Short Italians Poems
Short Italians Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Italians by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Italians by length and keyword.
Italians make pizza
Scotties bake cake
Russkies drink vodka
Indians bathe in the lake
Swiss craft chocolate
Germans craft beer
Saudis play golf now
Brittney's been Speared
All Russians are named Sasha
Frenchmen like Pierre
Italians go-go for Leonardo
Americans just don't care
You see, here in the US of A
There really is no way ~
Until the middle 20's or so
The wind blows either way
Ze French, they are haughty
Kremlinites, vulgar, crude
Le artiste charcoal sketches
in the unvarnished nude
Brits keep a stiff upper lip
Pointy-shoed Italians think they are hip
Ukrainians fight like the dickens
their stockpiles reduced to slim pickens
Ferociously fought Footballer's in Fray
French storm did Italians fend off fairly
Materazzi muttered malicious mouthful
Zinedan Zidane zealous - headbutt was calous
Chest of foe concave became
Fell to pitch - victim o' Zidane
Red card issued - final curtain
Frenchies lose - Zidane for certain
As Michael slay the dragon under God's command
Reni and Palumbo outstretched their hands
As that ancient serpent was finally cast away
Young Jacopo the dyer painted all the day
As the seraph vanquished the devil forever
Raphael began his draught board endeavor
Finally the mighty spear had met its principal foe
And the brush met the canvas for Giordano
At
first
a fib
nothing more
or that’s what he thought
but one economical truth
wasn’t enough, so his spinnerets spun some fresh lines
one needs fairly few words to speak the pure truth, but many more so to hold up a lie
______________________________________
N.B.: dedicated to my two of my favorite Italians, who share a "growing" propensity.
and maybe Sylvio Berlusconi, too.
In India some gods come in cast systems
Deity solids molded
Gold plated with a hint of soul
Orange blossoms grow in China
They touch and feel of divinity
Italians keep images of Him on the mantle
Crucifixes around the neck when they go out
Enchanted Indonesians go bump in the dark
They know when they hit into something old
Embrace the cosmos
Made of flesh made in His own image
In space meteors bounce off of Him
They tickle
I could say she’s very lovely
Her complexion as smooth as silk
There’s no doubt in its verity
but she’s of a different ilk.
No words can express her beauty
To try would be a futile whim
The words would be a blaspheme-
To parrot them would be a sin.
Frenchmen would say vous êtes beau
A hackneyed phrase she heard before;
Italians, siete bello
Same old phrase from a different shore.
The fact is, her” beauty is truth”-
An ephemeral time of youth.
The Twizzlers that I eat are red.
They’re great, but what they lack
Is that special flavor that’s reserved
For licorice that’s black.
I bought a yard of it when on
An Italy vacation.
To Twizzlers this stuff only has
A very slight relation.
For Italians love their anise
So their candy is imbued
With the punch this seed does carry
And its matching attitude.
I could kick myself, believe me,
‘Cause I only bought a yard
And when it is gone, the loss of it
Will hit me very hard.