"aida" poems
**Aida, Aida, I'm not yet done.
Have you heard that I do not run?
I never ran away from my fears.
For you, I will never shed a tear.
Aida, Aida, did I get your attention?
She was lying to get your appreciation.
I never imagined you'd never figure out
A lie that screamed "I'm a lie!" out loud.
Aida, Aida, can you hear me now?
When you leave, I won't give a bow.
Unlike Boo who treated us well,
Even if he just smiled, that's all I can tell.
Aida, Aida, do you not understand?
You can't tell us where we should land.
Give us the freedom to explore our path,
for you to earn our respect, not wrath.
Aida, Aida, I'm no hater of yours.
I understand where you're coming, my words aren't forced.
You want us to reach the stars instantly.
But it doesn't work like that. No. Not that quickly.
Aida, why do you look down at us?
Aida, why do you think we're nothing?
Aida, I will never let this pass.
Aida, I won't let this keep on happening.**
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
So you tell us we do not amount to anything,
and scream in our brains that we are nothing.
But before you speak, have you seen,
The efforts we have been exerting.
Aida, before you tell us anything,
Please know what you are saying.
Have you seen the efforts we made outside these walls,
and all the things we've been through, we won't fall.
Aida, please listen, I know you're busy,
If you dig deeper, you'll smell something fishy.
We did this because you provoked us all
In order to accomplish, we must throw the ball.
Aida, do you know the story of our humble beginnings?
If not, you don't have the right to treat us like you're the one who's winning.
You are not one of us, Aida.
You will never be like us.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Grand splendor
of the
Aida Opera
always leaves me
breathless
*Deception, Love, Treason
Oh my heart
aches for her loss...
Justification for ones country
priests who deceived
so wrongly...
Suffocation
under the marble pillars
angel of death drawing near...
Oh God!
My heavenly kingdom!
wait!
my soul has arrived!*
Now I can see it
O Nata Lux
The light.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
In contrast with the cold morning air,
The house was cozy and warm
As we all arrived to participate
Like worker bees starting to swarm.
The smell of pork and refried beans
Permeated the room.
The champagne bottles were chilling on ice--
How much did we consume?
Sally brought some egg McMuffins.
I thought, "Something's amiss:
Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°°
What kind of party is this?"
But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.
The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited
Marisa's kneading hands.
While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us
Listened for Sally's commands.
After a brief champagne toast,
Our assembly line started.
Everyone had a job to do;
It wasn't for the faint-hearted.
Spreading the masa on the husks
Was a messy task.
I wondered, "How many will we make?"
But I was afraid to ask.
It wasn't very long before
Everyone in the casa
Was practically covered from head to foot
With fluffy tamale masa.
We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped
While Sally entertained us.
The conversation, laughter, fun,
And champagne all sustained us.
The wonderful smells of lunch also
Encouraged us to work hard
Lest we be known as shirkers and our
Reputations be marred.
But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada
After a few hundred tamales,
The masa was getting low.
I said, "Yay! We're almost done!"
But Alice said, "Oh, no.
That was just the pork; now we're
Making chile and cheese."
Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon
And said, "More hojas,°°°° please."
On and on we continued to work
Like hive bees making honey.
But it was worth it, for these tamales
Are more valuable than money.
Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie,
Aida, and Sally know why--
As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen,
Marisol, Nancy, and I--
We always look forward to getting together
For laughter, fun, and cheer
And this spirited, heart-warming gathering
Whenever December is here.
Homemade tamales can't be beat
When made in our special fashion
With love, care, conviviality,
Warmth, goodwill and passion.
I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.
__________
°tamale-making party
°°Mexican sweet bread
°°°dough
°°°°(corn husk) leaves
- by Bob B
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 8:53 PM UTC
"Ninì Santoro, il fine dicitore,
maestro di eleganza e di maniere,
il re del music-hall, il gran signore,
debutta questa sera al Trianon".
Guardanno 'o manifesto, chi liggeva
penzava: certo chisto è n'artistone.
Tenevemo st'attore? E chi 'o ssapeva!
Stasera stessa mm' 'o vaco a ssentì.
