The Receptionist
France is the fairest land on earth,
Lovely to heart's desire,
And twice a year I span its girth,
Its beauty to admire.
But when a pub I seek each night,
To my profound vexation
On form they hand me I've to write
My occupation.
So once in a derisive mood
My pen I nibbled;
And though I know I never should:
'Gangster' I scribbled.
But as the clerk with startled face
Looked stark suspicion,
I blurred it out and in its place
Put 'Politician.'
Then suddenly dissolved his frown;
His face fused to a grin,
As humorously he set down
The form I handed in.
His shrug was eloquent to view.
Quoth he: 'What's in a name?
In France, alas! the lousy two
Are just the same.'
poem by Robert William Service
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The Beautiful Stranger
I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
When England knew thee thou wert passing fair;
I never knew a foreign face so rare.
The world of waters rolls and rushes bye,
Nor lets me wander where thy vallies lie.
But surely France must be a pleasant place
That greets the stranger with so fair a face;
The English maiden blushes down the dance,
But few can equal the fair maid of France.
I saw thee lovely and I wished thee mine,
And the last song I ever wrote is thine.
Thy country's honour on thy face attends;
Men may be foes but beauty makes us friends.
poem by John Clare
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The Old Year
The Old Year's gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they're here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall -
A guest to every heart's desire,
And now he's nought at all.
Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
All things identified;
But times once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year's Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.
poem by John Clare
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Dear Motherland Of France
DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE
Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
The source of beauty and of Art,
Who but thy children understand
The love which permeates each heart!
We see, through rainbow-tints of tears,
Thy glory of a thousand years.
O country of the Great and Free,
We live for thee, we live for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
O Motherland, both blithe and brave,
What magic lies in thy name-France!
Yet can thy radiant mien be grave,
And stern thy ever-smiling glance.
And when thy sons and daughters know
That enemies would lay thee low
And dim thy fame on land and sea,
We fight for thee, we fight for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
Dear Motherland of joy and mirth,
Dear Motherland of faith divine,
A thousand years the wondering earth
Has seen thy star in splendour shine.
Still shall it see that star of France
Its splendour and its light enhance.
Dear Motherland, when it need be
We die for thee, we die for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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God Created Heaven
God Created Heaven
=================
Beginning Earth Without Form
Void Of Darkness Was The Face
Spirit Of God The Face On Water
Divides The Light From Spirit Form.
Darkness Night
Light Of Way
Light Of Day
Dry Land Earth
It Was So.
Gathering Water Seas
Yield Of Land
Abound With Fruit
God Was Good.
As The Stars Made
Signs Of Seasons
Light On Earth
Divide From Night
Divide Of Day
He Made The Stars
Abundance Love.
God Bless
Our Likeness Of God Image
His Own Dominion
All Who Host
A Work He'd Done.
poem by Ricardo Antunes
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Lost In France
(ronnie scott/steve wolfe)
Producers for bonnie: david mackay, ronnie scott, steve wolfe
I was lost in france
In the fields the birds were singing
I was lost in france
And the day was just beginning
As I stood there in the morning rain
I had a feeling I cant explain
I was lost in france in love
I was lost in france
In the street a band was playing
And the crowd all danced
Didnt catch what they were saying
When I looked up he was standing there
And I knew I shouldnt but I didnt care
I was lost in france in love
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
I was lost in france
And the vines were over-flowing
I was lost in france
And a million stars were glowing
And I looked round for a telephone
To say baby I wont be home
I was lost in france in love
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
And I looked round for a telephone
To say baby I wont be home
I was lost in france in love
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing
Ooh la la la ooh la la la dance
Ooh la la la dancing...out
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mismet
He was leaning by a face,
He was looking into eyes,
And he knew a trysting-place,
And he heard seductive sighs;
But the face,
And the eyes,
And the place,
And the sighs,
Were not, alas, the right ones--the ones meet for him--
Though fine and sweet the features, and the feelings all abrim.
II
She was looking at a form,
She was listening for a tread,
She could feel a waft of charm
When a certain name was said;
But the form,
And the tread,
And the charm,
And name said,
Were the wrong ones for her, and ever would be so,
While the heritor of the right it would have saved her soul to know!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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School Rhymes
O academic muse that hast for long
Charmed all the world with thy disciples’ song,
As myrtle bushes must give place to trees,
Our humbler strains can now no longer please.
