Not Wanting To Forget
The Modigliani print was on the wall
By the front door. Who’s she? Bridshaw’s
Dame asked, pointing at the print.
It’s a painting by Modigliani, Bridshaw said.
Is he a friend of yours? The dame asked.
Bridshaw pulled a face and said, No, he’s
Dead now. Shame, she replied, stroking
The print, her finger tracing the woman’s
Outline, her tongue hanging out of the side
Of her mouth in concentration. She’s a bit
On the thin side, the dame said, and I don’t
Like the black coat she’s wearing, like some
Darn widow. Bridshaw wanted to get the dame
In bed for sex; the Modigliani print was no
Big deal, he’d bought it in some art shop on
The high street from the guy with the Boston
Tones. Shame he’s dead, the dame said, he
Could have painted me; I would have made
A good model, more meat on me than that
Woman in black, thin as a pole. Bridshaw
Nodded his head, Sure, sure, but you’re too
Late, the guy’s dead, now can we move on,
Get a drink, hit the bed, have sex, and then
A cigarette. Sure, the dame said, moving away
From the Modigliani print, taking the image
Of the woman with her, not wanting to forget.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Dame Dame Dame (Amor Esta Noche)
El reloj
ya marc medianoche
y otra vez encontr
que tan slo me acompaña la TV
El soplar
de ese viento afuera
vive la deolacin
me oprime con angustia el corazn
No hay mas que soledad
nadie, ni por piedad
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
alguien que me ayude
a las sombras borrar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
hasta que amanezca
ver el dia aclarar
Tantos hay
con gran suerte y fortuna
todo pueden conseguir
tan distinto a lo que tengo que vivir
Aburrida me encuentro esta noche
y la gran oscuridad
es mi siempre obligada amistad
No hay mas que soledad
nadie, ni por piedad
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
alguien que me ayude
a las sombras borrar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
hasta que amanezca
ver el dia aclarar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
No hay mas que soledad
nadie, ni por piedad
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
alguien que me ayude
a las sombras borrar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
hasta que amanezca
ver el dia aclarar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
alguien que me ayude
a las sombras borrar
Dame, dame, dame
amor esta noche
hasta que amanezca
ver el dia aclarar
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dame Amor
(graham russell, michael sherwood, jimmy haun)
No basta pintar un cuadro
Solo de ti mismo
Si los colores son para dos...
Te quiero, te quiero
No basta sonar diamantes
Cuando en tu mano los diamantes
No reflejan un puro amor
Te quiero, te quiero
Caer lentamente, que sensacion!
Como una vez yo a ti le ame
Ahora te amo mas y mas
Dame amor,
Dame amor, dame todo lo que das
Dame tiempo
Y esperanzas
Dame tu corazon
No basta guardar secretos
Secretos con ti mismo
Si la verdad quieres susurrar
Que remos...
Te quiero
Recuerdos...nos llaman
Es esto una realidad
Como una vez yo a ti te ame
Ahora vuelvo a un por mas
Dame amor
Dame amor
Dame todo lo que das
Dame tiempo
Y esperanzas
Dame tu corazon
Dame amor
Dame fuerza
Dame lo que quieras dar
Sin cesar
Y sin fin
Dame todo lo que dos
Sostemne
Ensename
Tomame por completo
Porque nuestros corazones
Se merecen uno al otro
Dame amor
song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Her Name.
Her name's Jane I think
said Jupp
standing beside you
in the school hall
as the girl on the school bus
went by with a slow walk
carrying a bag
over her shoulder
and her dark hair
flowing down her back
anyway he added
how are you getting on
with that maths work
chisel face gave us?
You watched
until she disappeared
into a crowd of other
girls and boys
like watching
the sun go down
on a fine summer's day
and entering
a dull night
huh? Said Jupp
how you coping
with the darn maths?
All Greek to me
you said
carrying the image
of the girl off with you
as Jupp and you
made your way
along the corridor
to double metalwork
and this metalwork
Jupp moaned
it really pisses me off
what do I care
about making
a frigging tea caddy spoon?
