Best Marianne Poems
Marianne laughs, she's happy
sitting under the magnolia tree
in Saint Anton's Garden
alone, in Venus's bower
waiting for no one in particular
as the shadows of leaves
dance across her face.
Her lips break in a smile,
Runs her hands through her locks,
feels the velvety texture,
smells the perfume of her hair.
Hear dear Marianne's laughter,
the happiness is always there,
come sun or rain, spring or fall
I marvel at her flair.
A lark flies by, she sees it not,
she knows its flight
she laughs in happiness
even though
Marianne is blind.
10/11/2020
Marianne (Bearer of Tricolour)
Marianne, the Goddess of Liberty and bearer of Tricolour,
Triumphant French Republic revolutionary figure,
Evokes solidarity with breasts exposed and barefooted,
Wearing a Phrygian cap and armed with a bayoneted musket.
Personifier of liberty and reason for the French citizen,
Symbolizing wife, mother, and emancipated feminist.
From atop dead Parisians, she leads victory’s charge;
« En avant les citoyens, la guerre n'est pas finie:
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité; la démocratie prévaudra! »
(“Onward citizens, the war is not over:
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity; democracy will prevail!”)
“Sing! Let ‘La Marseillaise’ reverberate throughout France!”
Le 14 juillet, la Fête Nationale (Bastille Day, the 14th of July);
« Vive la France libre! » (“Long live free France!”)
***
Strolling southern seashore in mists of September
searching for something set to stay,
her mind that meanders,
remarkable meters,
perplexing the phantoms at play.
Voices validating vague vagrant vocations
of poetry placed in parade,
with words waged in warring,
warning of the wheighman,
who knew you had dues left unpaid.
Before the seashore became her domain,
she’d wandered the wayside of pain,
locked in psychotic box
Doctor’s ticking clocks,
saying drain her poor brain once again.
Prefer sleep on the street keep her beat from defeat
she found sound vocation once more,
tourist response sterling,
shape sand to her seeing,
she sells sea shells, by the sea shore.
A POETIC WALK WITH MARIANNE MOORE
Come read and let my voice
take you along a
syntactical line
Better yet
if well met
listen, make
this a unique
‘as is moment’
‘twixt you & I
Line indentation
underlines the parallels
of my verse
The shape
my syllabic disposition,
the stanza
my unit of sense
in ‘sentence sounds’
surrounds
A phrasis of the poetic makeup of Marianne Moore.
Lisaten to me recite my poetry on Youtube under pen name of ichthyschiro
SOMETHING BORROWED a M M Phrasis
Enough of ennui,I may I might
the mind is an enchanting thing,senses
do not deceive.Days of prismatic colour
apparations of splendour,things are what
they seem, a mosaic, a prosaic voracity
and verity.
What are years then? Efforts of affectation,
dispositions by angels? No,the past is the
present,a chameleon face of discontent.O
calamity,no swan so fine as the merits of
heredity,let the critics dream in their preciosity
for charity overcomes envy where light is speech.
A phrasis inspired by the titles of Marianne Moore Poems
Listen to me recite my phrasis on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
Happy Happy birthday Marianne Schroeder
To the "LOVELY, Soloist Pianist"
with the most~
"Trained COMPASSIONATE Style"
let me say ~
Happy Happy Birthday to you ~
i lift up my glass with a~
"LYRICAL toast"
just as "Extraordinarily WONDERFUL"
and "SPONTANEOUSLY Non-obnoxiously SWEET"
as to say to you ~
i hope you have a ~
Happy Happy Birthday~
that only a
"Prestigious Inspiring Pianist"
like you can do ~
Happy Happy Birthday ~
to a "Humble Musical WOMEN"
as " Phenomenal and BEAUTIFUL, as WHEN SHE Playing a Piano"
Happy Happy Birthday Too you...
Lady Marianne Schroeder
aka:lyricvixen
So so long CDC
It’s time
for you and me
to die from
bygone disease
(like measles
and TB)
while we laugh
and cry
we”re the best!
we’ll die
knowing
we’ll be great again
***
This is what my brain does when
I wake in the middle of the night
and can’t get back to sleep.
A POETIC WALK WITH MARIANNE MOORE
Come read and let my voice
take you along a
syntactical line
Better yet
if well met
listen, make
this a unique
‘as is moment’
‘twixt you & I
Line indentation
underlines the parallels
of my verse
The shape
my syllabic disposition,
the stanza
my unit of sense
in ‘sentence sounds’
surrounds
when I buy pictures,
or better yet
from a book,
or see upon the internet
imagery is all to me,
colour maybe
all,that I see
frequently;undone
by impressions
abstractions eye
extract expressions..
initiate ekphrasis' cry
personalised version of M
Moore poem/style
Two years ago Marianne married Matthew,
thinking she had married handsome Prince Andrew;
he promised her Heaven with a devoted heart,
years passed but everything fell apart.
They still rent a three-room apartment overlooking a lake,
and the only luxury they can afford is a big screen TV;
Marianne didn't wish to live like this, it was a big mistake
marrying Matthew who cheated on her and got HIV.
Poor Marianne cries over that sweet dream
that wasn't realized....she won't touch or kiss him:
seeing those brown spots on his chest and forehead;
she planned to have kids, live happily and not feel sad.
Matthew lays in an hospital bed fighting for his life and Marianne feels
compassion for him and caresses him tenderly;
had he been truly faithful, there wouldn't had been a tragedy such as this...
and in this case: death was the cause of infidelity.
He had a handsomeness that spoke about his character
Yanez was instantly drawn in, by his nobility and his strength
He had integrity even if he did not understand the evil of Brooke
His teacher Macassar had prepared him for everything but this
Governor Brooke figured out this curious man was coming
Wanting answers he did not want to give; he was a jealous man
Kammamuri vocal as Yanez, pleading with Sandokan to stop this quest
He kept moving forward, catching a steamer turned toward Labuan
Marianne was the most beautiful woman Sandokan had ever seen.
She was daring and clever, nothing like her diabolical uncle.
Their hideout was the Island of Mompracem, referred to by pirates
Under the name The Tigers of Malaysia. Their adventures were many.
A flock of weary seagulls
Way beyond their range
Landed in the parking lot.
The weather's going to change,
I thought.
The leader is a grey one.
He has an attitude,
And, looking at me so intensely
Said, "It's awfully rude
To land upon the black top!
I thought this was a lake.
My mate and all her family
Have flown here by mistake.
I'll thank you if you help me.
You can't do any less--
I'm looking for the ocean,
And I don't have GPS!"
I'm sure I was befuddled,
But said, in my surprise,
"I think you'll find the ocean
Just beyond that rise."
"Oh, thank you," said the seagull,
"Now, may I grant your wish?"
"I didn't know that 'gulls did that!?"
"Oh, yes, we pay in fish."
Milady Miss Marianne Moore
loved syllables best, for sure
they helped make verse so fine
as the stanza itself became her line
Marianne.
Where are you, Marianne stealing my heart
tramping it in the mud, yet still, I asked for more
Marianne fell in love again. I saw her kiss
another man, the green monster of jealousy
tore my mind asunder.
In the forest of darkness, I lost my way.
“Let her go,” a friend said she is not for you alone.”
I had planned, next time I met her to say
“I hand my love back to you to keep” the idea
was for her to cry.
It didn’t work out that way when I met her
with her new friend, I asked her to return the key
to my flat; leaving the pair, I said, in sudden
anger: “ off Marianne.”
Rejected child of the Republic of Enlightenment,
In the land of human rights, my Africanness is a handicap.
In their eyes, I will always be the scapegoat for their failures.
I fled the tyranny of a banana republic chained to Françafrique.
Marianne still demands that I assimilate despite centuries of slavery and colonization.
Her negrophobia has become a silent bomb.
I am not allowed to complain at every police brutality.
The colonial pact dehumanized me on my native soil.
I discovered the face of racial hatred while crossing the Mediterranean.
I saw the West plunder the riches of my continent, traumatized by its democracy.
My sentence is to have skin overloaded with melanin.
I was born a Catholic Christian, like the children of slaves whipped in the slave plantations of the Caribbean.
My criminal record is as virgin as the womb of Christ’s mother.
But my humanity is demonized on the altar of capitalism.
Western supremacists do not want me to leaf through the black pages of their history.
Their racist hostility will never prevent me from being a good man.
They brandished the Bible to reduce my ancestors to slavery.
Today they brandish immigration to persecute me.
I did not choose to have black skin.
If I had had the choice, I would have asked the universal force to add even more melanin to my epidermis.
I am proud to wear the color of the Pharaohs when I spit on their prophets and their curses.
I have never walked with my head down, not even in the arms of promiscuity.
The cruelty of these racist supremacists has made me lucid and grim.
If every dark-skinned person had my character, my people would no longer carry the burdens of slavery and colonization.
Negrophobes would face men of extreme awareness.
I will never be the doormat trampled under the feet of supremacists.
I hate racists with all my heart and all my strength.