Look down for once, inspire me in these lays.
In lofty verse to sing our Rector's praise.
The mighty wheel of Time to light has rolled
That golden age by ancient bards foretold.
Minerva now descends upon our land,
And scatters knowledge with unsparing hand;
Long since Ulysses saw the heavenly maid,
In Mentor's form and Mentor’s dress arrayed,
But now to Cambrian lands the goddess flies,
And drops in Williams’ form from out the skies;
And as at dawn the brilliant orb of light,
With his bright beams dispels the gloomy night,
So sunk in ignorance our land he finds,
But with his learning drives it from our minds,
And he, a hero, shall with joyful eyes
See crowds of heroes all around him rise;
With great Minerva's wisdom he shall rule
Those boisterous youths—the rector's class at school,
And when in the fifth class begins his power,
And he begins to teach us, from that hour
Dame Poetry begins to show her face,
And witty epigrams the plaster grace;
There growing wild are often to be seen
The names of boys that Duxes erst have been,
And at the chimney-piece is seen the same
All thickly scribbled with the boobie's name.
· · · · ·
Ne’er shall the dreadful tawse be heard again,
The lash resounding, and the cry of pain;
Carmichael's self will change (O that he would!)
From the imperative to wishing mood;
Ye years roll on, and haste the expected time
When flogging boys shall be accounted crime.
But come, thy real nature let us see,
No more the rector but the goddess be,
Come in thy might and shake the deep profound,
Let the Academy with shouts resound,
While radiant glory all thy head adorns,
And slippers on thy feet protect thy corns;
O may I live so long on earth below,
That I may learn the things that thou dost know!
Then will I praise thee in heroic verse
So good that Linus’ will be counted worse;
The Thracian Orpheus never will compare
With me, nor Dods that got the prize last year.
But stay, O stay upon this earth a while,
Even now thou seest the world's approving smile,
And when thou goest to taste celestial joys,
Let thy great nephew teach the mourning boys,
Then mounting to the skies upon the wind,
Lead captive ignorance in chains behind.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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The Temptress
Old Devil, when you come with horns and tail,
With diabolic grin and crafty leer;
I say, such bogey-man devices wholly fail
To waken in my heart a single fear.
But when you wear a form I know so well,
A form so human, yet so near divine;
'Tis then I fall beneath the magic of your spell,
'Tis then I know the vantage is not mine.
Ah! when you take your horns from off your head,
And soft and fragrant hair is in their place;
I must admit I fear the tangled path I tread
When that dear head is laid against my face.
And at what time you change your baleful eyes
For stars that melt into the gloom of night,
All of my courage, my dear fellow, quickly flies;
I know my chance is slim to win the fight.
And when, instead of charging down to wreck
Me on a red-hot pitchfork in your hand,
You throw a pair of slender arms about my neck,
I dare not trust the ground on which I stand.
Whene'er in place of using patent wile,
Or trying to frighten me with horrid grin,
You tempt me with two crimson lips curved in a smile;
Old Devil, I must really own, you win.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Love Puts On A New Face
He said you think youre a lady
But I know youre a woman
We are as young as the night
I said no telephones ringing
No company coming
Just the lap of the lake and the firelight
And the lonely loon and the crescent moon
What a pocket of heavenly grace
But in france they say
Everyday
Love puts on a new face
Love has many faces
About a month or so later he said
Why cant you be happy
You make me feel helpless when you get this way
I said Im up to my neck in alligators
Jaws gnashing at me
Each one trying to pull a piece away
Darling, you cant slay these beasts of prey
Some bad dreams even love cant erase
But in france they say
Everyday
Love puts on a new face
Love has many faces
He said I wish you were with me here
The leaves are electric
They burn on the river bank
Countless heatless flames
I said send me some pictures then
And Ill paint pyrotechnic
Explosions of your autumn till we meet again
I miss your touch and your lips so much
I long for our next embrace
But in france they say
Everyday
Love puts on a new face
Love puts on a new face
Love has many faces
Many many faces
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXXVII: O Why Doth Delia
O why doth Delia credit so her glass,
Gazing her beauty deign'd her by the skies,
And doth not rather look on him (alas)
Whose state best shows the force of murd'ring eyes?