C' 'o tubbo, 'a caramella e nu bucchino
d'avorio giallo, luongo miezo metro;
un fazzoletto bianco nel taschino,
ncuollo nu frack 'e seta blummarè
Tutt' 'o teatro illuminato a giorno,
na marcia trionfale comm' "Aida",
Santoro ascette e cu na faccia 'e corne
pareva ca diceva: "Eccomi qua!
Mo v'aggia fa vedè chi è Santoro,
il fine dicitore, il fantasista
ca quanno arape 'a vocca caccia ll'oro,
oro colato 'e primma qualità".
'O pubblico ansioso s'aspettava:
chi sa mo ch'esce 'a vocca a stu Santoro.
Ma ch'era ascì... Santoro 'ncacagliava,
faceva smorfie, zumpe e niente cchiù.
Nun fernette nemmeno 'o riturnello
d' 'o primmo raccuntino d'avventure,
quann'uno arreto a me: "Santò, si bello!"
('Ndranghete!) E allazza nu pernacchio 'e nuvità.
Fuie cumm'a nu signale 'e na battaglia,
mancava poco e nce scappava 'o muorto:
'e sische mme parevano mitraglia.
Santoro nun putette continuà.
"Ll'artista" se facette 'a mappatella:
'o frack, 'o tubbo, 'o fazzuletto bianco,
s'annascunnette pure 'a caramella.
Dicette: "Aggio sbagliato,.. Ch'aggia fà?".
Trent'anne so passate 'a chella sera
che il fine dicitore fantasista
pe fforza avette chiudere 'a carriera
a beneficio dell'umanità.
Aiere steva scritto into 'o giurnale che:
"dopo varii e lunghi appostamenti
è stato assicurato un criminale
alla Giustizia delle Autorità".
E chi era, neh, stu disgraziato?
Santoro... il dicitore fantasista,
ca, pe magnà, al furto s'era dato
o pover'ommo pe putè campà.
Io penso che fu l'epoca sbagliata;
trent'anne fa tutto era n'ata cosa.
Oggi che il nostro gusto s'è cambiato
Santoro fosse na celebrità.
653
Oh dear Aida ! Ma soprano lyrique
Je te mordille le lobule de l 'auricule
Je grignote l'hélix et je fouine dans l 'anthélix
Je visite ton auricule.
Ce soir je suis chaton de lynx
Ténor lyrique
Je te danse ma marche triomphale
Je suis Général cinq étoiles
Radamès l'Egyptien
Et je m'entortille la trompette dans le labyrinthe de tes cheveux
Comme dans une pelote de laine
Et je miaule et je ronronne :
"Aïda, mon éthiopienne,
Fille d'Amonasro,
Ci-devant esclave d'Amnéris, ta rivale,
Je suis ton esclave patenté
Ensevelis-moi vivant
Quand le moment viendra
et pends un de mes osselets à tes boucles d'oreille
Pour chanter ma mémoire "
Et joignant l'acte à la parole
Je t'administre un gentil piercing de mes griffes.
Et pendant que je te fais mon piercing
Toi tu joues aux osselets avec mon marteau,
Mon enclume et mon étrier.
Tu me dévores le vestige de mon oreille
Et tu me dis : "tu m'aimes maintenant !"
Je n'entends plus que le bruit de l'eau
Qui se mélange aux violons et aux cymbales
De l'orchestre philharmonique
Qui m'envahit comme le déluge
Et je te livre tous mes secrets
Et je m'accroche à tes cheveux
Soudain bleus avec des reflets verts
Comme tes ongles d'ailleurs
Tous verts sauf les pouces qui sont bleus
Pour combiner avec mes oreilles noyées.
N'est pas chaton de lynx qui veut
N'est pas maîtresse de chaton de lynx qui veut
Il faut accepter d'être lacérée de coups de griffes
Certes le félin se retient
Mais il a beau retenir ses griffes
Il est encore gamin
Il ne sait pas qu'il blesse
Il ignore que tu saignes
Il est innocent, le petiot,
Il a tout juste un mois bientôt
Et aux innocents les griffes pleines.
Et tu es maternelle
Tu lui prépares son lait
Et quand il pleure la nuit
Tu l'accueilles volontiers dans ta couche
Heureux les chatons de lynx
Gloria in excelsis deo
Car c'est enterrés vivants avec leur muse
Qu'ils connaîtront le paradis.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:38 AM UTC
Aida on stage,
brown queen's divine voice must climb,
for love redefines.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC