Best Magnifique Poems
THE EIFFEL TOWER
In the city of light their aspire
Was to build to a climax higher
Gustave Eiffel you see
Said just leave it to me
I can satisfy all your desire
Monsieur Eiffel seen with affection
By Dames de Paris for perfection
Of his manner de Gaul
Mais plus ca most of all
For his grand magnifique **ection
21 April 2020
Just a little prick
To all the girls that come to my door
To look after me while I am sick
You walk right in each morning saying
Hi... It’s just a little prick.
Each day you come and take my blood
You helped my tock regain its tick
You calmed me down when I was fraught
With ... Just a little prick.
The dose was high, the problems grew
It seems someone was taking the mick
I was beginning to be afraid of the words
… It’s just a little prick
My belly is bulging all black and blue
My veins all swollen and thick
But you come with your smiles twice a day
In your hand ... a little prick.
I hide in corners saying I am not in
I have letters to send and stamps to lick
But you walk in with a grin so wide
Saying … its just a little prick.
My hubby is getting worried
His dreams nearly all come true
A house full of uniformed nurses
He doesn’t know what to do...
So girls although I thank you
You team has been magnifique
Unless your are called Bob or Bill
You can keep your little prick...
© GG 31/10/2013
I don’t know if owning a beautiful home,
Facing the sea, makes happy,
There are people who do not manage their thoughts,
And that makes them dangerous,
There are people who are convinced
That the Eiffel Tower is the center of the world,
And this makes them toxic,
I don’t know if going with a friend on a fishing boat
Makes happy,
There are people who do not know how to admire a sunset
And that makes them dangerous,
I don’t know if painting Breton watercolors,
Makes happy,
There are people who can’t dream,
And this makes them toxic,
There are people who cannot stand the silence of heaven,
And that makes them dangerous,
Living at the Tinduff, perhaps helps to understand this,
To gather before the sea, to face the cloud of happy fools,
To take possession of the castle of the setting suns,
To reopen the sacred book of landscapes.
Je ne sais pas si de posséder une magnifique maison,
Face à la mer, rend heureux,
Il y a des gens qui ne gèrent pas leurs pensées,
Et cela les rend dangereux,
Il y a des gens qui sont persuadés
Que la tour Eiffel est le centre du monde,
Et cela les rend toxiques,
Je ne sais pas si partir avec un ami, sur un bateau de pêche
Rend heureux,
Il y a des gens qui ne savent pas admirer un coucher de soleil
Et cela les rend dangereux,
Je ne sais pas si peindre des aquarelles bretonnes,
Rend heureux,
Il y a des gens qui ne savent pas rêver,
Et cela les rend toxiques,
Il y a des gens qui ne supportent pas le silence du ciel,
Et cela les rend dangereux,
Habiter au Tinduff, permet peut être de comprendre cela,
De se recueillir face à la mer, pour affronter la nuée des imbéciles heureux,
De reprendre possession du château des soleils couchants,
De rouvrir en grand le livre sacré des paysages.
Fall season is a favored time of year
when leaves irradiate their aurum cheer.
Custard colors cloak paths with brilliantine
while misty breezes tease the woods to sheen.
A couturière flouncing haute couture,
adorning the hillside with striped hachure.
Rich gemstones of ornate colors convey
an elegance to Her brilliant bouquet.
Wild winds blow briskly and bracingly strong.
High mountain tops lace in silver sarong.
Her splendent figure, festive femme fatale,
reigns regally pluperfect pastorale.
Her flamboyant panache is très chic.
Au fond, She's decisively magnifique!
Formerly, dear,
my books like velvet-dressed
put aside, perfectly straight.
Last light flickers
dusk bids, “God bless,”
as I gently turn on the night,
the antique brass polished,
and symphonic-lettering hooks
harmonize in the gentler time
before the internet.
Roses flourish in crystal vase,
cranberries and ivy vines contemplate
the corpulent beauty of day’s end.
A table round in burgundy gown,
intricate lace cradles intimate thought.
My chamomile tea relaxes on lyrics bound,
stacked red and brown dust jackets burning.