The broken tops of lofty trees declare
The fury of a mercy-wanting storm;
And of what force your wounding graces are,
Upon my self you best may find the form.
Then leave your glass, and gaze your self on me,
That Mirror shows what power is in your face;
To view your form too much may danger be:
Narcissus chang'd t'a flower in such a case.
And you are chang'd, but not t'a Hyacint;
I fear your eye hath turn'd your heart to flint.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Fairest
thou art the fairest of all
thou art my beauty at the mall
thy picture always painted on the wall
thy beauty is always as i might recall
thy beauty shant fade away
all thy sad tears i've swiped away
all thy beauty are not for play
for every beauty is not for waste
thy beautifull smile so heavenly
always every beaty shops landlady
thou art qualified as milady
always fair always thy heart fairy
thou art my favourite episode
your black beauty describes my ode
always lovely when thou art in the mood
thy ancient beauty never growing old
thou art my fairest
thy smell of thy perfume the loveliest.
poem by Umoh Cyril
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The Waving of the Red
It is a sad and cruel fate the country’s coming to,
And there’s no use in striking, ‘so what are we to do?’
“I know what we could do, but then, there might be traitors near,
And things are running in my head that only mates should hear!”
The world cannot go on like this, in spite of all that’s said,
And millions now are waiting for – the Waving of the Red.
“Last night as I lay slipping out a vision came to me;
A girl with face as fair and grand as ever man might see –
Her form was like the statues raised to Liberty in France,
And in her hand a blood-red flag was wrapped around a lance.
She shook the grand old colour loose, she smiled at me and said;
“Go bid your brothers gather for the Waving of the Red.”
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Spirit Of Great Joan
Back of each soldier who fights for France,
Aye, back of each woman and man
Who toils and prays through these long tense days.
Is the spirit of Great Joan.
For the love she gave, and the life she gave,
In the eyes of God sufficed
To crown her with light, and power, and might,
That made her second to Christ.
And so in that hour at the Marne she came,
To the seeing eyes of men;
And the blind of view still felt and knew
That her spirit had come again.
And she will come in each crucial hour
And joy shall follow despair,
For Joan sees her France on its knees
And she hears the voice of its prayer.
There is no hate in the heart of France,
But a mighty moral force
That takes its stand for her worshipped land,
And cannot be swerved from its course.
For this is the way with France to-day,
Her courage comes from faith,
And she bends her knee ere she straightens her arm;
In her forward rush toward death.
A jungle of beasts in the heart of the Hun-
War to the world laid bare.
And war has revealed, that France concealed,
Only the lion's lair.
A lioness fighting to save her own,
She fights as a lioness can,
And strength to the end shall the Unseen send,
In the spirit of Great Joan.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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France on its own cannot impose its point of view. But neither should it give up on its demands. With a clear vote for change France will be in a strong position.
quote by Laurent Fabius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home-Thoughts From France
Wan, fragile faces of joy,
Pitiful mouths that strive
To light with smiles the place
We dream we walk alive,
To you I stretch my hands,
Hands shut in pitiless trance
In a land of ruin and woe,
The desolate land of France.
Dear faces startled and shaken,
Out of wild dust and sounds
You yearn to me, lure and sadden
My heart with futile bounds.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Our Only Hope....
nothing is taken from nowhere
as there can be no beginning if there is no end
there can only be conversion from one form to another
everything starts from a substance
an energy form
a disturbance of a stagnant clear pool
a mass of light
that suddenly burst into flames
at the tip of these all
you cannot pinpoint where is the start
and where's the beginning
all shall accept what is given
and all shall give back what was taken
the face of humanity is no one's face
as it is with a dropp of rain to the ocean's body
that is our only hope.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet 11
is it any wonder i have no words to tell
how my heart yearns in absence of you?
the night revives this constant hell-
no vision replaces dark with bright view,
prefiguring the visitation of your form
in sacred majesty, transfiguring night
in darkened soul to that majesty. in turn,
unformed dark, unchanged by celestial Light
formless dark remains, unilluminated by art.
your timeless form, unsculpted by love's pencil,
lends no body to the unformed in my heart.
no form heart forms new, nor does it chisel.
thus your form, unchiselled in my inner eye,
and your heart, my inner sense can't spy.
poem by Doug Bentley
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Failure
THE BOY went out from the ranges grim,
And the breath of the mountains went with him;
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place:
And the good green earth, and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies, they were his that day;
And, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire—
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
The boy went down to the city’s strife,
And his face was lost in the surge of life;
But a Power that he did not understand
Had nerved his brain and his fighting hand.
