never did brag,
she was not a squealer who makes money on rag mags.
Unlike a photographer who heard 'your fired' with no tears,
selling photos of Donald's wedding so 'cavalier'.
But of course at that time Sue was not near,
she was in Bora Bora having fun times with good cheer.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on Jan.31,2011
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.suzaria.com www.majestymermaid.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Safeguard the words
Like ‘white coins for the black days’
To create the speech no money can buy
To obliterate black and white in a clear sky
Qutation taken from ‘Unclean blood’ by Bora Stankovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Bega
FROM the clouded belfry calling,
Hear my soft ascending swells;
Hear my notes like swallows falling;
I am Bega, least of bells.
When great Turkeful rolls and rings
All the storm-touched turret swings,
Echoing battle, loud and long.
When great Tatwin wakening roars
To the far-off shining shores,
All the seamen know his song.
I am Bega, least of bells:
In my throat my message swells.
I with all the winds a-thrill,
Murmuring softly, murmuring still,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
I am Bega, least of bells,
Weaving wonder, wind-born spells.
High above the morning mist,
Wreathed in rose and amethyst,
Still the dreams of music float
Silver from my silver throat,
Whispering beauty, whispering peace.
When great Tatwin's golden voice
Bids the listening land rejoice,
When great Turkeful rings and rolls
Thunder down to trembling souls,
Then my notes like curlews flying,
Lifting, falling, sinking, sighing,
Softly answer, softly cease.
I with all the airs at play
Murmuring sweetly, murmuring say,
'God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me.'
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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The Nightingale and the Rose
The song, it echoed sweetly
This melody of purity so fine
To cause this bud to life
To cause this rose to form
The price to pay… the thorn
This precious price to pay with life
Pressed against the heart of purity
So pure this gentle heart
For in the name of love was formed
This rose so red, so rare
And with this blood so red
This sad song so sweet this night so long.
Until the thorn so sharp did pierce
This gentle feathered heart
And spilled the blood to form
This red rose, so rare.
And as her song of love grew faint
And as her life it spilled unto the rose
The dawn approached to quicken this endeavour
Lest this rose of love be less than perfect formed
As wilder grew her song so sweet of love
As bitter grew the pain as life it ebbed
So slowly born this death that does not die
So one heart grew the other passed away.
Borne on the wind this melody of song
This song so sweet to cause to life
This rose of blood, of love, of pain and tears
And yet so easily cast into a gutter.
poem by Mike Shanahan
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Silent Night...
Silent night, our discovery night
When concentration was limited to our world
The passion was embraced by the night
And we spoke our minds without a spoken word.
Silent night, our wanton night
A night of sneaky, invisible touches
Your touch illuminated an emotional light
Especially your sweet, silent smooches.
Silent night, when we had our sweet fight
How could I forget that sweet harassment?
When your kisses took me to a greater height
And your embrace gave me a life imprisonment.
Silent night, a night so long
We interacted with just our hands
Your full-lips tickled my searching tongue
With your smooches, love confirmed my plans.
Silent night, our special night
It wasn’t by money, but by might
Crying in silence, we were drowned in delight
With silent kisses, we maximized our silent night.
poem by Vyktor Ekott
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Remittance Man
Sinner on the mainland
Hes a sinner on the sea
He looks for absolution
Not accountability
How many destinations
Oh God hes seen them all
He collects his precious pittance
Never a port of call
Remittance man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance man
So far away from home
No theyll never understand
The remittance man
A man of empty pockets
From jingling his change
The idleness and grieving
For all that he retains
By the harbour lights of sydney
Or the bora bora moon
He recites his sad confession
To the seagulls and the loons
Remittance man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance man
So far away from home
No theyll never understand
The remittance man
Well you can claim that you were born a prince
But youre the only one you can convince
Survivor with no livelihood
That you could ever make it good
But still you dream of what you can pretend
An unexpected passenger
Boarded in marseilles
An angel full of tenderness
She gave her heart away
She was but a gypsy
He was just a stray
They almost made a miracle but it slowly slipped away
So he follows the equator
With a wish to run aground
Its a very vicious circle
Goin round and round and round
And he watches from the fantail
As the mainland disappears
Just like the flying dutchman
Hes a prisoner of his fears
Remittance man
Blacksheep of the family clan
Broke too many rules along the way
Remittance man
So far away from home
No theyll never understand
No theyll never understand
No theyll never understand
The remittance man
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Your First Rose?