I write and write and write.
In the end sits
my inkwell and quill,
a magnifique glass illuminating his name,
my spectacles
and a flowery letter to my kin —
all wrapped up as I go to bed,
in the romance of Victorian daze.
10/15/2019
confess to me , O cupid prince , lost cause ~
bowing before eve's bare butterflies,
as tonight i confront your kiss,
heartbeat of harvested heat,
pulsing moon magnifique ~
where we wake within
the wrinkled wish of
burgundy
blushed bliss ~
drenched
with
drizzling
damask dreams
of sea-swept hours;
let the lace of want
weep wilderness in the
rise of lonely nadir where,
I beseech the sun to undress
the stars and twirl with satanic sighs…
if I am your refrain, let my name burn
dear, aphrodisiac tears of sunset ~
see how I break, 'neath neon nimbus,
hold me close in sultry sirens ,
tempt me… tame these twilight tints
tantalise me… once more
until the honest
halcyon of life
weeps wayward
with the
hush
of
unhealed
hoax , amidst
hurt homesickness…
tortured by the taste
of your touch, locked in love ~
I ache with parched lips of pink…
the soul of barbie stardust ~
as this petal, a l o n e , mourns those musks
drenched in
au revoir rain of last rose dusks…
translation below
Noir
Le noir, la nuit,rêves vides
Tu n’a jamais vu la noirceur comme moi
Le matin, tu te réveilles inlassablement
Le soleil, la pluie, un autre jour
Vous existez, moi, je rêve d'exister
Je dois faire naitre mon existence
Pour l'instant
Le noir est tout à fait l`obscurité
La nuit, le jour, les rêves
Tout, tout noir
Je prends mon pinceau,
En même temps je regarde ma peinture
Chaque jour, heure après heure
J’essaie de faire la peinture la plus magnifique
J’imagine mon tableau, explosant de pastels
A la fin
Je pleure
Quand je regarde mon chef d’œuvre
Tout simplement
Une peinture noire
Translation
The Black Painting
Black
The black, the night, empty dreams
You have never seen the blackness as I
The morning, you awake to whatever
The sun, the rain, another day
You exist, I dream to exist
I give birth to my existence
For the moment
The black is always the darkness
The night, the day, the dreams
All, all is black
I take my paint brush
At the same time I look at my painting
All day, hour by hour
I try to make a most magnificant painting
I imagine the painting, exploding in pastels
In the end
I cry
It is simply
A black painting
bright fun musical
Gene Kelly love triangle. . .
c'est magnifique
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Published 2018 in "Hollywood Haiku" via wattpad.com
"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
Our affaire de coeur, c'est magnifique...
"Why must our passion end?" I sighed,
"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
With a kiss, "c'est la vie", he replied,
"our beautiful love, a shelved antique".
"Au revoir, mon amour", these words I cried.
Our affaire de coeur, c'est magnifique!
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Un, Deux, Trois...Ooh, La, La contest (Cyndi MacMillan)
You are the air that I breathe
The sunshine on my cheek
But a shadow of a dream
Mi belle magnifique
Les fleurs, frissonnent et se fanent
et les feuilles brisées salissent la terre
tordu et froid - plane au rythme durent
comme des visages rompus, emprisonné d’une peinture
Et tes yeux noirs brûlent
comme le brouillard de ce soir
dans le ventre du chaudron ignoble
enlaidi par les marteaux de Hephaestus (le magnifique), qui serre
le charbon, qu'appelles-tu tes yeux - les diamants transpercent.
The smile of a woman in the spring is prettier
Than the dancing glow of the yellow tulips of the pond
As said the other: her face is embellished and polished
With honey syrup. She really has a charming smile.
Oh! Spring, the most beautiful of the four seasons
It's majestic to see her wearing yellow
The color of hope, the pretty color of the harvest
The petals are sparkling in the air and the bells are buzzing.
No, it's not a dream, she's really beautiful
She is wearing a smile that inspires and blemishes
Men who love everything that is gorgeous and classic.
This woman has her hands intertwined on her right thigh
Like a model who is cheered on the runway, which is reserved
For the most beautiful women in the history of our planet.
P.S. Translation of 'Le Sourire Radieux D'Une Femme" by Hebert Logerie
Copyright © May 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Le Sourire Radieux D'Une Femme
Le sourire d'une femme au printemps est plus joli
Que le reflet dansant des tulipes jaunes de l'étang
Comme a dit l'autre: son visage est enjolivé et poli
Avec du sirop de miel. Elle a vraiment un sourire charmant.
Oh! Printemps, la plus belle des quatre saisons
Cela fait grand plaisir de la voir coiffée en jaune
Couleur de l'espoir, jolie couleur de la moisson
Les pétales pétillent dans l'air et les cloches chantonnent.
Non, ce n'est pas un rêve, elle est vraiment magnifique
Elle est vêtue d'un sourire qui inspire et qui fait soupirer
Les hommes qui aiment tout ce qui est beau et classique.
Cette femme a les mains entrelacées sur sa cuisse droite
Comme un mannequin qu'on applaudit sur la piste réservée
Pour les plus belles femmes de l'histoire de notre planète.
Copyright © May 2018, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
Wondering and waiting
The clock ticks away
Impatiently reminiscing, the memories , feeling pain
This divide i detest
I resent the wasted space
That life has created
You and me , to separate
Many dreams , they surface
They come and they go
Never here to stay
Always , at the ready ,never willing more
These scars, So deep
They blind and they bleed
But not a tear shall you see
Not a sob , set free
Shattered , abandoned
Broken, full of despair
The hunger , the yearning
Just to see you, i cannot bare.
Suddenly as i gaze ,
staring in to space
I see you , just a mirage ? Again ? Or are you for real ?
Afraid to advance
Trembling with fear
Worried you'll vanish
Leaving , me alone my dear
Lovingly , u smile
Arms wide , an invite
Timid, a response
Fear bubbling inside.
I reach beyond the vision
Just a bit more, i see
And then you disappear
Just an illusion
Just a beautiful dream
Tears flow , they fall
Freely , they cant be seen
Shaken and torn
Confused and bereaved.
So sinister , a being
The mind, it can be.
So cruelly decisive
playing games with me.
My throat,it burns
The pain , magnifique.
My body shudders
Dying to see , no more dreams
Warmth, i feel
Suddenly , So chaste
Your arms around me
The burning , you erase
Snapping me out of my reverie
The phone rings , violently.
Reminding me of the distance
Your voice , breathing, effortlessly
The façade, worn
Your voice disappears
The dialtone appears
Manic, though i seem.
I dial effervescently
Calling, to keep sane
To tell you i love you, again
No excuses, remain.
By
Amanda Miller
SE PROMENER
Down by the River Seine, where light abounds
come take a walk with me, a sheer delight,
just listen to the distant flowing sounds
of Paris coming to another night;
to hear a distant concertina play
is magic to mine ears, c'est magnifique,
and only Paris lives, in such a way
that brings the love of which the poets speak;
to see this city shroud itself in glow
from all the love, of which we are a part,
is seeing birth that few in life can know
and all this love of Paris, is its' heart.
Je vais me promener--come join my walk
forgetting life a while, let's idle talk.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
BELLE---part 1
beautiful, beautiful
so, beautiful
Quelque chose de spécial sur vos yeux
Belle
Vos lèvres juteuses plumbant
Magnifique..
beautiful
Belle
Votre figure 8 taille
Corps
classique-magique
Quelque chose à propos de vos cheveux
Arômes aromatiques-notes de fleurs
Puis-je caresser doucement votre tête courir mes doigts à travers vos cheveux
Chérie, une fois Ah!
beautiful
Belle
Quelque chose de votre âme votre grâce
Quelque chose à propos de votre témoin
Quelque chose sur ton visage
Vos pieds comment vous marchez vos traces
Encore une fois, hélas votre bouche la façon dont vous parlez, silence miel
S'il vous plaît permettez-moi chéri
de t'aimer, jamais vrai
Je vous appelle...
beautiful
Belle
1/20/19
written by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©