Long Monsieur Poems
Long Monsieur Poems. Below are the most popular long Monsieur by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monsieur poems by poem length and keyword.
He made no move at all
As the alarm clock went off.
But ten minutes later,
It was obvious he was awake.
He lifted himself out of bed
And went towards the bathroom.
He shaved himself
With a Gillette Techmatic
After having sploshed himself
With a double handful
Of icy cold water.
He washed again, dried his face,
Put on some Monsieur de Gauviche
And got dressed.
He wore a Brutus shirt,
A Tonik suit and a pair of
Shiny brown boots.
He was six foot two,
And he smoked sixty Players
Medium Navy Cut cigarettes
A day, and he lit each one
With a Ronson lighter.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
He was immaculate,
Wore long sideboards
And a long moustache,
And his hair was shortish
And well-combed.
His shirt was light blue,
And he wore a dark blue tie.
He wore two rings on each hand.
He washed himself
After his usual breakfast
Of toast, black coffee and health pills.
He cleaned his teeth thoroughly,
Put some more cologne on,
And then went to do
His isometrics.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest
Wardrobe in London.
He was born in London in 1940.
He went to Eton and Oxford,
Had taught at Oxford for eight years
But was sacked.
He had been an Oxford Rowing Blue,
And got a degree in English, Art and History.
His father was Lord Alfred Hardin, M.P.
Titus loved teaching,
And not many people know the reason
For his dismissal at the age of thirty one.
He was nearly expelled from Eton
For smoking, drinking,
And being head of a secret society
With secret oaths, but he was
Too promising a sportsman,
And all the boys respected him
As a prefect.
He was a fair-haired man
And very good-looking.
He was thirty two years old
And a bachelor,
And lived near Richmond, Surrey.
His flat was beautifully furnished.
His name was Titus Hardin,
And he had the biggest wardrobe in London.
(This jackadandy's original title was "An Essay Written by a Guy Who Was Too Lazy to Finish It", and it dates from my mid-teens.)
VIRGIN OF BOIS de BOULOGNE (Monsieur L'Vampyre)
Grace of the son of man, though gone from me
still shines a beacon, far as I can see,
and of the sins for which I pay
all unforgiven, and will stay,
My greatest curse is what should never be.
What good is love if not to have and hold,
to help a soul through never growing old;
Though Jesus set my path aglow
it's just for me to see, and know;
I've made my way, as sure as His was sold.
I'd planned an outing void of common sight,
Bois de Boulogne, my forest of delight,
but lacking in some company
I dressed the manner I should be
if invitation came to spend the night.
I really make no effort that I be
so strayed in conversation, but, you see,
it pains my heart to talk of her
my love was lost, be as it were,
to all she was, once love had set her free.
My world serene, and Paris coming to
an evening light, all deep and dark and blue
I watched the setting of the sun
as daytime came to be undone,
but felt not quite alone in what I do.
Do you know when you get a pleasant thought
that just perhaps there's someone there--you're not
alone in moments you have found
but there must be someone around
who's sharing every joy the minute's brought?
So when I turned, she had a pleasant smile
my thought was to enjoy it for a while,
all dressed in lace and yellow bows
and blue pastel, and heaven knows
the sight of her gave quiver to my style.
Have you not ever seen a mademoiselle
whose beauty's far beyond what words can tell,
who brings the trembling to your chin,
and just to look on her's a sin?
That's who my poor eyes came to know so well!
Epitomizing all virginity,
and begging for the very breath of me;
I knew she'd leave to other ways,
that's how love is, it never stays,
but all she wanted was the man I be!
Anticipation glowed deep in her eyes;
she lent to me her touch, her lips, her thighs,
and though I had the power there,
for stopping time, if I should care,
to keep her safe from time, and how it flies,
I never set my teeth onto her skin,
nor cut her neck, nor pressed them in,
full knowing she would never be,
just as she was, that way for me,
not keeping her that way's my greatest sin.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet.
11/27/2013
DEATH OF A PARISIENNE HOUSEMATE--Monsieur L'Vampyre
The death of me lay waiting in the dark
down candle lighted steps, before mine eyes
as my love held the blade, to leave the mark
upon my neck before I'd realize
yes I knew she was there, and filled with hate
a murderess if I'd do as she thought
but I had other plans, to change her fate,
and lay her deep with all the pain she'd wrought;
my derringer was cocked and firm in hand
and chambered were both silver tips for her
whilst I had in my mind, and had it planned
in self defense I'd fire, be as it were.
just as her wolf man died the night before
from mine own hand behind her bedroom door!
(less of ****** he was humping for.)
And how she cried as he drew his last breath
I nearly had compassion for her spell,
forgetting how they'd made my life a death
and that his soul was borned straight out from hell
but grabbed she then my pearly handled knife
my very favorite blade of cutlery
I used in gutting pigs, or end the life
of anyone who'd do a wrong to me;
So down theses cellar steps she's led the chase
welll knowing I would have to end her days,
lest she could beat my play, and save her face
and then convince the gendarmes of my ways!
I heard her breathing Paris, her sweet sound,
but couldn't place the point where she'd be found
for silver tips to put her in the ground.
The creaking of each wooden step gave sway
as I tried to step lightly down the stair
until the last was stone, and had no play
she held her breath, and silence filled the air!
The shadows from the candle's dancing flame
there on the wall made nothing for a clue
so stepped I through the dim, to stalk my game
and then I felt the swish my blade can do!
She missed her mark, but cut my sweated skin
enough to give more credence to my tale
and fired I silver tips, through satin thin
and to her heart--you should have heard her wail!
She died as she had lived, a fool for me--
and looked too sweet for gentlemen to see,
And so I beat her one more time for free!
SILVER TIPS FOR MY LOVE--Monsieur L'Vampyre
The death of me lay waiting in the dark
down candle lighted steps, before mine eyes
as my love held the blade, to leave the mark
upon my neck before I'd realize
yes I knew she was there, and filled with hate
a murderess if I'd do as she thought
but I had other plans, to change her fate,
and lay her deep with all the pain she'd wrought;
my derringer was cocked and firm in hand
and chambered were both silver tips for her
whilst I had in my mind, and had it planned
in self defense I'd fire, be as it were.
just as her wolf man died the night before
from mine own hand behind her bedroom door!
(less of ****** he was humping for.)
And how she cried as he drew his last breath
I nearly had compassion for her spell,
forgetting how they'd made my life a death
and that his soul was borned straight out from hell
but grabbed she then my pearly handled knife
my very favorite blade of cutlery
I used in gutting pigs, or end the life
of anyone who'd do a wrong to me;
So down theses cellar steps she's led the chase
welll knowing I would have to end her days,
lest she could beat my play, and save her face
and then convince the gendarmes of my ways!
I heard her breathing Paris, her sweet sound,
but couldn't place the point where she'd be found
for silver tips to put her in the ground.
The creaking of each wooden step gave sway
as I tried to step lightly down the stair
until the last was stone, and had no play
she held her breath, and silence filled the air!
The shadows from the candle's dancing flame
there on the wall made nothing for a clue
so stepped I through the dim, to stalk my game
and then I felt the swish my blade can do!
She missed her mark, but cut my sweated skin
enough to give more credence to my tale
and fired I silver tips, through satin thin
and to her heart--you should have heard her wail!
She died as she had lived, a fool for me--
and looked too sweet for gentlemen to see,
And so I beat her one more time for free!
(continueing the Monsieur L'Vampyre adventure)
THE DEATH OF MADAMOISELLE duPONT
Dear Stella, up the path, into the park,
deep shadows hide the trees along the Seine,
the quiet of the night accents the dark
and you can feel your breathing now and then.
The peaceful gloom, enveloped by a mist,
all black and gray and shades of morbid white,
accentuates the place your eyes have missed,
where someone waits, who's watched you every night.
This place, where gendarmes warn to be aware,
tonight is more foreboding than you've known,
and so you pause; you look; is someone there?
it's then you realize, you are alone.
The snapping of your heels you hear increase,
as if the hurry puts your mind at peace.
Engulfed, the path leads up and from the Seine,
and then you'll be out of this narrow pit,
but suddenly you feel the eyes again,
much closer than a glove too small to fit.
You struggle with your thinking, in a word,
to flee or just pretend no one is there,
and so you hum a tune you've never heard,
and place your safety in your mother's prayer.
Oh, Stella, Stella, in the spring you'll wed,
your sweet Gaston. Believe he's at your side,
and you will laugh at all this gloom and dread...
though courage might have found you, it has lied.
The shadows all are moving; you can hear
the groaning of someone who's all too near.
The quiet; crickets sounding no alarm,
but now a drizzle rain cools at your heat,
and tingles flowing down onto your arm
remind you of the friends you'll never meet;
quite suddenly, he's grabbed you from behind,
and muffles any sound you might have found,
you cannot scream, to hurt is in your mind,
but he's too quick, he's pinned you to the ground.
Who is this thing, your lover or your friend,
you might have pained...why does he want you dead?
or is this just someone who brings the end,
you've never known, with killing in his head?
You feel no teardrops, feel no blood nor fright,
there's only blinding, blinding, blinding light....
© ron Wilson aka Veebdosa the Doylestown poet
As I walk out into the street on
a bright night in my dark brown suit,
blinking neon lights,whistling breeze
with horns of cars buzzing through the night,
I walk into the hotel lounge expecting
to see the creme-de la-creme
in the business world there,
The waiter greets*"Bon jour monsieur" and
directs me into the hall,
The hall is full of people I could barely see
due to the dim blue sparkling light,
Then,*Voila-a bright light surfaced suddenly,
As Vikky walks into the hall,
Shouts of *'Bon anniversaire' echoe through the air,
Today is Vikky`s twenty-fifth birth day;
*"Joyeux anniversaire a' vous,Joyeux anniversaire a' vous,
Joyeux anniversaire,Joyeux anniversaire,Joyeux anniversaire a' vous"
Hip!hip!hip! hurray! with a rapturous applause....
