Related quotes: t IS the tea party...

T.

t
IS the tea party
i have with me
i slice my cake
and eat it
without anybody
seeing me

t
is my own tete-a-tete
with my own
temple

my own soul
a
T

Truth

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Tete a tete

The choice i made was good,
My wounds were healed,
The secrets i sealed,
It was better though mild,
Understand me please
Come for tete a tete

Dont put me in a corner my love
Im wrong i accept my love,
Whose tear should fall,
Lets have a talk my love,
Tete a tete be it

You are evrything i need,
Im everything you both need,
Its a dilemma,
I need a tete a tete

poem by Gaylord Munemo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love and Hate

God knows why I can't read my own fate!
God knows why love has turned into hate!
God knows I have no more love to waste!
God knows why I am in wretched state!
God knows why we had no tête-à-tête!
God knows why I am not your playmate!
God knows you were like my heaven's gate!
God knows how you can now compensate!
God knows your love could make my life great!
But it seems it has become too late!

poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Baby you are my soul mate

Baby you are my soul mate
But now it seems it's too late

O those old days were so great
Then secretly we could date
But now we can't change our fate
Coz now it seems it's too late

Sometimes we had tete-a-tete
I stared at you when you ate
You were like my heaven's gate
But now it seems it's too late

Your love has turned into hate
Coz you are now so upset
Your thought now makes my eyes wet
Coz now it seems it's too late

Everything is not said yet
Read my poems in internet
You will forgive I can bet
Though now it seems it's too late

Forget me not don't forget
Otherwise you will regret
Don't treat me like a lost pet
Though now it seems it's too late

poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thunder

Weather-bureau godly telegraphing busy
Messaging in morse-code of distant sounds
Decoded to roll on in soft beats
Metric in simple, duple, triple
Restless but in lightning ardency
Accelerated additive to down-beats
To din-din the earth, a 'tete-a-tete' scenario

poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Now Look Here Prof

This is in answer to Ron Atkinsons poem 'Ernestine'.

Now look here Prof, I never expected such a super write.
But what you've done I reckon, is pretty 'down right' polite,
I never thought that I would see my name up there in lights,
But one can never tell quite, when one hits such heady heights.

I'm overwhelmed by all the words you've said to me today,
And I am just so thrilled with them, they really are Okay,
So thanks a bunch for thinking up this lovely tete-a-tete,
Your poems are on my wavelength, and to you I sure relate.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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By pass

Require by pass
Replacement meet
Giridhar.

Require love
Consult Gopal
AT lifeline.

Require peace harmony
Read Gajanan
At poems hunter.

Remember this world
Ours and we all
Supra tete-a-tete
And that terminate.

Each is others friend
And in friendship
Nothing begin
Nothing end.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tête-à-Tête

You talk about success?
How are you going to obtain that...
And you socialize all the time?
Your looks may carry you across
Someone's threshold...
But even trophies lose their glitter,
And rust.

And fading looks minus substance...
Equals a significant loss,
In those superficial circles!

Those of true success,
Get little sleep and not much rest.
Having little time for a tête-à-tête
With ex-convicts who now conduct seminars...
On topics regarding proper etiquette,
For those being taught how to hoodwink...
For fun and profit!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Escritoire

Here we are again
In a tête-à-tête,
A soliloquy,
And I shall again
Fillet my bones
To divulge
My pawned head,
Half smiling,
Half dead.

You are fortunate
To be dead
And not to feel,
And that this message
Wouldn't matter,
And that you wouldn't care
If I scathe your swarthy veneer
As I etch the weight
Into the frail paper
Reaching your
Solid, cold core.

But you wouldn't pick up the beads
Nor tell me that it is falling
Into this broken poem.

You are lucky,
You are dead
Far from the hurting
Of the living.

poem by Norman Santos
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Poetry and Prayer

When hopelessness or passion's throes ignites us,
lost emotion casts confusion everywhere.
When hatred of our flesh's prison grates us,
how much easier is forgetting that we care?
Where we turn to in the furnace glare is telling,
whether up or in is more than circumstance.
Where we run to seeking comfort is our heart's truth
just a cry for absolution's withered chance.
Do we run the risk of giving up the certain
for subjective hells of sanity and science?
Do we easily forget how fast we're broken,
that we've never been a race for self reliance?
Is salvation such a dangerous conclusion
can we not believe the father or the wraith?
Is creation just a fallable illusion
isn't lack of proof a tete a tete with faith?
It's funny where the arguments can take us,
hither tither, yonder yore, or anywhere.
It's funny how, when sanity starts slipping,
we're occupied with poetry and prayer.

poem by Poet Dragon
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To Verbalize In A Void