And passing by
a print on the wall
of some Manet dame
you thought
how you'd love
to have a print
of the girl
to carry about
or have pinned
to your bedroom wall
at home
huh? Said Jupp
what's with spoons?
I've no idea
you said
all part
of the brainwash
I guess
and did the girl
move you?
you asked inside
oh yes
oh yes
oh yes.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between Drags
Between drags
on the cigarette
she muses on
the Rothko print
on Scalpon’s wall.
It took her by surprise
hanging there
beside the front door
almost from ceiling to floor.
The smoke touches her throat
fills her lungs.
Satisfaction sits
on her tongue
like Scalpon easing himself
between her thighs.
The Rothko print
fed her eyes and mind.
She exhales and thinks on
Scalpon’s secondary sex
and watches the smoke rise
as once from the chimneys
of those camps of which
Grandmother often spoke.
She inhales again
picturing in her mind’s eye
the Rothko print
trying to forget Scalpon’s
weird way of making love
upon the table
in the hall
while she studied
the Rothko
hanging on the wall.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evening Out
It all kind of fell into place
the dame’s face
the hair colour
the way she swayed
and the accent
of her voice
seemed to jog
your mind awake
yes she’d been quite a dame
and had been on your arm
at the fair
and you’d had a good time
and she’d laughed
and hugged your arm numb
and you kissed
and walked her home
and she said not to make
too much noise
as her old man was upstairs
and he never seemed to trust
guys she went out with
and how many guys
have you been out with?
You asked
looking up at the window
where no light shone
and she replied
Oh just a few
I’m not a darn hooker you know
I’ve just had a few men
here and there
and you wondered
where the here and there was
and how far did she go
with those guys
and she said
look I’ve only had sex
a couple of times
and that was usually over
in the time it takes
to say hullabaloo
and anyway she said
how about you?
You noticed the light go on
up in the bedroom
and whispered
got to go
your old man’s about
and it was a swell evening
and you’re my fourth dame
this month
and I’ve had sex more times
than you can say hullabaloo
and she stood there and stared
and her jaw dropped
and you walked away
beneath bright stars
and full moon
not a moment too late
not a second too soon.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fat Dame in Maine.
You know the fat dame in Maine
Whose husband used to carry a
Gun for the Mob until they banged
Him up for shooting some guy in
The head? Well she rang Eddie the
Other night and said why don’t you
Come over and spend a little time
With me? And Eddie said sorry Honey
But I’m washing my hair then I’m sitting
Down with a JD and going to listen to
Some jazz and maybe get in a take away
And so the fat dame said ok then I’ll
Come over to you and dry your hair
And share the JD and bring a pizza and
Snuggle up close and listen to some jazz
And maybe later we can hit the sack and
Make some hot sex and dig deep into each
Other so Eddie said hang on there Babe
I’ve just now remembered my mother’s
Coming to see my new pad and I’m taking
Her for a bite to eat and maybe take in a
Movie ok the fat dame said then I‘ll stay
Home and drink my booze and watch the
Late night TV and eat some chocs and sit
Sad so well the next day they found her in
Her bathtub throat cut lying in water dead.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jaleo
I have lived a thousand lives or more
Stolen broken hearts behind closed doors
Seen the seven wonders of the world
And everywhere I go your name is in my soul
Take me back and make it happen
Get on the floor, cause a chain reaction
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
No te detengas no me esquives
Dejate llevar
Porque esta noche tu sers mia
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Hypnotize you by the gypsy moon
And if for one night you will be mine
I can feel you underneath my skin
You're the reason for the shape I'm in
On your lips I kiss, it tastes of sin
I wanna take your naked heart into my hands
Atrapado, moribundo
Con esas ganas de bailar contigo
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
No te detengas no me esquives
Dejate llevar
Porque esta noche tu sers mia
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Hypnotize you by the gypsy moon
And if for one night you will be mine
Caught me with my hands in the fire
I am trapped in my desire to be with you now
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
No te detengas no me esquives
Dejate llevar
Porque esta noche tu sers mia
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Dame jaleo leo leo leo leo la
Hypnotize you by the gypsy moon
And if for one night you will be mine
song performed by by Ricky Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Gazing At Sunflowers
Your first wife’s friend
came in with her
for a coffee and chat
and you were sitting
on the sofa
with the sleeping cat
and she looked
at the Van Gogh print
of sunflowers
over the mantelpiece
above the open fire
did you paint that?
the friend asked
staring at it
through John Lennon
type glasses
no you said
it’s a Van Gogh print
oh she said
peering closer
I do like flowers don’t you?
Yeah you replied
sunflowers have a way
when Van Gogh
pushes them through
and she stood in silence
taking in the print
and flowers
and colours
and you noticed
she had a run
in her stockings
from the back
of her knee
to where
her thigh disappeared
beneath her drab dress
and your first wife
came in and said
oh you’re not looking
at that painting are you?
He knows all about
those arty types
with their odd ways
and weird eyes
and her friend said
turning round
scratching her ass
I know nothing
of art and such
it’s way out
of my class.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thought Print, Life Print
from time print
comes thought print
and from there life print
and from there
every person's
chance to relive
a million times
easy as the sun rises
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Modesty is reserved
That painting lures me to buy.
I can’t. It would rob my wealth.
Its duplicate costs me one tenth.
Even that I prefer to let go.
I settled with its photo print
For paltry sum I grow not poor by.
Woman bends just to flirt
Like one buying a photo print
13.05.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Judy and You and Chagall
What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat
outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time
I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you
her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters
she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you
you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you
in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass
I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said
you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how
her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said
I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?
you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?
both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time
you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around
you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?
Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik
making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you
every moment
you said
that's sad
she said
why?
you said
because no one
should think of another
that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky
how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you
you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers
she added
I see
you said
and you studied
her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin
the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?
you asked
yes
she said
every single one
my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought
of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered
your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nine Inch Will Please a Lady
Come rede me, dame, come tell me, dame,
My dame, come tell me truly,
What length o' graith, when weel ca'd hame,
Will ser'e a woman duly?
The carlin clew her wanton tail,
Her wanton tail sae ready;
I learn't a sang in Annandale,
Nine inch will please a lady.
But for a countrie cunt like mine,
In sooth we're nae sae gentle;
We'll tak' twa thumb-bread to the nine,
And that's a sonsie pintle.
O leeze me on my Charlie lad!
I'll ne'er forget my Charlie!
Twa roarin' handfu' and a daud,
He nidg't it in fu' rarely.
But weary fa' the laithern doup,
And may it ne'er ken thrivin';
It's no the length that gars me loup,
But it's the double drivin'.
Come nidge me Tarn, come nodge me Tam,
Come nidge me o'er the nyvle;
Come louse and lug your batterin' ram,
And thrash him at my gyvel.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
To All The Dames
To all the dames
Wrapped in gold,
Silver fame
And fantasy, bold.
Write you not on paper,
Write you not walls
This moment be somber,
Upon the lads that call
Upon your pillars,
Languid or full of vim -
Oh the dames, your wine cellars
They fill these lads to the brim.
To all the dames, stiflingly poignant
Askew are the lads with their flimsy hands
Upon the curves of a dame so rampant
That even the gods sigh in disdain upon lands.
To all the dames who wage a war
To all the dames with lips ajar
And to all the dames who pledged with scars
This be a game of mad men, a swineherd too farce.
If I were to love
All the dames
I’d be a shabby dove
Bursting in flames.
If I could snare all the dames
And let them shatter in one of the games
Then I could bathe with the tepid hellfires
And sulk in the moments of an embellished ire.
I wish not to love all of you,
Only to tell all of you in the strangest hue
That when the heavens roared madly,
The heavens ebbed in a tangle of a woman’s melody.
This be sure, there is a flame
Never to be extinguished inside a woman’s caress.
This be sure, such fatal sadness in a picture frame
There is a mirth to be found not inside a woman’s dress.