My heart keeps racing,for
I don`t know how to present
my gift to her;
She is my love;my jewel!
but I`m afraid of her *laissez-faire attitude from parents,
She is a french-african,and all her family
members are present here;
I was lost in thought,when
the waiter tapped me,
*'Monsieur 'and present me with a glass
of creme de menthe ;I hurriedly gulp it down,
and summon up courage,
as I feel strong sensation vibrating
through my entire body;my body is on fire!
I approach her slowly...
with my gift pack inside my suit pocket...
Trembling and sweating...
I hope,she says 'Yes!'.
*Bon jour--Good day(morning or afternoon)
*Bon anniversaire--Good/Nice celebration
*Monsieur--Mister
*creme-de la-creme--the best people or things of their kind
*creme de menthe--a strong sweet alcohol made from MINT
*laissez-faire--policy of allowing private businesses to develop without government control
OR parents giving their children to much freedom.
*"Joyeux anniversaire a' vous,Joyeux anniversaire a 'vous,Joyeux anniversaire,
Joyeux anniversaire,Joyeux anniversaire a 'vous"--Happy birthday to you,happy birthday
to you,happy birthday,happy birthday,happy birthday to you....
CONTEST:"Bi-lingual poetry" sponsored by Debbie Guzzi
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.
What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?
Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?
All evil justified and made in haste
is evil just the same as any waste.
I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.
But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.
Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.
Invited for a night of talk and wine,
I settled in with this new friend of mine.
And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone
and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.
Quite suddenly the groan of engines roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the Christmas trees lit up just ev'rything.
And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
what ending all their world was coming to.
© ron wilson aka Ron Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Dolestown Poet
THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN-- MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE -
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.
What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions' fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?
Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?
All evil justified and made in haste
is evil just the same as any waste.
I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.
But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.
Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.
Invited for a night of talk and wine,
I settled in with a new friend of mine.
And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone
and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.
Quite suddenly the groan of engines' roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the fallings lights lit up just ev'rything.
And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
what ending all our world was coming to.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - Parisienne Dream
and suddenly you've fallen through the seams
from very life, to stroll here by the Seine,
dropped from reality into my dreams
where you've loved me forever now and then.
You taste the fragrance of Parisienne night
and hear the distant singing all too clear,
it's just a dying nymph, in her delight,
one of the dead who knows her death is here.
Be as it may, your love tries not to speak,
as we enjoy the streetlamps' shadowings,
I press you to the stone and kiss your cheek,
and you can feel the sorrow midnight brings;
you echo words that concertina's say
only at night when love has lost her way.
My searching leads to parting of your hair,
as gentle hands reveal a neck too white,
and you can feel the pain, it lingers where;
I've set my teeth, and then you feel the bite,
and there I nurse, your suckling tiny child,
of blood and life, the nourishment I crave;
that keeps me seeking you, but drives me wild;
and makes me civilized, but mis-behave.
In your surprise, from seeking mortal sin,
expecting sex; this is no mere foreplay;
you go beyond the limits of the Seine,
to yet another dream that will not stay.
Your struggle to reality is brief,
and you succomb into my time of grief.
The draining of your love into my own
is secondary to the love you take,
you'll fall from here, back to the life you've known
and that's the choice you have, it's yours to make;
you'll waken in the night and you'll forget;
safe in your bed, your pensione's gloom,
but on your neck, the trace of blood and sweat
leads you to feel each shadow of your room.
Remembering the locking of our eyes,
that made you cross the line into the dead,
will make you cry, but never realize,
that where you've been lies hidden in your head.
Perhaps you'll meet a boy I cannot be,
but when he kisses you, you'll know it's me.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet aka Ron Wilson
MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE - THE BOMBING OF DRESDEN
There was a night, I still recall it now,
as winters cold had turned to soft and mild,
and gave us hope, that time would still allow
the passing by--of death--as death was filed.
What manner of a beast, or tyrant king,
would set the path to bring destructions' fall
from out the darkened sky, who dare would bring
such catastrophic death to one and all?
Was not my Dresden safe from what was heard
of cities to the north--they fed the flame;
these questions yet remain, who gave the word
that made the good and bad turn out the same?
All evil justified and made in haste
is evil just the same as any waste.
I'd only just returned, in my own way,
within the dark from Paris, where I be
caught up with joy of liberation day,
when love was made alive and running free.
But lo! My thirst was filled, before too long,
my heart grew weary to be with mine own,
so in the dark my flight was swift and strong
and ended at an inn that few have known.
Perched on a hillside looking down the plain
from off the balcony, the Dresden lights
gave glimmer to a cold and drizzle rain
a beauty unsurpassed by any rights.
Invited for a night of talk and wine,
I settled in with a new friend of mine.
And so we wined and danced--into the night
not thoughtful of the war, though raging on,
and Gretchen, lovely Gretchen, felt my bite
upon her neck until her soul was gone
and part of all the loves I ever knew
so thus she came to be one of my own;
and shaken, we both did as lovers do,
and stared into the night for things unknown.
Quite suddenly the groan of engines' roar
though distant, filled the night, and deafening
and over Dresden, telling what's in store,
the fallings lights lit up just ev'rything.
And lighted by Pathfinders, Dresden knew
what ending all their world was coming to.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet