Long Rouges Poems
Long Rouges Poems. Below are the most popular long Rouges by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rouges poems by poem length and keyword.
I love you, French language,
I love Descartes and Montaigne,
The mash of chestnuts,
You despise their nonsense,
I love you, French language,
I don’t give a damn about it, the coquillard,
writing this, is great art,
But what about strawberry reds?
You are the language of the fox,
Of the great dukes and of Ronsard,
From Descartes and Montaigne,
The song of the musaraigne
I love you, French language.
NB for rhymes, give you the french
Je t’aime, langue française,
J’aime Descartes et Montaigne,
La purée de châtaignes,
Tu méprises leurs fadaises ,
Je t’aime, langue française,
Je m’en tamponne, le coquillard,
écrire cela, est du grand art,
Mais que dire des rouges fraises ?
Tu es la langue du renard,
Des grands ducs et de Ronsard,
De Descartes et de Montaigne,
La chanson de la musaraigne
Je t’aime, langue française.
lets give it a shape
twisted lines of 3-d scribbles
starts and ends nose to tail
maybe
marshmallow squidges syphoned through gossamer ether
missed mist of missing moments
nope how about colour
black and greys that shamble between each other
blushing pinks with lips of rogue rouges
Golden slips that shimmer with simpering sympathies
Blacks of oil slick sins and surrenders
yells of yellows bloated blues
kinda missed again
no shapes no sides
no hues to tag its worth
easier to describe the blessings of the wind
the dribble on the chin
tell the end of the begin
holding tear upon the eyelid
sometime shown others hid
when pain begins to turn
the abyss beauty viewed from within
feverishly cold
intensively simple
intimately confused
the touch that must be felt
braces with a belt
insanity making reality melt
love is what
All French cakes are delicious, better
The “ Amandier” and its subtle nuts taste in the mouth,
The “Paris-Brest”, with its sweet praline cream,
Rum Baba, with its sweet taste of liqueur,
The “tarte aux fraises” and its sweet red fruits,
The “Saint Honoré” and his little “choux à la crème”
The “ Commisaire” and his subtle pistachio aroma,
All French cakes are delicious,
« L’éclair au chocolat ou l’éclair au café »
The “ tarte au citron” et son savoir faire ,
The “Pithiviers” and its awesome frangipane,
All French cakes are delicious, better
the “ Framboisier” and its light pastry cream,
The “ Forêt Noire” with its chocolate and sour cherries,
All French cakes are delicious,
My nice dad was a pastry chef, Sunday were brilliant….
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux, mieux
L’amandier et son goût subtil dans la bouche,
Le Paris-Brest, avec sa douce crème pralinée,
Le Baba au rhum, avec son gout sucré de liqueur,
La tarte aux fraises et ses fruits rouges sucrés,
Le Saint honoré et ses petits choux remplis de crème,
Le commissaire et son subtil arôme de pistache,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux,
L’éclair au chocolat ou l’éclair au café,
La tarte au citron acidulée de tendresse,
Le Pithiviers et sa frangipane de grande fête,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux, mieux
Le Framboisier et sa crème pâtissière légère,
La forêt noire avec son chocolat et ses cerises aigres,
Tous les gâteaux français sont délicieux,
Mon gentil papa était pâtissier, brillait chaque dimanche….
What is more beautiful than a tree,
That a magnolia in his garden,
That a camelia with red flowers,
That an olive tree talking about peace,
What is more beautiful than a tree,
Look at the flowery almond trees,
Each branch has its mystery,
Each flower offers a new dream,
What is more beautiful than a tree,
That a palm tree with gentle calm,
That a rhododendron and its vigor,
You too can lose your mind,
What is more beautiful than a tree.
Quoi de plus beau qu’un arbre,
Qu’un magnolia dans son jardin,
Qu’un camélia à fleurs rouges,
Qu’un olivier parlant de paix,
Quoi de plus beau qu’un arbre,
Regardez les amandiers fleuris,
Chaque branche a son mystère,
Chaque fleur a un nouveau destin,
Quoi de plus beau qu’un arbre,
Qu’un palmier au calme doux,
Qu’un rhododendron et sa vigueur,
Vous aussi pouvez perdre la tête,
Quoi de plus beau qu’un arbre.
you were walking along a blossom carpet
holding three yellow calla lilies
i could hear the blue river running along the rocks
toward the cullasaja falls where the water raged
we were like giraffes in the rain, first to feel the drops
in our perfumed outdoor living roam
we lived a fairy tale of here and now
we lived a fairy tale two feet off the ground
wilson’s warblers sang in their series of descending notes
and now we were just silhouettes in the sunset
eau sur peau et petits fruits rouges c'était nous
at treks end morning strawberry and cream grew wild
we could see nature’s pick dancing on the clouds
as we sat for biscuit tea beneath a popcorn sky
until the evening primroses announced another day done
time to embrace in the warmth of your silky touch
my eyes rain a sun shower on this our sacred globe.
