Long Notre Poems
Long Notre Poems. Below are the most popular long Notre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Notre poems by poem length and keyword.
I raise up my arms to receive the Father's blessings
As it rains forever more;
As we both come before the storm;
Venir avant la tempête;
Comme il pleut à jamais plus;
Laissez la pluie embrasser votre front;
Comme une grand-mère étreint son enfant;
Venir avant la tempête;
Tenant mon amour proche;
Venir avant la tempête;
I raise up my arms to receive the Father's blessings
As it rains forever more;
As we both come before the storm;
Ne portant que mon â me;
Tonnerre et foudre brille et les sons;
Tenant mon amour proche;
Nous sommes toujours si chaleureux;
Aimé de notre esprit à nos âmes;
Comme ces nuages blancs nous entoure;
Je lève mes bras pour recevoir les bénédictions du père
Comme il pleut à jamais plus;
Comme nous venons tous les deux avant la tempête;
I raise up my arms to receive the Father's blessings
As it rains forever more;
As we both come before the storm;
O’ in the laden light
Sparks the fire,
Its attic
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
"The Cathedral serves as a spiritual home”
For almost a millennium, always shown;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
We mere mortals are saddened to witness;
No Niether flames or fire damages to this architectural masterpiece;
Notre Dame will continues a symbol of France,
O Lord hail down rains of water and blessings;
Embrace the cathedral with confessions;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
Worships amongst the tears those fears;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
One of God’s earthly parishes;
We shall embellish, return unto us;
Notre Dame’s bells will once again wail;
Never, ever be stilled those bells will sound again;
We stand with France today to offer our assistance praises;
Glorious and the tragic historical moments that will forever remain;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
Shalt be rebuilt, fire blaze nevermore charred walls;
Let’s embrace the chance to dance, witness the rehabilitation of religion freedom enhanced;
Notre Dame shines on through the char,
Angels look down tonight, them to sing Glory to all worship not by chance…
We stand with France today as we sing and pray.. Viva la France O’ in the laden light;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down
Sparks the fire,
A blazed, all consuming fire;
Chard concrete, statues, bricks ignite;
Heavens, angels tear cry out, not here;
"The Cathedral that serves as a physical spiritual home”;
For almost a millennium,
We mere mortals are saddened to witness;
No Neither flames or fire damages to this architectural masterpiece;
Notre Dame will continues a symbol of France;
Cathedral of fire shall not burn down never more at rebuilt stance;
Notre Dame ever more a Symbol of France;
4/17/19
For NOTRE DAME IN THE NEWS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
Tribute To My Cousin
She is the best, and resides in the Midwest.
A top, American, she.
Loves her country, her God and her shining, perfect family.
Married now for 50 years plus.
Grandsons is Arizona Little League
And a blond cherub grandaughter, too.
Who helps her grow zucchini and cucumber..
In her ever growing, garden school.
Of cool mnd and love for so many,
We are the last of a large family.
Then I have so brilliant, Maggie, and loving Cousin Denny.
We all share the DNA of our grandfather,
His creativity at the Basilica of Notre Dame.
Those lamps of his shine with God's name.
I was my Cousin's babysitter and an angel was she.
We played many games under Midwest summertime trees.
Later...
Remembering the sands of the Boardwalk between our toes.
Our very first tastes of salt water taffy!
And the Ocean of the Atlantc, up our nose..
It was so odd, we laughed and got daffy.
Each Christmas, you send a special gift.
A holy bread, on Christmas Eve, we do partake.
We do this in memory of Christ's birth
We have done this for decades, for traditions' sake.
I have not seen my cousins for many years.
But we keep in touch, wishing each other warmth
and cheers.
We may not see each other even on holidays.
But never feel lost, we are still grownkids at play.
Now to my special cousin, facing a health crisis.
Please know I am praying for you, today for that is
where my heart is.
You have read and respondedto all my Poetry.
Maybe that is why, your Dad saw your sweetness,
And gave you hat nickname, Peachy!
God hold you in His arms!
You are indeed, one of His cherished charms.
Love from~
Cousin PanagiotaI
10/24/2020
Poem 1
The Echo Of Stars
Galaxies away the echo of stars make her bloom
this rose made of warm inside a heated hand *
Fine tuning her soul to the chime of a thousand crystal pieces
she blasts out and planets resound within her Chalice heart;
Resonating inside her, the peeling bells of Notre- Dame
contain her whole Universe...
Tucked safely inside an IVEAN cloak she lives free
no longer part of this global world.
A star of multiple constellations, she belongs only
to One identifiable light, HIS own.
Evolving endlessly in time she reverberates and rings
entering God's vestibule of heaven without a single sound
Wearing the immortal crown of existence she delves
in, a crowning moment of glory
The mirror shatters in a million tiny pieces and all of truth
arrives, making her whole once again.
“it’s not desire per say but the clinging ~
that stifles soul and stops heart from singing
enlivening silence sets our soul free ~
vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree”
We’re the crew of the spaceship boring - on a one year mission.
The situation's literally life or death - this isn’t science-fiction.
The crew is an actual family - ideal for such a quest,
but none of us volunteered for this - it’s more like house arrest.
We seek out no adventures, we avoid interaction if we can.
We boldly go absolutely nowhere - isolation is the plan.
Wander into our orbit - we’ll scan you with our sensors.
Our station's sealed to aliens and we don't let any enter.
Our voyage is just symbolic we're not in outer space,
the commission is simple self-sacrifice and it happens at turtle pace.
If you need me I'll be me in my capsule, safe in my virtual void,
sequestered for the greater good and shelved like an unwanted toy.
Mr. Spider is an ugly looking creature. He has a hairy face and arms. However, the hairs on the top of his head are somewhat thinner than those on his face, and scattered all over here and there. His hairs looked dark, rough, and stiff, but those hairs in his beard, which covered on his broad and flat face, were grayish white. Mr. Spider has a pair of sharply pointed claws on the end of his thin clumsy-looking finger. Moreover, he has hiding his sharp and crooked teeth behind his bushy beard. His two big, dark, and atrocious eyes never blink or move but fixed on one spot from behind the shadow where he was squatting down.
Ms Butterfly is an elegant high socialite. She always wears the colorful robe. She glides and dances in the air as if she were a piece of gorgeous floating corolla. She didn’t eat any solid food. She flies in the air and stops on one flower bloom to the other for delicacy of sweet nectar. She enjoys it, for it keeps her in good shape and enables her to maintain her coquettish figure forever. Ms Butterfly, however,
is an arrogant and selfish lady. She never considers the feeling of the others. She acted only for her own good, yet she was a just simple lady.
It was a sunny afternoon in early spring when Mr. Spider caught Ms Butterfly in his cobweb. When Mr. Spider saw her in his cobweb, he didn’t wait a moment. He dashed toward his prisoner. However, when he came close enough to grab her with his hands, he refrained from catching her, because he saw her helpless slender body trembling in the gorgeous robe, and her beautiful but fearful eyes, asking him
for mercy.
Since then, Mr. Spider has never left his cobweb. With his fascinating eyes, he has followed and stared at elegant Ms Butterfly from a distance, while comparing his ugliness with a gargoyle and thinking of his cursed life, as if he were Quasimodo on the bell tower of Notre-Dam, watching and admiring tenderhearted, naïve, and lonely Esmeralda.
[Although Ms Butterfly was not deserve for Mr. Spider’s pure and wholehearted admiration because of her frivolous, flighty, and insincere personality.]
What could be better than birds, my friends,
To put our heads straight,
What could be better than listening to this melody ?
The blackbird invites us to flowery diners.
What’s better than birds, darling
To soften our immense pain,
That their song from the distant lime trees,
Song came from pear and chestnut trees.
Let’s listen to the blue tit, the robin,
Let’s listen to the jay under the white clouds,
What could be better than birds, dear poet?
To make our thoughts brilliant in the sky.
Quoi de mieux que les oiseaux, mon ami,
Pour nous remettre la tête à l’endroit,
Quoi de mieux que d’écouter cette mélodie,
Le merle nous invite aux diners fleuris.
Quoi de mieux que les oiseaux, ma chérie
Pour adoucir notre douleur immense,
Que leur chant venu des lointains tilleuls,
Venu des poiriers et des grands marronniers.
Écoutons la mésange bleue, le rouge gorge,
Écoutons le geai sous les blancs nuages,
Quoi de mieux que les oiseaux, cher poète,
Pour nous rendre nos idées brillantes dans le ciel.
When I'm traveling and away from you,
Not to worry, dear, my love is true.
I remind myself that I'm still yours
When I find myself on foreign shores
In a tryst with a miss behind closed doors,
It's not straying, it's "diplomacy",
Part of my "Good Neighbor" policy.
