Best Dame Poems
Hold your fire
Let your sharp tongue retire
When to the fore sneaks your ire
Increasing carelessness danger
Thinking in your mind you’re an indomitable ranger
Although in your own skin you turn into a total stranger
Body somehow cut off from your mind
With a baggage of axes to grind
When moderation and restraint remind you to find
Better avenues conflicts to handle
As your roving hand to a pristine place strays to fondle
In the way you assuage your sorrow bundle
Hoping to progress, succeeding in failure
As your successes grow increasingly fewer
Cos your ire and short fuse couldn’t find a cure
To the uncertainty and unpredictability you nurture
In times of stress. To the fore comes a procrastination culture
You extrapolate into your unreachable future
Where no spouse tolerates you
Cos normal life you have no clue
Neither can you fasten happiness with gregarious glue
Much as you dare to dream
You’d crossed over with flying colours a fast moving stream
When in fear of the unknown you did scream
And to your rescue came a dame
Svelte, graceful who declined to you give both her name and game
Fearing your bad reputation would sully her with both blame and shame.
Today...
Let me swirl, let me sway,
I want to whirl my cares away.
Stand by...
Let me float, let me fly,
I want to forget how to cry.
Don't stare...
Let me dance, let me dare,
I want to romance with the air.
Joyride...
Let me groove, let me glide,
I want to move that samba stride.
Soft blush...
Let me reel, let me rush,
I want to feel your gentle brush.
Stroke me...
Let me spin a trot spree,
I want to grin through this boogie.
Alive...
Let me jig, let me jive,
I'm on a whirligig waltz drive.
09.24.17
Based on the painting "She dances in beauty"
by Anna Razumovskaya
Your Spirit Lives
Oh, Notre Dame, sad days have come-
that beast of fire's swift momentum,
brought down your sacred decorum-
but not your heart of Christendom.
Fire does not care- treasure or not,
its blaze destroys- no why or what.
Though you collapsed to ashes, hot-
your soul is not destroyed, forgot.
For, from the fire, God saved your Cross
that shines so brightly midst your loss,
with hope that through this sad chaos,
you'll rise above your albatross.
Oh, Notre Dame, your soul- still bright,
and with saved artifacts, gives might
to house once more your sacred rite-
rebuild again to spread God's light.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Notre Dame In The News
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Judged: 06/06/2019
Notre Dame...Notre Dame...
your eight hundred years of wisdom’s gone;
eight hundred years of beauty strong;
architectural sage, Notre Dame.
Notre Dame your life has seen
so many broken centuries and
oh, the stories your stones could tell,
told by the ringing of your bells.
Will they rebuild you once again?
Will your façade grace more eyes and
then will you be the same as once;
can France’s spirit overcome this loss?
Survivor of revolution and two world wars;
you’ve stood beyond the bombing hoards.
How many strove to give you life?
Their legacy’s now a burning pyre.
One hundred eighty two years of sweat;
poured into stone and minaret.
Gothic, stained glass beauty of Pa-ree,
such blood and sweat poured into thee.
Oh Notre Dame...Notre Dame;
survivor of eight centuries;
what’s now to become of thee?
Written 4-15-19
As an artist, I am sorrowful for this beautiful loss but, glad that no lives were lost. When I think of those who poured their life’s work into Notre Dame’s Beauty, the artist, architects, stonemasons, carpenters and more, I feel an even stronger sense of loss than just that of an
The people gaze in disbelief
As flames engulf the screaming spire.
Raised eyes, transfixed, are full of grief
To witness this ferocious fire.
The very heart of Paris groans
As acrid smoke erupts with ease
And atheists reduced to tears
Console those driven to their knees.
And as the spire comes crashing down
The people gasp in sheer despair
Linked hand in hand and deep in thought.
An eerie stillness fills the air.
09.05.19
Notre Dame in the news poetry contest : sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
Our Lady of Paris
With your ribbed vaults
Flying buttress
And rose colored windows
The Huguenots
The Republicans
Couldn't destroy you
Victor and Quasimodo
Loved you
Napoleon restored you
Fire couldn't destroy you
Your spire fell
But your spirit
Your cross
Still shines
NOTRE DAME IN THE NEWS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
5/16/19
Dame van Dyke now reclines and relaxes,
while her lady-in-waiting re-waxes
bristled shadowy skin
of her chinny-chin-chin...
the vexation of vain battle-axes.
THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A DAME –
and there is no dame like a building society or a bank!
There may be nothing like me, but I assure you
the world would have gone to hell but for organised sex -
if boys and girls were left to nature’s provenance,
a person like me would be nowhere at all.
Oh, I know how to milk attraction
and stabilise what is essentially of short duration:
if boys and girls were left to innocence
there’d be no delighting old men.
If that sounds unfair, I didn’t make the rules -
all this spontaneity leaves everyone very poor,
the Church, the magistrates and the building societies
are all depending on the regulation of love.
It’s the people who won’t smile who bother me,
hard fitted, easy suited, do they think it’s all for free?