I don’t like cats, really,
They scare away birds, pretty ****,
The robin, the blackbird so smart,
They think only of eating weaker than them,
That to jump the balls of innocent wool,
My garden had a sweet music yesterday,
Today it is quieter than a grave,
Cats scare away, nice birds,
They don’t see much further than their pretty nose,
Oh the caresses they expect, what false money,
Turn your back; they devour all your friends.
Je n’aime pas les chats, vraiment,
Ils font fuir les oiseaux, les jolies mésanges,
Les rouges gorges, les merles si intelligents,
Ils ne pensent qu’à manger plus faibles qu’eux,
Qu’à sauter les pelotes de laine innocentes,
Mon jardin avait hier une douce musique,
Aujourd’hui il est plus silencieux qu’une tombe,
Les chats font fuir, les gentils oiseaux,
Ils ne voient pas beaucoup plus loin que leur joli nez,
Ah les caresses qu’ils attendent, quelle fausse monnaie,
Tournez le dos, ils dévorent tous vos amis.
They shout hatred as blood flows
through veins full of rage and madness;
they fly the red white and blue
as lunatic rogues at the helm
rouse and incite flames of dormant lunacy
to claim a nation from under its democracy
well thought out? it seems not
but well suited for a carnival of insanity
for the whole world to see.
Insurrection!! shouts the Left
not so fast says the Right
let’s pretend this never was
But what’s a nation to do?
these aren’t foreign dissidents
penetrated unto our soil
but a homegrown bunch empowered
with guns, might and rights too
this creates far more danger
than ISIS could ever do.
How can it be; this country we love
harboring a homegrown enemy
defined in terror under the guise of the flag
and rights to Amendment Two
an entity if left to grow
shall cut off the neck of a country
once powerful and strong
now divided unto itself in two
an era that will fester like an open sore
if not soon put back together
will live with chaos for ever more
bring shame to a nation once highly exalted
why risk that—now or ever?
Let’s not forget how the world sees us matters
Let’s aim for humanity not disparity.
Cul du sac
Blood tears
Leaking
slowly
the empty face
emotions raped
red raindrops
fancy lollipops
empty glass
filling with sanguine color
drip
drip
drip
We are smiles
en chante
tous
les petits moulins rouges
tombe
casse
drink well from my veins
sleep in my tears
robbed of heart
faceless
fate has fermented
barrels of laughter
in the silent chamber
of broken dreams
Notes: Translations
Cul du sac = dead end
en chante = cheers
tous = all
Les petits moulins rouges = the little red windmills
tombe = to fall
casse = broken
Many have attempted bilingual art, music, song, film, and very few have had success, and yet for me, doing so is a bridge that joins the best of all cultures and heritages whichever they may be, so seeking less success, and more bridges to travel I carry on.
Kim's song in French
Lent son du saxophone ; je m'allonge
et j'écoute les paroles du bon vieux temps,
quand Paris était à la mode,
et que le temps de l'amour est révolu
pour la vieille fille sirotant du vin
à la terrasse d'un café ; fixant,
sommes-nous, les yeux d'un tableau
pluvieux et coloré ; romantiquement
par le son frémissant du saxophone ;
ses notes flottant sur la Seine.
Gouttes de pluie grises, bleues et cerisiers en fleurs ; un sourire subtil sur des lèvres rouges,
rappelant la beauté et les heures passées ;
claquement de talons et belle robe.
Paroles et vocables posés et assurés
régularisent mon cœur, réchauffent mes pulsations.
Une voix fredonne, tandis que les doigts du phoniste s'agitent,
fourmillent tous les sens ; variateur de cabernet.
Il existe une confiture de myrtilles,
Ne parlons pas de la succulente confitures de mûres,
De la marmelade d’oranges, de la confiture de rhubarbe,
Il existe des confitures rouges, des confitures vertes,
Une parenthèse exquise, la compote de pommes,
Il existe de la confiture de prunes, de reine claude,
De la confiture de poires, ou de fruits d’automne
La confiture de fraises que tout le monde adore,
La purée de marrons, la confiture de cassis,
La confiture de framboises, du petit sureau,
Et d’autres confitures de mangues ou de coings,
L’important dans la vie, c’est de toutes les goûter,
Pas d’en choisir une.
There is a blueberry jam,
Let’s not talk about the succulent blackberry jam,
Orange marmalade, rhubarb jam,
There are red jams, green jams,
An exquisite parenthesis, the apple compote,
There is jam of plums, of queen claude,
Pear jam, or autumn fruit
The strawberry jam that everyone loves,
Chestnut puree, blackcurrant jam,
Raspberry jam, elderberry,
And other mango or quince jam,
The important thing in life is to taste all,
Not to choose one.