Someone use to remember loved once after many years (first rose-First love) that we never forget. Looking for it again hence nothing can accomplishes first love. Time has changed every things...
____________________________________ ______________________
Where your first rose?
Where your first rose?
I know you looking for it
But you cannot find...
Where your first rose?
I know you having forget it
Somewhere that you don’t know...
Where your first rose?
Hiding some where
You cannot ever reach...
Where your first rose?
Beneath someone heart
That you don’t know the person...
Where your first rose?
That cherish for ever
You forget to rescue it...
Where your first rose?
That you need to smell it
But you didn’t...
Where your first rose?
Smell like angels perfume
You once smell...
Where your first rose?
That you looking every where
Run away from you...
Where your first rose?
That born together in every soul
But you chased away...
Where your first rose?
That gives you happiness
Forever and forever...
Where your first rose?
That you kissed it every day
When you have it...
Where your first rose?
That you still looking for it
After many years left by...
Where your first rose?
That gives you every thing
Warm, happiness and true love...
Where your first rose?
That only dedicated you
By a true angel on earth...
Where your first rose?
You will have it never
Again with jealous eyes...
Where your first rose?
That gives to you
Behalf of true love...
Where your first rose?
That’s become a disappear
After you say no...
Where your first rose?
That has an ocean deep of value
You value it forever...
Where your first rose?
Away from you now
That’s you call every day...
Where your first rose?
You call by dreams
But really cannot touch...
Where your first rose?
You call by name
But didn’t hear your voice...
Where your first rose?
Whispering with you
Every nights and days...
Where your first rose?
That sung a songs ever nights
To lullaby...
Where your first rose?
That you don’t know
where its still...
That’s with me
By
O.W.Palitha Ariyarathna
Copyright, O.W. Palitha Ariyarathna.2010
All Rights Reserved By Author: 2010
poem by Palitha Ariyarathna
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Whispering Red Rose
Whispering red rose,
You are very tender and lovely;
And you look more beautiful anytime i do see you.
Whispering red rose,
Slowly at a pace and bountifully is the love of your sweet aroma;
And the whispering of your love is now being known to me,
But i do respect the garden in which you are placed in.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Roses Rising
I keep with me
a dying rose
which sleeps beside me
on the pillow.
Once alive it lies now in between
life and my pillow-side breathing
which doesn't allow it to expire
even though it should.
It fell in a swift spiral
from your funeral pyre
and I plucked it up
as a sign
you gave
that we'd remain
for ever close;
forever in love.
On the first night
it quivered from my breath
and I breathed more
and seemingly
that rose contained your soul
and was inspired nightly
to new life
from my warm expirations.
They all think
I am grief-drowned
and will recover soon
but no
they don't understand.
It is not the rose I keep
but the soul
within that sleeps
beside me
each night since.
If spirits live,
and I am sure yours does,
mine reaches yours
in our sleeping rose.
Nineteen
its clear
was too soon
for you to go;
rather you take
refuge with me
each night
disguised as rose
until it truly comes time
for you to go.
I pray each night
hoping that
it is not too soon
but when the time comes
there will be a flight
of two souls;
both rising quietly
in our sleep.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Birds' Lullaby
I
Sing to us, cedars; the twilight is creeping
With shadowy garments, the wilderness through;
All day we have carolled, and now would be sleeping,
So echo the anthems we warbled to you;
While we swing, swing,
And your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
II
Sing to us, cedars; the night-wind is sighing,
Is wooing, is pleading, to hear you reply;
And here in your arms we are restfully lying,
And longing to dream to your soft lullaby;
While we swing, swing,
And your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
III
Sing to us, cedars; your voice is so lowly,
Your breathing so fragrant, your branches so strong;
Our little nest-cradles are swaying so slowly,
While zephyrs are breathing their slumberous song.
And we swing, swing,
While your branches sing,
And we drowse to your dreamy whispering.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Guardian and BloodRose
BloodRose,
Rose of my love,
My love for Dark moon,
Dark as my heart,
Black as my soul,
And gave me my rose.
The rose of blood,
With petals soft and black,
Never as a rose so beautiful,
Grown not in light,
But under a dark moon lit sky.
Guardian,
Yes a guardian of BloodRose,
With teeth long and sharp,
Claws hard as diamonds,
Scales as dark as night.
My dear sweet guardian,
Guardian black as my heart,
Fire in your eyes,
Shadows in your soul,
A dragon of the dark moon.
A single rose,
With petals so fare,
As dark as my heart,
I now hold in my hand,
The rose of blood.
You are my darkness,
Fear of this love,
This love for you,
Love for darkness,
The cold shadows in my heart
That makes me yearn for you.
Now as you lay dying,
I hold a single rose,
The rose you gave me,
And as I hold it tight,
The thorns slice my hand,
Covered with blood,
My blood.
I have one fear,
The fear of death,
Symbol of my lost love,
Rose as dark as me,
Laying in a pool of blood,
Blood from me.
As I lay dying,
I remember my name,
BloodRose,
I am the rose of blood,
And I died of my own creation.
A creation of perfect beauty,
Petals dark black,
Thorns like small daggers,
Grown from my love,
My love for a dragon,
A dragon as dark as my heart.
Even in my death,
I think of you,
And the rose you gave me,
The rose that killed me,
The Rose of Blood.
poem by Nicolette Gonzalez
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The Billionth Abortion
We are being subdued as if meant to stay silent.
The deed is done and cannot be undone.
Let's just move on, forget it ever happened.
Crush the conscience as if the child within.
Dismiss the sin, call it human error...
Or human terror...
Has it finally come to this?
Man can go to the moon...
Yet can kill his own son...
He can give him up to strangers
And stranglers...
What use is romantic love
If it can roam to death?
What use is St Valentine's Day
If the baby dies on April the first?
And what use is marriage
If it offers lifelong friendship
But ends in eternal shame?
God forbid that I fall in love
Yet to no useful purpose...
Smothered with kisses
Yet later smothered in blood.
I want to sleep at night
With peace in my heart
Not tears in my eyes...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Kroegtijger
Ze heeft haar nagels aangescherpt
en vijlt vilein de randjes zeer venijnig,
het rosarode lippenglos is hard als glas
dat zij zojuist omklemden,
ze weet zeer wel wat staat te doen,
voor haar coureurs en ongeremden
heeft ze een air of toch misschien een zoen.
Haar nagels strelen door haar peroxide dalen,
ze weet dat al dat licht zeer zeker niet zal falen,
haar rijbewijs heeft ze nog niet
-ze zal hem snel behalen-
en bukt voorzichtig, blaast wat witte o-tjes,
let op haar naaldbelijmde witte pumps en
-wie zal ze straks weer moeten dumpen-
, ja, ja, ze wegen zwaar de laatste loodjes.
Met zwarte bezems slaat ze blank haar blauw op,
haar neuslijn trilt parmantig en wat hitsig,
het tipje van haar tong rolt snel
tussen twee gladde paden.
Er buzzed iets in haar tasje,
het is haar Blackberrie die
fulmineerd;
ze gaat en neemt haar jasje.
Ze voelen zich -zo halfvol een kroeg-
zo plots zomaar verraden.
poem by Madrason writer
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New love journey! !
New love journey
Where it will l@st
In ur årms or in ur l@p
Fresh by ur breAthing
Mist of ur perfume
Longing in my nostrils
Going for some ch@nge
Longing rythms
U coming honey
Pl@ying with retro old songs
How be@utiful they r
Never seen before
Residing in me
Like soulm@te
U r sweeter th@n honey
W@n@ lick e@ch drop
Silence kills me
Love spe@ks its own wAy
B@by just ur love
M@kes me boom boom
Turning to some f@st tr@ck
Life shined for moment
Now h@ndro is shining
Twisting my toes
Love u honey
New love journey
poem by Somia Race
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Innocence of a Rose
Love is delicate,
As like the petals of a rose
Love is innocent,
like the purity of a rose
Love is delightful,
like the smell of a rose
Love hurts,
like the thorns of a rose.
Love begins,
like a seed.
and like a rose,
If you water it;
It grows.
poem by Candice Renae Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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