(C) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
Dame Judy Dench
Loves to fish for Tench
When she fixes her motor
She uses a wrench
If she’s feeling tired she sits down on a bench,
DJD is polylingual;
Her favourite language is French,
When she has a pooh in the morning
It causes a stench
DJD is a strong woman,
When Germans talk about her they call her ‘mensch’,
If she gets excited
Her buttocks they clench
When DJD gets dehydrated
Her thirst she will quench,
She is a fine looking woman,
But never call her a wench,
DJD did military service
She learnt to dig a slit trench,
She's into prehistory
And loves to visit Stonehenge,
DJD don't take no -
If she is dissed she'll get her revenge
She is super organised
When she does her filing she uses a big hole punch
If she gets hungry mid morning
She pauses for brunch,
If Helen Mirren calls round they go out for lunch,
DJD is very intuitive
and likes to follow a hunch,
Her off shore investments
Protected her from the credit crunch,
She's a feisty lady -
A reporter asked if 'she had a carer'
Well he got a bunch
Of fives from this diva
But to her friends she is staunch,
Even Harvey Weinstein - DJD protected his paunch,
Said she had a tat of his name on her bum
Cos her career he relaunched
With Victoria and Albert -
She never gives an inch
If Bond is stuck in a ditch
She pulls him out with a winch,
She takes on all the bad guys,
You never see her flinch,
When delivering a soliloquy
She makes it look like a cinch
She should be world president,
Donald J Trump would be the first one she would lynch!
With a rhythmic spell,
Quasimodo sounds his bell
In his tortured hell,
Esmeralda hears him yell
From his hunchback prison cell.
ARE YE GOING TO MARRY THAT WITCH OF A DAME - Counterfeiting the CANTICLE by T. Wignesan
(With self-lacerating apologies and scathing penance to that great troubador medieval English poet who longed for his lovely lass during expunging pilgrimages to Scarborough Fair. T. Wignesan)
Are ye going to marry that b**ch of a dame
Peanuts quail venison on lime
Remember what she did to make you so lame
For she's bound to ditch ye if you hardly rhyme
Tell her to stop painting her leathery face
Peanuts quail venison on lime
Without no mud nor slime on lewd grimace
She's bound to ditch ye if you're stumped for a rhyme
Have her stripped in yon dark desert lithium mine
Peanuts quail venison on lime
Remember how good she's at the roller-coaster grind
She's bound to ditch ye if you feminine rhyme
Have her read to ye Gulliver's Travels in bed
Peanuts quail venison on lime
And ride all Yahoos till their butt-ends turn red
Then she's bound to stitch vowels in your rhyme
Have her show ye all her unkempt drawers
Peanuts quail venison on lime
In between her sonorous sighs and rough coughs in tatters
Then she'll witch her wiles for the guile of a dime
© T. Wignesan - Paris, May 8, 2019
Hail Mary full of Grace,
In castles, painted stone.
The chairs too small for children now,
The Lord is (somehow) with thee.
Though the faces scorn and mock me.
The angels died with heaven.
Blessed are thou among women
Who look on silently,
Staring into me,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb
Biting, burning like the candles.
Prayers that never left their heads
Jesus.
Gone, gone with the blood soaked cloth
But still lives on in death.
Holy Mary Mother of God,
Birthed was He
Of human woman blood
pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Where death takes all to our head
And is Fatal as fighting sleep.
In boxes men un-become their sins
And fight the life they’ve given thee.
Return your flowers to dead souls!
They care not for your pity,
In coffins layered in stone
Mummified corpses only.
Hail the true blood
Hail the power
Hail the bombs that brought the concrete pillars of God
To their knees.
To their death, the dust does settle
And by god do they scream,
Amen.
The time has come to inform my boy
and pass along the flame.
The secret of a mystery solved
on how to get a dame.
'Your looks are key as they set the tone
if you intend to flirt.
Chicks will sigh and their knees grow weak
when in your muscle shirt.
Inhibitions gone, they may faint
when showing off your guns.
Give them room as they may fall
when flexing both your buns.
There are many ways to achieve the goal
and meet the fairer sex.
One sure way that never fails...
is to talk about you Ex.
Go on and on how you love her still
and extol your broken heart.
Of good times past, of great things done,
she was a work of art.
Peak her interest and speak of the virtue
of the life you led.
But most of all... her interests lie
in how she was in bed.
Another way is to take her places
you've never been before.
Like galleries, the opera
and the dentist you abhor.
You could try cooking if money's tight
when strapped by alimony.
What woman living? Would not be pleased
with a cold plate of beefaroni.
Still not enough and she's unconvinced
that you might be the guy.
When she turns to flee, the stage is set
and the time has come to lie.
You tell her now of things you've done
as an Alpha Male.
Of flying jets and curing cancer
but not your time in jail.
If you're shy, just hide that fact
and avoid acting too polite.
Just drink too much as most chicks dig
a drunk man in a fight.
She will start to swoon as her eyes grow big,
it's time you played your hand.
The simple fact remains... you forgot to say
that you're a singer in a band.
These are time honored ways by men
who know... of things a little shady.
But the results have merit and your chances good
of picking up a lady.'
My boy takes a pause as he begins to say,
'I think you should atone.
This may explain why to this day,
you're still living all alone.'
The End
*For those interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
Can only smoke remain visible to thee?
I arraign the distance carved out in gashes.
Proximity charred me to ashes,
Left me to burn, yet never felt the flame.
One glare from the dazzling dame,
To burn one's own nest, how absurd!
Blazed my heart, that sunbird.
Constantly stalking
the harpy again returns
ugly, shrill and vile