Verona Poems | Examples

Telling me you love me isn't the same as being sorry

I've seen the underbelly of your persona.

The despise you feel for La Verona.

A hate you spew because I'm a woman.

Hit me again, although you know you shouldn't.

And I know the examples life set before you, 

Didn't show you the conclusions you should have come to .

That when you're upset you should not bruise my body,

And telling me you love me isn't the same is being sorry.

P O E T , up and running phatic expressions, up and running it is!

Mirror 
mirror 
on the wall,

the pre decided fairest of all

When I utter fiancé ,
Did you see all kinds of fees incurred?

When I utter Feodor 
Fees and beyond?

And a lightyear and a “buraq”
With fifty turned five…

Did you witness Mosay bargained for you only
Never cared for me there
For a malar rash try?

So, black heads remover, do not be nosey
Happen in the adjacent vicinity
A science fair and phonetic verona
No black hole entry...


Too much in a day for a simple queue
For failed process of elimination (POE)
In an idiom try.

Even though whittled down, nothing more than a noise walls
For a city control (ctrl).

Verona

"Verona"


standing next
to the statue

looking up
at the statue

Juliet
where

for
art

thou

Weekend Memory

TYROL TRIP
Forty Christians from Southcourt Baptists,
Skiers,good,novice & the inactive;
On the flight from London-Heathrow,
Trusting Italy was full of snow.

Huddled in a coach past Trento,
Disembark in MSV's mountain shadow;
Crammed & cushed into th cable car,
Just in time for sckolade in the the bar.

Up early to claim skis & boots,
Dressed in salapettes & chic ski suits;
Wait in line for the revolving chairlift,
At the top,jumping off pretty swift.

Down & up the beginners' slope,
In a whiteout,with a prayer& hope;
Pasta for lunch,again & again,
But good to miss out of the English rain.

Learning the knack of forling fondue,
Joining the folk-dance,without a clue;
Saying danke to Karl the owner,
Back on the bus to airport,Verona.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

Skiing the Trip

Forty Christians from Southcourt Baptists,
Skiers,good,novice & the inactive;
On the flight from London-Heathrow,
Trusting Italy was full of snow.

Huddled in a coach past Trento,
Disembark in MSV's mountain shadow;
Crammed & crushed into the cable car,
Just in time for schocolade in the the bar.

Up early to claim skis & boots,
Dressed in salapettes & chic ski suits;
Wait in line for the revolving chairlift,
At the top,jumping off pretty swift.

Down & up the beginners' slope,
In a whiteout,with a prayer& hope;
Pasta for lunch,again & again,
But good to miss out of the English rain.

Learning the knack of forking fondue,
Joining the folk-dance,without a clue;
Saying danke to Karl the owner,
Back on the bus to airport,Verona.

Rose Oil

In Verona, his hand’s steady and grand.
Grateful eyes - he sees the gold in her.
With pomp regret, dear Mary’s knees, like sand.
The dynamite of God blows sin asunder.

The women carried her into life’s wake.
Her worldly goods, misunderstood, dismissed.
This Magdalene blushes fully awake.
She’s recognized - by Jesus’ heart she’s kissed.

The foreshadowing drop of jewelry -
the sudden shift of Mary’s soul - it’s light.
Her beauty breaks away from foolery.
The proud that scamped was blind - Jesus made right.

The colors on the artist’s palette toil, 
release the scene of royal scent - rose oil.

2/1/2022

https://www.parkwestgallery.com/peter-nixon-favorite-painting/

Love In Heaven

There you're my Romeo, finally here
So, away I let my last pearl of tear
In the coffin we held our hands staying near
For my love, death is not to be fear
Eh my love, isn't this place dear?

A Capulet and a Montague, it was our fate
With swords our families shared their hate
But you and me dreamed of a love date
The poison was a heal, what I ate
Finally, God brought us here, we aren't late

A lover you were, between the fight
So your heart love with filled was light
You glanced at the balcony to see me at night
"Juliet is the sun" said your sight
We both are now here, with an angel flight

I danced with you, wearing a ball gown
Into your love, you see, I drown
Towards our love, I saw my father frown
We left the feudal who wore the crown
Cannot they still understand love, see the earth down

In front of Christ, as husband and wife we flourished
Oft, they thought our love isn't distinguished
So, from Verona were you banished
Time passed, but our love never vanished
Here, in heaven, Romeo and Juliet isn't finished

You Can Sit On a Cactus There

Romantic Ramona from Verona
     Fell hard for a matador named Jonah
        She hopped on a plane
        Headed straight for Spain
     Found out Jonah lived in Arizona

Tyrol Takeaway

TYROL TRIP

Forty Christians from Southcourt Baptists
          skiers  good,novice & the inactive
on a flight from London-Heathrow
        trusting Italy was full of snow

Huddled in a coach past Trento
    disembark in   MSV's mountain shadow
    crammed & cushed    into the cable car
just in time   for hot scholate   in the the bar

Up early to claim skis & boots
     dressed in salapettes & chic ski suits
wait in line    for the mountain chairlift
at the top   jumping off   pretty swift

Down & up      the beginners' slope
in a whiteout     with a prayer& hope
Pasta for lunch     again & again
but good to miss out      of the English rain

Learning the knack of     evening  fondue
joining the folk-dance    without a clue
saying danke          to Karl the owner
back on the bus      to   airport Verona

   Year Posted 2007

Lesbia Discussed Catullus' Poetry

I’m not some filthy ****
who calls your poems 
a joke; I like them. 
But here’s advice, 
take it or ignore it:  
You lard a poem with myths 
that weigh it down; half 
the young no longer know them. 
In the next poem you introduce a talking door. 
Do doors talk in Verona? 
You use diminutives to excess, 
little this and little that, 
perhaps some little thing 
is worrisome to you.  
Virgil wrote of agriculture, 
Lucretius physics, 
you count our kisses – 
a thousand, hundred, hundred thousand kisses kissed, 
too many kisses to account for.
For you breezes are like overdrafts,  
kisses coins, and lost investments 
are like losing love.  
You probably count the napkins after dinner. 
As for metrics, I’m old fashioned, 
prefer the epic beats and elegiac, 
not the polymetrics and the tricky 
new ones you employ. 
You steal from Callimachus 
and from Sappho too. 
Worse of all you mix artifice and feeling.  
It’s time you found a manly voice 
to speak of love and pleasure                                                                                                           as we know it, not from some book.

The Girl From a Small Fishing Village

I saw her speaking but only heard music.
And wondered of the sanity of love, whatever it is that love might be.
I heard Mozart’s violin concerto number three.
I heard her speaking it to me.
The Adagio, like the rhythmic tides in a ternary form at eventide on the rocky shores of the Hudson.
Such is the splendid D major as the crickets play one octave higher with the wind playing an A major.
I hum in A sharp and the fog horn in the distance a forlorn B minor.
The wine works quickly, tempers the mood. 
Too drunk to write so we sing. Too tired to dream so we think. To weary to wish so we wander.
Lest the moon forgets to show us the way, we will set up camp beneath a bench staring up at the wild Verona sky like so many years ago.
Her jet black hair has purple hues in the moonlight.
Her red lips yearning in the chill of an autumn morning. Many years ago.

Yea, It's Me

I'm from the Planet Corona
And no I ain't been to Verona
So I won't take the blame
Cause it's always the same
Attacking my virus persona

An Alarm, Not a Charm - Corona

Thy never punishes but nourishes
Wisdom out of boredom
It's the outbreak of fellows
With merely civilized mellows
Who brought Corona to verona
And made coward with Covid
Nature freaks survival to revival
From vicious to virtuous
Choice of voice on good over bad
To raise against or praise...
Break it or else u fake 
Pray for not to be prey
Are the sufferers the doers...?
It's an ALARM, not a charm!!

Holy Chocolate

Off to Mass 
on holiday in Verona 
only a big note to offer
I turned aside
Bought a bar of chocolate 
to receive lesser notes.

Beside the service book 
there in the pew
the squares of chocolate with new
status in my conscience grew.
Together with a lesser note 
should I offer it?
A lady formidable 
held the plate.

At the close of Mass 
the chocolate transcended 
into a holy bar -
one to be shared
confusion squared
in both penance and feast.

Soliloquy and Silhouette

SOLILOQUY AND SILHOUETTE

Soliloquy and silhouette, a lively dance,
A sideways glance, such dalliance of form.

In Verona, this jester must be serious. Stance -
Shoulders back, feet set, just right. The storm -

Soliloquy and silhouette, in perfect pirouette.
A swordfight ensues, a riveting Capulet and Montague feud,

As Romeo’s ear, inclines, to the unabashed harkening of Juliette.
At the balcony’s base, he’s starstruck. She’s her lover’s only food.

Her fair skin camouflaged in dark shadow.
The beauty of the heart pounds out words.

Time tolls for bitter foes, who will reap a sorrowful low.
A family feud - a causal sacrifice of dove-like birds.

Silhouette of two, carried through the darkest night.
Mourners gather in the emptiness of absinthian gloam.

A rebirth - two families freed from their shackled sight.
Too late for angels, so far from their home sweet home.

9/10/2017
Silhouette Contest

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