Best Venice Poems
I can still recall the look upon His face
Each thought still makes me go to that enchanting place
The vernal air was floral sweet and honey breezed
We roamed along Venice's zigzagged lanes and cobbled streets
On our secret rendezvous,We hugged affectionately under pastel gothic galleries
Greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed roast coffee beans
Strolling along the pigeon-filled piazza San Marco
We wandered hand in hand,in the serenissima ancient floating land
Street musicians played their flutes.as We sat on a roof-top wooden terrace
We glanced at merchants sell hand-blown murano glass
by the picturesque Doge's palace
We ate a snack , then walked away towards the old opera house
which now has risen from its ashes.
We sauntered forward through little alleys
from where He bought me ,a gold painted venetian mask
To my surprise ,He had another gift,a wrapped up scarlet sheer laced basque
I peered at him through my dark lashes,He raised his left brow and flashed a smile
Expressed his charm in playful ways,in a flirtatious endearing style.
Boarded at last on a black gondola,cruised the lagoon and the canals
A few light kisses,a few soft brushes,waiting the bell's toll whilst in his arms
There we lay in waiting beneath the bridge of sighs
We sealed our kiss and promised lips,to the harmonic sound of chimes
He leaned on me,I welcomed Him,our spirits been entwined
Above,the sky has changed its colour,I watched the sun set in his eyes
All I am,I gave to him,my enduring heart- His sacred shrine
All that He is He gave to me in once upon a time
Not for the contest,but thanks for the 'Lovemaking in an ancient place contest,inspiration'.
This post is inspired by Ancient Venice and the tale of 'The Bridge Of Sighs'
The tale goes-If you kiss your loved one with the bell's toll of St,Mark's Basilica,
at sunset,beneath the bridge of sighs,the couple seals their love forever.
There is another tale to it,a sad one,but preferred to share the happy one : )
A night in Venice (in sotto voce)
Moonlight shimmers over the Adriatic sea
Stars dancing on the waves in perfect symmetry
We talk of ancient adventure and gallantry
Masquerading dancers begin to fill the street
Smiling as they parade by, shuffling their feet
Unconsciously, we both are swaying to the beat
Inside the trattoria*, the music man plays
Vivaldi's concerto #4, in piano forte
We whisper murmurs of love in sotto voce*
As Casanova visions keep flooding my mind
Vivaldi's music syncopates in double time
Decoding my glances, your eyes begin to shine
We took a water taxi, back to the Hotel
We kiss under the Rialto bridge, passion swells
What we did the rest of the night, I'll never tell
Our night in Venice was a passionate affair
Put on your black dress and pearls, and take me back there.
*trattoria small dining establishment not a full menu like a restaurant
* sotto voce in an undertone, literally low voice (pronounced vo chee)
December 14,2016
Venice, the daughter of the sea
Winding paths, waterways or cobblestones roads
Rulers of the renaissance, noblemen would be
Her navy full of conquests, her triumphs all would see
From nobility rose, a woman fair
Her life a whirlwind, with her share of despair
Banished from Venice, for daring to speak
Her desires and wit, did many a man seek
The golden rose the pope did give
As she fled to Florence, so young and deceived
Her strength in spirit and a mind so refined
Her friend Marco, the captain, with whom she dined
He parted his wisdom as best he could
He sailed victorious, for Bianca he should
His secret was safe out on the seas
Which is why he and Bianca, could never be
Her royal blood would keep her in stead
As nobility in Florence would turn their heads
Francesco indeed would commission a palazzo
For Bianca his mistress, in waiting, his queen
The Grand Duchy of Florence, all powers bestowed
A seeker of knowledge, of wisdom composed
His Austrian wife, alone, cold and barren
Could not compete, with his love yet to be
They danced, they confided, in each they held
A love of intellect, beauty and lust to be feld
And sadly, one day, the enemies of Venice
Plotted and schemed to bring about a demise
The poison was swift, and an era did end
In a villa in Florence, Francesco was dead
Bianca his love, her beauty unblemished
Fell by his side, and whispered to thee
My dear, my love, it was meant to be
Bianca Cappello (1548 – 17 October 1587)
Note: OK OK I invented 1 new word, that's what poets do
Paris today, Venice tomorrow
If I'm out of cash, I'll borrow
The Arc de Triomphe and Louvre
The Gondola metropolis
I'll sample every famous
Continental megalopolis
Stroll the Champs-Elysees
Marvel at glass-blown finery
Smile at the Mona Lisa
Take a tour of a winery...