To Verbalize in a Void

Tired of talking to god who never answers and watching silence
drip like tears from the ceiling beams, I walked down to the new
café, the one at the fruit market, for a cup of coffee.
A profound philosophical conversation ensued. The young girl,
who served me asked if I wanted cream in my brew; after a brief
pause, I said no. The slight pause was caused by a sudden need
to tell her I have diabetes and full fat cream is bad for me, but
since this information had little to do with her question I let it pass.
That was the extent of my tête-à-tête for the day, but it was
fulfilling though, a question had been raised and a comprehensive
responds had been given.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Paintings

colours, they bring back
scenes and scents

your painting, it brings
brings me back all the years

Second Version
--
colours, they bring back
scenes and scents

your painting, it brings
brings me back all the years

still i can sit in that chair of
that long lost cafe and
have the privilege of a
tete a tete with friends,
imagined and real
of things we all cherish
the love of art and all the things
that it brings - scenes,
scents and geniuses
overheated talents
that drove them lunatics,
madmen manoevring
with the coldness
of the arctics
volcanoes that explode
splotches, dashes
splashes, onto the
canvas of their dreams

colours, they bring back
scenes and scents
paintings, they bring back
all the years nature plods on
against adversities to help
the artist pour out its best onto canvas

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thieves In The Temple

{long version of thieves in the temple}
I'm holdin' on (i'm holdin' on) the best that i can
Love please, (let me be) let me be the better man
Better than the ones that wanna count me out
Better than the ones that don't know what my love's about
I'm talkin' 'bout the kinda love that can move a mountain
The kinda love that could part the sea
The kinda love that'll last 4 ever
(no matter what u say we should be together)
U should be with me (thieves in the temple)
Yeah, u should be with me
I said i wanna know (talk to me)
One thing (talk to me)
Said i wanna know (talk to me)
I wanna know one thing, baby (talk to me)
How come you said that i was your baby
When u and your love was gonna leave
U led me on, led me on thinkin' u was moses
Herding sheep blindly through a fantasy
U done me wrong (thieves in the temple)
And everybody knows it
Now the sound of my voice is pumpin' in your chest
More or less, i am here to tell u that
I am the best
Better than the rest
Better than the thieves in the temple tonight
Tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight, hurt me
(put it in)
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple
Thieves in the temple tonight
Put your foot on the rock
Let me show you how to clock
Put your foot on the rock
Let me show you how to clock
Thieves in the temple
(what the....?)
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
Who got the party, who got the party, who?
(hurt me)
Thieves in the temple

song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vicissitude IV: Autumn

Undraped from the silver jewelries
And donned with jaded gold
Gravity sat on his eiderdown
Girdling everything in his core
Usurping the land and filleting it
Until it is naked and splinted
From the cumbersome aftermaths
And I, too, unfurl a gilded soul
Married to a wraith of constant brawl
On and on, the creed falls

Shrouded from a multitude of brevity
I wither and fall in acquiescence
With the halcyon cacophony
Laboring honesty, eagerly and haplessly
Only to find it crisp and frangible
Crumbling to pieces only to fall
In autumn's omniscient spell
I watched the brown river flow
And the drifting current to take me

So the topple endures the invigoration
That I held for a sangfroid resistance
Gnawing teeth and kneading hands
In a tête-à-tête with malignance
I cajoled and begged for a consummate defeat
Under this wrecked vicissitude's feet
One last fall, one last shattered hope
One final string of a gilded rope

poem by Norman Santos
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I Dreamt Of My Father Last Night

I dreamt of my father last night
with an indifferent boy to his height
out from a hazy meadow into my sight

on his face was this grave grin
as he paused a little for me to join
while the boy looked away in vague pain

I might have been curious who he was
but father took out his cigarette case
that exuded its old taciturn wince

humbly I took the cigarette
though we both had long since quit
and leaned forward for father to light it

somehow my rusty puff snuffed out father’s light
the only inexplicable one for the night
while my apologetically lit cigarette was alright

I handed it over for father to light his cigarette
which he puffed hard but could not manage it
even if the two were closely joint tête-à-tête

knowing it was a dream I did not want daylight
in that haziness my cigarette was only thing alight
I waited and waited for father to get his light —

poem by Dr Ronnie Bai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Time to Talk

as words flow
to my inspiration
from a source
a million light years away
scores of lines
stream onto the screen
per few minutes
a meaningful friend
came by to have a tete a tete
quite unaware
of the fact that
i am a world away
from this world
my heart and mind
logged onto another source
i nodded only to his conversation
as words trail the screen
from the other world
so many worlds in this world
when talking about
entrapments and awareness

inspired by

A Time to Talk
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
Robert Frost

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Secret Temptation II

Tossing and turning the entire night, I'm used to losing my sleep.
Can only see her vaguely, I'm cursing my lacking of binocular.
In these rainy days I long to see her dancing under her umbrella.
Seemingly impossible, but for her I could play my part of D.J.
Just for a single glimpse I wait for entire day as she seems as elusive as Cinderella.
For gods and goddesses, she struggled and feigned the disease of sitophobia.
And in every infinitesimal moment she resides in my reverie, but I've had them all crushed.
When, like some herb-smoking sage with their naked body smeared with ash.
All my friends preach me like some centenarian swami.
However I usually find myself lending my ears to hear the silence of her talk.
And the pain of her absence abates miraculously as her smile acts as an anaesthesia.
One day I should face her tete-a-tete with all my might and power.
And that day I'll shout to the world that she resides in every ups and downs of my sulci and gyri.

poem by Menash Mohan Shrestha
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Chanson de fou (1)

Le crapaud noir sur le sol blanc
Me fixe indubitablement
Avec des yeux plus grands que n'est grande sa tête ;
Ce sont les yeux qu'on m'a volés
Quand mes regards s'en sont allés,
Un soir, que je tournai la tête.

Mon frère ? - il est quelqu'un qui ment,
Avec de la farine entre ses dents ;
C'est lui, jambes et bras en croix,
Qui tourne au loin, là-bas,
Qui tourne au vent,
Sur ce moulin de bois.

Et Celui-ci, c'est mon cousin
Qui fut curé et but si fort du vin
Que le soleil en devint rouge ;
J'ai su qu'il habitait un bouge,
Avec des morts, dans ses armoires.

Car nous avons pour génitoires
Deux cailloux
Et pour monnaie un sac de poux,
Nous, les trois fous,
Qui épousons, au clair de lune,
Trois folles dames, sur la dune.

poem by Emile Verhaeren
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Last Words. Napoleon and Wellington

NAPOLEON.

Is it this, then, O world-warrior,
That, exulting, through the folds
Of the dark and cloudy barrier
Thine enfranchised eye beholds?
Is, when blessed hands relieve thee
From the gross and mortal clay,
This the heaven that should receive thee?
‘Tête d’armée.’

Now the final link is breaking,
Of the fierce, corroding chain,
And the ships, their watch forsaking,
Bid the seas no more detain,
Whither is it, freed and risen,
The pure spirit seeks away,
Quits for what the weary prison?
‘Tête d’armée.’

Doubtless angels, hovering o’er thee
In thine exile’s sad abode,
Marshalled even now before thee,
Move upon that chosen road!
Thither they, ere friends have laid thee
Where sad willows o’er thee play,
Shall already have conveyed thee!
‘Tête d’armée.’

Shall great captains, foiled and broken,
Hear from thee on each great day,
At the crisis, a word spoken
Word that battles still obey
‘Cuirassiers here, here those cannon;
Quick, those squadrons, up-away!
‘To the charge, on as one man, on!’
‘Tête d’armée.’

(Yes, too true, alas! while, sated
Of the wars so slow to cease,
Nations, once that scorned and hated,
Would to Wisdom turn, and Peace;
Thy dire impulse still obeying,
Fevered youths, as in the old day,
In their hearts still find thee saying,
‘Tête d’armée.’)

Oh, poor soul! Or do I view thee,
From earth’s battle-fields withheld,
In a dream, assembling to thee
Troops that quell not, nor are quelled,
Breaking airy lines, defeating
Limbo-kings, and, as to-day,
Idly to all time repeating
‘Tête d’armée.’

WELLINGTON.

And what the words, that with his failing breath
Did England hear her aged soldier say?
I know not. Yielding tranquilly to death,
With no proud speech, no boast, he passed away.

Not stirring words, nor gallant deeds alone,
Plain patient work fulfilled that length of life;
Duty, not glory Service, not a throne,
Inspired his effort, set for him the strife.

Therefore just Fortune, with one hasty blow,
Spurning her minion, Glory’s, Victory’s lord,
Gave all to him that was content to know,
In service done its own supreme reward.

The words he said, if haply words there were,
When full of years and works he passed away.
Most naturally might, methinks, refer
To some poor humble business of to-day.

‘That humble simple duty of the day
Perform,’ he bids; ‘ask not if small or great:
Serve in thy post; be faithful, and obey;
Who serves her truly, sometimes saves the State.’

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Epilogue

Having forsaken all paths open to me
I come to you
Always.
And when for a while I am with you
I go beyond myself for eons
In measuring the distance of a single word.
I exhaust the breath count
Of my vanquished life-span
In the midst of your victorious centuries.
The single moment with you
Which becomes the digit of my fate
Remains deprived of any count.

The seasons exhaust all their four guise-embodiments
And snows of uncounted millenia
Continue piling up in heaps
On the poles
From beginning to the end of time
While you sit near the fireplace
Soaking yourself in the warmth
Of a tete-a-tete.

The horizons of this room
Like your love
Are indeed vast
But my uprooted feet
Can't find their footing in space
And I perforce
Seek reincarnation again and again
Each time I loose my life's dream
In your eyes.

This time (however)
I ' ve nothing to loose or gain
No great battles remain to be fought
All I wish is
To die the last time
Living the remainder of my life.

poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Piece Of Cake

Rachael wants Rachael wants
Rachael wants because she wants
Rachael wants a piece of cake

Rachael is turning five
Rachael wants a birthday cake
Rachael does not like cake

Rachael wants party expectations
Rachael wants observed promised dreams
Rachael wants her attended party

Rachael sought star centre of attention wants
Rachael her friends wrapped gifts songs wants
Rachael is time suddenly seated shy tongue tied

poem by Terence George Craddock
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T.