They would put their foot Into everything,
why not open your mouth and I'll give you a ping;
government is ousted, maybe freedom is related,
first time I kissed, I found all this hype was overrated.
L'amour for sure, I'm going on the guided tour,
I had an Eiffel but they just closed the door,
Sacre Coeur was a blur, I was clamouring for more,
Notre Dame burnt down but I still went, what for?
Montmartre licked me in the rain, a nice fountain,
your lips pouted, abnormal but became same again;
prefer to stay on the outside, just an english kiss,
but when you're offered an opening, too good to miss.
Al this writhing activity left me feeling rather weak,
but there was no need to worry, it was tongue in cheek.
Categories:
sacre, baptism, confidence, cute love,
Form: Sonnet
Perhaps I was too weary, perhaps I slept too long,
Now I must find my Army, but every turn seems wrong.
"Where's Nancy?"
My head is hurting, my feet are sore, and I really don't feel well.
All I want is to find that river, the one they call Moselle.
~ but~
"Where's Nancy?:"
I don't know why they left me. I know where they must be.
They're fighting Germans far to the north in a town they call Nancy.
"Where's Nancy?"
I finally find the river. I hear the bombs loud noise.
Sacre' Bleu. I see my team. I can join the Army boys.
~And best of all~
"Here's Nancy".
*Nancy is a town in France. American forces
had a skirmish there during WW2.
Categories:
sacre, war,
Form: Rhyme
Sea level rises... glaciers gradually melt
Global temperature is climbing the cliff.. Beware
But hey, G H gases don't exist.. Global warming is a myth
Throw everywhere in the streets, plastic and filth
Eat, and just leave disposal plate somewhere, anywhere
And dump wrappers in oceans and water pith
Basic unit of food chain, the shells are getting extinct
Reason... Ocean Acidification... Be sacre, be very scare
But no, water won't mind industrious wastes, they think
A tiny killer virus has taken over the world, bit by bit
A pandemic! To the modern man was rare
Thousands died, yet to them this pandemic is bullsh*t
And would say, don't take vaccines, it' ill make you impotent
Don't wear the mask, it'll make you look stupid, beware
And that Vac contain micro spying chips... Damn it
Mother Earth is in ICU, we made her a patient
Her blood polluted, poisonous is her air
Yet, all is well, to them these problems never exist
Human's STUPIDITY is making us all extinct
3rd April, 2021
Categories:
sacre, earth,
Form: Villanelle
Stings of sharp coldness
and side aches were the last
of her worries
Her broken toes straggled uselessy
Branch after twigs clawed aboust her
Sharp rocks and stickers no longer
made a difference
She ran no matter what
Blood rushing from her head
made her delusional
Her head was bleeding
She felt as she was running
in circles
Dark as midnight
She was blind running for her life
She heard a sharp whoosh
Felt the impact
Her bloody head betrayed
by her executioner fell to
the use less ground
as she
Categories:
sacre, abuse, anger, conflict, courage,
Form: I do not know?
A Paris icon nearly lost to fire
Its roof has now gone and its famous spire
There's talk it was an electrical fault
Before the fire, relics' moved to a vault.
Help quickly arrived they had to move fast
The people of Paris just stood aghast
All over the world it was on the news
Flames engulfed the spire and even the pews.
The icon of course is the Notre Dame
To have lost it would have been a great shame
Over nine hundred years it has stood proud
A magnet for tourists, always a crowd.
And thankfully that day nobody died
Many were in shock, many people cried
But it was saved from being totally lost
'Twill be restored but it's going to cost.
Still go to Paris there's other grandeur
The Eiffel tower or the Sacre Coeur
Faithful can still pray, God is everywhere
You don't need a church to say a prayer.
Written 16th May 2019
Sent from my Windows 10 device
Categories:
sacre, fire, paris, prayer,
Form: Rhyme
Villanelle : Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Pull Pound down tear veil off event horizon holes
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Invent a machine feed it Homeric fire
No enjambement perfect rhyme rhythm metre folds
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Whoever tops the charts which poem's ire
Shines through Apollo's defiant mien Zeus scolds
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Ne'er short the naive champion of the ephemère
Paid up club member the mutual backscratcher roles
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
Machine that thinks can it rasa taste inspire
Mete out criteria merit sound sense enfolds
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
Art of artifice best profits business liar
Poets at the stakes burn to free the poems' souls
Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire
All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre
© T. Wignesan - Paris, December 15, 2018
Categories:
sacre, appreciation, art, business, poems,
Form: Villanelle
Is this a love
Fog not able to see the road
And your carrying a knife to
Pick my heart
If you cut my chest you gets tow piece of it
What should you do I am not telling you are a killer you have a right to do that because I am
Telling you no law beyond this
Law never understand what is love
But our love live a mark so never sacre
How much I love you is how much I hate you
With love all
Jagdish Bajantri
Categories:
sacre, 3rd grade, 4th grade,
Form: Blank verse
time held me
full fresh lush
and green in
golden vibrant spring
songs rang to
a silent pulse
throbbing beneath my feet
from a presence
sensed unseen
a heady fragrance
rides on air
from blooms diverse
in shape and hue
the pungent loam
of opened soil
yields a generous bounty
of fruit from
the fertile earth
let us be one
among all that moves
playing to the music
of the intimate dance
of time and light
Categories:
sacre, i am,
Form: Free verse
'Neath the Sacre Coeur,
Firecrackers bursting nearby,
Nelly first kissed me.
20141003
Categories:
sacre, anniversary, celebration, firework, paris,
Form: Senryu
Moulin Rouge in the sunset sky
The clouds hold their skirts and kick high the cancan
The hill where I stand
As Montmatre
And I in some small way
Like Sacre-Coeur
Look on affected by the scene
Pierre August Renoir or Claude Monet
Would paint this
Were they able
Categories:
sacre, dance,
Form: Free verse
Scarce a year it was before my birth,
that Lindy set The Spirit down
at Le Bourget one night
and all the old voitures
as suddenly lit up the runway
with their headlights.
as he taxied to a stop.
Thirty years beyond, I landed there
from fair Bruxcelles and it was day;
the city of the light took rest
avant le gaiete of night—
there was no welcoming:
"Attencion Monsieur,
you are in zee way,"
and my attempt at French
brought only curious stare.
"Et je n'ai pas de plus argent
and little more to bear me home
to Orleans. Je suis un etranger
dans ma cite des grandes lumieres, "
I thought, and sent my fond farewell
to Brussels and its wondrous minature
Etats Unis and Circarama
still unknown in fifty years back here.
Sacre Bleu! C'est incroyable
that naked little boy in Belgium,
and the Champs above the catacombs
in Paris, now still flaunt their youth,
their vibrancy, as I advance
to that dim room somewhere
when irony prevails—where Lindy,
luckier than I, will share with me
the just equality of death.
~
Categories:
sacre, travel,
Form: Free verse
Just a saggy-sad dumbfounded Basset Hound
Got claimed at the doggone-it lost puppy pound
Just hangin' out now and nosing around
Waiting for my supper to get back from town
Hooray! A dog's life for an ole' English lass
Can't hear very good, my rep's rather jaded
Sprawl out by a tree where it's cooler and shaded
Spread eagle, ya' know? Who cares, I been spaded
(I just rolled in something bio-degraded)
Ah so! A dog's life for an ole' English lass
My pack leaders walk on their hind-quarter parts
Go figure how they mastered THAT get-around art
I tried it once ( No it weren't very smart)
Threw out my back, God bless my British heart
Sacre bleu! A dog's life for an ole' English lass
Ah ha! Do I hear the purring of a car?
Door slamming, uh-oh, this is rather bizarre
The big one is carrying that smelly little bar!
C'est la...Wait! That's French (What a POODLE I are)
Blimey! A dog's life for an ole' English Lass
7/6/2012
For Tanya Harrington's "Dog Gone Tales" contest
Categories:
sacre, pets, life, life,
Form: Monorhyme
Blizzards!, My Gizzards!,
This Blustering Bloke,
Keeps Mustering Mayhems With Words That He Spoke,
Great Snakes!, Eureka! and Holy Cow! Too,
Crimey! and Gadzooks! and A Tempestuous Toodle-Doo!,
Shazam! and Golly Willikers! with a Pinch of Vamoose!
Scram!, Gosh Damn!, and a Final Sacre Bleu!
Categories:
sacre, funny, parody, people, satire,
Form: I do not know?