And when it all has been discussed
poured over, digested
Without you there to share it
'Twas for naught
~ A full refund I've requested
Moneylender
You were rejected by your fellow man
A pound of flesh to heal your wounded pride
A just reward for squelching on a loan
Your hatred toward these men-- I understand
Burns deeply in your heart and it resides
You were rejected by your fellow man
They bully you, so now you take a stand
Measured by Scale of Justice you supplied
A just reward for squelching on a loan
You make an honest living, better than
The ones who cruelly mock; cast them aside
You were rejected by your fellow man
Losing your daughter, ducats and your land
Upon the law of God you have relied
A just reward for squelching on a loan
To write you off as evil was the plan
They persecute and fool you with derides
A pound of flesh to heal your wounded pride
A just reward for squelching on a loan
At age twenty one, I first visited Venice Italy.
I wanted so badly to experience a gondola ride,
so I went to the Murano glass factory joining two unknown
girlfriends who spoke English, but chose to ignore me
and began speaking French, then kept laughing, as I felt
sad and dejected sitting on the other end of the gondola.
Suddenly they were both drenched by a woman
throwing her dirty dish water out of a window above us.
As they screamed disgusted, I sat stifling my laughter.
I came back enchanted with a little glass bluebird!
© Connie Marcum Wong
Brevity-The Short Of It Contest
Sponsor Casarah Nance
7-11-15
Venice, Italy, is a crazy shamozzle of new and old
Where junk, graffiti, decay, stunning beauty,
history and culture poverty and opulence, all reside side by side, bobbing.
Water dominates the landscape, canals and waterways replace all the roads
Everything is carried by boat, food, people, garbage, produce, industrial supplies.
Ambulances, fire engines, delivery trucks and police cars are all replaced by boats.
The disorderly rusty ferries ply the waterways, jostling along with gondolas, magnificent polished wooden water taxis,
Occasionally the historic scene is ruined by modern fiber glass runabouts
with huge outboard motors completely out of place.
Next comes barges with cranes, garbage collecting boats, delivery and construction supply boats, and the many service vehicles.
Grab a table beside the canals and watch the parade of boats old and new jostle and bobble on by.
Walk through the tiny crowded streets and enjoy the kaleidoscope of people of many cultures enjoying themselves.
There are many surprises. Tiny shops with feet in large glass tanks being cleaner by fish.
Everywhere there are places to explore and things to enjoy.
Looming off in the distance you may see huge cruise liners dwarfing the buildings,
These vessels are seemingly populated by ants, as the ships are so big.
The ancient church bells in Venice chime as the ships depart arrive and depart, in homage to the new god of tourism.
The Palace art is simply overwhelming, overloading your senses.
Ancient art is everywhere and often ignored.
Venice is beautiful, but one gets the impression that all the photographs taken in Venice
are gradually sucking out the life force out of the structures, hastening their decay.
There are so many dimensions and experiences, places to explore that you never get tired of Venice.
The more times you visit the better you will like it and the more you will find to do and see.
You have to laugh and ignore the hassles, the jostling crowds, the regimented crowded ferry system,
the pushing and shoving of the crowds in the tiny streets,
simply laugh and have fun.
Venice is crazy, nice, with diverse multi-faceted attractions and lots of things to do.
You will love it!
Venice Trice is Nice.
TIME FLIES by Jeanette Jones
based on PORTRAIT NO 9
Morning at the Quay in Venice by Helen Allingham
TIME FLIES
Early still, I rise again.
For the quails came calling.
Dragging my feet, I stumbled
across the room, to get a glimpse
before they get to far away.
The kettle’s on, brewing the tea,
to place in my flask.
Milk too for little Emily as we stroll along.
At the edge of the bay, our four feet dangle,
little Emily hums away; a nice beat to my
dream.
Small canoes, large boats with sails,
carry me away across the water.
Traveling up into the lighthouse,
I look over bay, watching the workmen,
out for the day.
Hours pass as I gather up to leave.
Little Emily and I, hand in hand,
we’ve just gotten here, must we go?
Good night Mr. Workman.
Good afternoon Ma’dam.
There’s a balcony over Venice
Somewhere outside Dallas, Texas
Through a sliding glass door
A couple sits toasting to the croons of Elvis
With paper cup chalice
Upon their European back porch
Making conversation language love
Beneath candle moon blue August
The symphony inside plays, dog barks, six children snore
“May I have this dance?”