How else can I explain a flirty dame on a train in Spain?
It would be impolite to refrain from joining her for a brew.
I may not always stop to think,
While teetering on the brink,
How easily one little drink can turn into a few,
But bibulistically,
When in Rome I do as the Romans do.
If a femme makes an overture in France to chercher l'amour,
And it leads to a brief séjour, it's not romance I pursue.
I'll learn more French in an hour
From Mademoiselle in her bower
Than at the Louvre, or the Tower, or even Notre Dame, too,
And linguistically,
When in Rome I do as the Romans do.
So don't shed tears bitterly over pictures from Italy
Of my guide Isabella and me, my heart still beats true.
Each time I give in to a yen,
It's just so I'll know where I've been
'til I'm back in the States once again,
Rendezvousing with you.
So euphemistically,
When in Rome, I might go for a "spin" in Rome,
'cause, Dear, I hear it's a sin in Rome
Not to do as the Romans do.
Author's note: According to my archives, dear reader, I wrote this piece in 2016 and published it here on Poetry Soup shortly thereafter. I was later thrilled and delighted when it was selected to be included in the very first "PS: It's Poetry" anthology published by PS in 2020. It is one of my personal favorites of all the pieces I have written to date, and so I think it's due for another airing.
Têtes
Je vois, Aristo, que tu les as mis à l'épreuve
Alors qu'ils se battaient entre eux dans les rues
Tu t'es gavé de gâteaux somptueux et de pains raffinés
Alors que les enfants de cette ville n'ont pas à manger
Tu peux acheter leurs âmes malades avec une pièce d'or
Mais tes richesses ne suffiront pas à te purifier de tes péchés
Et ne pense pas pouvoir échapper à la justice
Quand la révolution en marche commencera
Ta corruption s'est propagée comme un cancer
De la Nef jusqu'à la Reine
Alors tu peux compter sur ton rendez-vous
Quand viendra le temps de rencontrer notre Madame Guillotine
HEADS
I see, Aristo, you have put them to the test
As they fight among themselves in the streets
Gorged yourself on lavish cakes and fancy breads
While the children of this city, have not to eat
You can buy their sicken souls with a gold piece
But your riches aren't enough to clear your sin
And don't think you can run a hide from justice
When the revolution on it's way, begins
Your corruption, has spread just like a cancer
From a Nave all the way up to The Queen
So you may count on keeping your appointment
When it's time to meet our Madame Guillotine
Paris idol,
Count of Monte Cristo square,
An angle,
Some graffiti red and purple,
At the last moment I paint:
Phantoms of vampires,
Sarcophagus in pyramid glass,
Portraits in the Louvre castle,
Milady dame,
I'm no longer a donor for this alien dragon,
Abel's blood cries,
This cry goes to the sky,
Two angels,
Lot's house,
Rue du Bac,
Chapel of the Miraculous Medal,
The night,
Notre-Dame in flames,
Fire has the form of the cathedral,
Above this country hexagonal,
Mont Saint Michel like a continent in contrast,
Yellow before blue light, cyan,
Here I'm condemned in orange,
"If they do it when the wood is green, what will happen when it's dry?!",
"Weep for yourselves and for your child",
The natural rainbow appears just now,
To require the blood from beast Cain,
That city full of formal and informal crimes,
Stones of Herod's Temple,
I build my Defense
By the Lamb and Lion,
Like precursor and forerunner Ivanhoe knight,
Too - the count by Mother Immaculate,
Lofty line of Bethlehem star,
On signature of Jonas' sign,
They disregard in vain,
In malignant blindness,
Even she, Lot's wife —
Open eyes shut —
Look at the sanhedrin of Caiaphas,
cardinal maniac Illuminati over time,
Death cap, warning,
A destroying angel over this town,
Amanita all in glossy pale,
Grow worse toward nuclear weapon,
Never to taste,
Chain reaction inside,
Dark hole, femme fatale eats all dwarfs,
Equals in bad,
Like Napoleon Bonaparte at the battle of Berezina,
Bullying fate in dance macabre,
Olympic gold medal for Salome and Herodias,
The gymnast from the exterior courtyard,
Without oil and vine,
In vain asking water from this market named "The Ladies' Delight",
Say my lighthouse on this very toxic planet, going to collapse,
Jean Valjean on Champ de Mars,
In my hand some flagrant clouds,
In flight.