A woman’s breath,
A woman’s breadth.
A woman’s idiosyncrasy
Over lacquer and musical fancy
A woman’s sigh
A woman’s bliss
Never a woman’s thigh
Or a woman’s hot kiss.
And so to all the dames
These are everything I know about the majesty
There are certain deaths in the journey and the travesty
All for a dame, all for a dame.
To all the dames,
Good night.
poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Take Lifts From Dames
Whose car
did you get out of?
Dolly asked.
Some dame
from the bedding department,
you replied.
She’s been bedding you
I suppose? Dolly said.
No, you replied,
she’s seven months pregnant.
So you got her pregnant huh?
Can’t keep your hands
to yourself can you.
I just got a lift home
by her that’s all.
You took off your coat
and went to the sitting room
and poured yourself a drink.
Dolly followed you in.
I found this name
in your pocket book.
A girl’s name.
You recognise it? Eh?
She showed you
the pocket book.
You read the name.
That’s just some dame
whose name I put down
who’s been shoplifting.
So you say.
For all I know
you’re having it off
with her too.
Maybe you’re having all
the dames at the store.
I’m a security guard
not a Casanova, you said.
She went off
out to the kitchen
muttering to herself.
You drained your drink
and poured another.
You could hear her
in the kitchen
slamming down
pots and pans
and cursing the air.
I don’t screw any dames
but you, you said.
You’re my Sweetie pie.
Dolly came back
to the door way
and stared at you.
You mean that?
Sure I do.
Every single word?
Every single word.
I’m your Sweetie pie?
Sure you are.
And you ain’t been sleeping
with no other woman?
No, of course I haven’t.
Never would.
Dolly’s glassy gaze softened.
She pushed back
her hair from her eyes.
Ok Sexy Boy
maybe I believe you.
Maybe you’re telling
me the truth.
Maybe I got you wrong.
She turned and went back
in the kitchen.
You sighed softly.
BUT IF YOU’RE LYING TO ME
I’ll POKE OUT YOUR EYES
she bellowed.
Out in the kitchen
Dolly banged around.
You emptied the glass.
A love was dying.
You could sense it
in your bones and
in the hollow sound.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Woman Called
A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worry over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ass.
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ass
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for erection.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Shut Us Out
We do not print poetry
The newspaper said
So I burned that paper
Instead
They write about rape, murders and theft
From day to day politics
To the little good will, man does
Are we in a curse
How dare they not print
Our verse
We shall and forever be
A very, very poetic
Society
In our mind, body and soul
So run your papers
Run them in black
Sell them in your box
I'll keep my fifty cents
I'm not coming back
poem by Matt Mondschein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Card Swapping
O’Brien brought
cigarette cards
to school
and showed you
what he had
in the playground
and Davis said
who’s the dame?
Veronica Lake
O’ Brien said
holding the card out
between finger and thumb
Sutcliffe took hold of it
and held it close
to his eyes
not bad
he said
you looked over
Sutcliffe’s shoulder
my dad likes her
you said studying
the picture
taking it
from Sutcliffe’s hand
who else you got?
Davis asked
and O’Brien fingered
through the pack
mostly soccer players
and the odd movie star
he said
hey got any Marilyn Monroe?
Sutcliffe said
gazing short-sightedly
at O’Brien’s hands
what’s a matter Eddie
got the hots for her?
Davis laughed
and Sutcliffe pulled
a face
wouldn’t say no
he muttered
wouldn’t say no?
O’Brien said
why Eddie you wouldn’t know
one end of a dame
from the other
you’d end up kissing
the wrong cheeks
Sutcliffe pulled a face
I’ll swap you
for the Veronica Lake
you said
holding it close
to your school jumper
sure
O’Brien said
and you swapped him
with a soccer player
you had three of
and he took it
and tucked it in his pack
and you put Veronica
in your jacket pocket
nice and snug
between the pages
of a jotting book
save and sound
waiting for
your bedtime look.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The big print giveth, and the fine print taketh away.
quote by Fulton J. Sheen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!