The gussied up working stiff redneck asks
To the lady he adores
On a balcony over Venice
Two lovers sway
Hand on hand kissing even more
They dream together "moon rivers"
Between skips of old worn records
Holding on to their tender years
And tighter to homespun fantasies
More alive in the Italian Texas breeze
He twirls her on forever above smiles of gondoliers
And around their linoleum ballroom floor
Little eyes appear like starlight blinking
Twinkling out with laughter
There’s a balcony over Venice
Somewhere outside of Dallas, Texas
Where a father loves a mother, a son and five daughters
Happily ever after
Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)
it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial
taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints
we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time
now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings
it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades
hostel life
you never know with whom
you'll share a room
a cappuccino
or
a piece of life
Fatima is not her name
just what she goes by
in Turkey if you're Kurdish
it's safer to be a Fatima
in Dublin she can be (her Kurdish name)
it's just something she doesn't
want to get used to
in Venice, Kaldoun asks in Arabic
what I think about the war
In the phone we share
I tell Google
I hope it's the end of Putin
he reads my words (in Arabic)
and replies
many children will die before
the end of Putin
gives me pause
there needs to be talks
a political solution
he says
I agree
but is there any talking to
a malevolent tyrant?
we must try he says
a little sidewalk cafe where
for most of the morning
we fill the Venetian air
with Arabic/English conversation
striking deep chords
about humanity (and inhumanity)
a young Jordanian chemist from Munich
an old school teacher from Arizona
and Google….
where would we be
without Google
Narrow streets that block the light
Bridges spanning everywhere
Gondoliers in black and white
Pigeons in Saint Marco Square
Churches and Venetian glass
Synagogues from ghettoed Jews
Tourists you can barely pass
Everywhere - amazing views
Carts with vendors' souvenirs
Cool cafes to have a snack
When gelato time appears,
There will never be a lack.
Deep red berry on my cone
Next to hazelnut did mix.
Back at home I'll fret and moan
'Cause I'll miss my daily fix.
Travel opens up our eyes
To places different and unique
And every trip grants some surprise
Like my Italian ice cream streak.
Moonlight was the only light to make streaks across
a sky full of suspense which even a thief was afraid of;
and as I dragged you along lamp-lit, narrows streets,
we seemed two ghosts wearing human masks...
but what was on our delirious minds, if not love?
Your wish was to be on the Ponte Dei Respiri to sigh and dream...
while viewing that moon with new eyes to catch that rare gleam,
but the quickest way to get there was to wave down a gondolier! But there was
no space as thousands of people, wearing masks, were riding in those gondolas...
without despairing, we stopped on the nearest bridge and passionately kissed!
I resembled the Phantom of the Opera without that disfigured face;
you seemed like the seductive Dodge's wife so glamorous and gleeful,
and your mask was of the loveliest blue as the sky over the Adriatic Sea...
when Saint Mark's bells rang and doves flew to revive their past glory.
Oh, darkness endure more to let our memory always be a night in Venice!
Entered in Nette Onclaud's contest,
" It's Mask Time "
Written by Andrew Crisci
VENICE
In a gondola
with a handsome Italian
whispering in my ear
“Ti amo”.
He caresses my hair,
my soggy hair.
Drenched kisses.
Rain.
The gondolier
soaking wet.
Droplets of water
escape his hat’s rim
splashing.
He doesn’t sing
“O Sole Mio”.
The grayish buildings,
take a shower.
The soiled water drains
into narrow side walks
and further into the canal.
Under every dripping bridge
another kiss.
Water everywhere.
Romance drowns.
“Ti voliglio bene,”
my date whispers.
“I have to pee,”
I answer.
I'd like to see Venice,
the city of eternal peace
to which poets and painters flock;
the sunset' hues are impressive at dusk.
I'd like to ride in a gondola,
and admire La Serenissima
while the venetian gondolier sings a familiar song
that everybody loves...row gentler as you sing!
I'd like to join the Venice Carnival, and be somebody's handsome groom,
on the most eerie night, when there's a crowd in the Marco Polo ballroom...
in the palace everybody wears a vague mask and a bizarre costume;
be aware of the friendly ones who, with charm, have the intention to lure.
I'd like to watch the luminiscent moon
rise over the Dome of Saint Mark's Basilica at night;
and for once without a visible, depressing spot...
it should smile at me while I croon.
I'd like to embrace that lovely woman
with eyes as green as the grass of a meadow;
and will she recognize me and forgive me again,
or sadly remain a broken-winged sparrow?
I'd like to bask in the warm sunshine
as the huge Adriatic sky becomes a real light blue;
and under Il Ponte dei Respiri I will glide
in that gondola as she lies next to me with a smile so true.
Translation: La Serenissima ( The Most Serene ),
Il Ponte dei Respiri ( Bridge Of Sighs ).
Entered in Linda-Marie Bariana's contest,
" Viva Vacation "