And he strove and failed, and he rose and won—
And he failed again ere the fight was done;
But he battled on when the days were dire
To win to the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
And there, in the heart of the stress and din,
’Mid want and labour and wealth and sin,
The strong man struggled with shining eyes,
And forced a passage, and grasped the prize.
And he cried to the Power who had lent the fire:
“Lo! Fame is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!
Give the cup to me with a beaded brim.”
And the Power that he knew not gave it him.
But the air is keen on the Cliffs of Fame,
And the shafts that fly have a deadly aim!
With a foothold scarce, and a sleepless dread
For the gulfs below and the heights o’erhead,
He cried to the Power who had steeled his hand:
“I am outcast yet from my Fairyland!
For Fame is a land where no strength may tire,
But Love is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then there came to the man all his dream of Love,
With the brow of snow and the eyes of a dove,
With the glint of the sun on her wavy hair,
And her soul as pure as her face was fair.
Like a living lily to him she came,
Till his eyes were wet and his soul was flame,
And she called to him, with an outstretched hand,
And they entered into the Promised Land.
But there came a day when he asked his soul,
“Is this the land, and is this the goal?”
In his heart there lay what his lips denied—
The pang of a hunger unsatisfied.
“For Fame,” he said, “and for Love I wrought;
They are not the things that I should have sought:
’Tis to boundless power that my dreams aspire—
And Wealth is the Land of My Heart’s Desire!”
Then the Power that he did not understand
Gave him ships and houses and gold and land,
And the man’s power grew with each passing year;
But his thoughts were vexed with a sleepless fear,
And his hair grew gray with the iron strain
Of the dread of loss and the lust of gain,
And he bowed his head on his hands and said.
“All things are mine, but my heart is dead!”
And he thought of the boy from the ranges grim
With the breath of the mountains over him,
With a song in his heart and a smile on his face,
And a light in his eyes for a foremost place,
And the good green earth and the salt sea spray,
And the soft blue skies that were his that day,
When, like Eden, ringed with a golden fire,
Afar rose the Land of His Heart’s Desire.
Then clear on his startled ear there fell
A voice like the sound of a silver bell:
“To each is the work that he best can do,
But you turned from the work when it called to you.
And you sought instead for the vulgar praise,
For the lips of love, and for prosperous days.
And with all that the world can give you here,
You have lost the thing that you hold most dear.
For who hears the word that the Gods inspire—
In his work finds the Land of His Heart’s Desire.”
poem by George Essex Evans
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Happy Valentine
High fly ye little rose
And land in the residence across
Put a smile on her face.
pour out my lovely message in phase
Yes, to my only lovely queen.
Very slowly and so keen
Allow her to admire your beauty
Let her say you are pretty,
Every petal and each sepal shines
None differs from they way she shines,
Tell her she is like you in my eyes
Inside my heart she lies
Never would thee be moved.
Even though the mountains be moved.
poem by Marbet Daniel
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Travel to the place...
Travel to the place
Where mind set to peace,
No one can see,
Feel us free.
Travel to the place
Where we can breathe,
Fill our desire,
We wish; we aspire.
Travel to the place
Where we have silence,
Flower of fragrance,
And nature to admire.
Travel to the place
Where we can write,
Lines of rhyme,
At any time.
Travel to the place
Where we have enough space,
Work without race,
No tension on face.
Travel to the place
Where we can dance,
Sing at glance,
Bit of time to romance.
Travel to the place
Where we spread love,
Freedom to serve
And land to move.
Travel to the place
Where we can live,
Of joy and sprinkle its grace,
And do anything, anywhere.
poem by Divyesh J. Shah
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