"manon" poems - Hello Poetry

little ladies than dead exactly dance in my head,precisely dance where danced la guerre. Mimi à la voix fragile qui chatouille Des Italiens the putain with the ivory throat Marie Louise Lallemand n’est-ce pas que je suis belle chéri? les anglais m’aiment tous,les américains aussi….”bon dos, bon cul de Paris”(Marie Vierge Priez Pour Nous) with the long lips of Lucienne which dangle the old men and hot men se promènent doucement le soir(ladies accurately dead les anglais sont gentils et les américains aussi,ils payent bien les américains dance exactly in my brain voulez vous coucher avec moi? Non? pourquoi?) ladies skilfully dead precisely dance where has danced la guerre j’m'appelle Manon,cinq rue Henri Mounier voulez-vous coucher avec moi? te ferai Mimi te ferai Minette, dead exactly dance si vous voulez chatouiller mon lézard ladies suddenly j’m'en fous des nègres (in the twilight of Paris Marie Louise with queenly legs cinq rue Henri Mounier a little love begs,Mimi with the body like une boîte à joujoux, want nice sleep? toutes les petites femmes exactes qui dansent toujours in my head dis donc,Paris ta gorge mystérieuse pourquoi se promène-t-elle,pourquoi éclate ta voix fragile couleur de pivoine?) with the long lips of Lucienne which dangle the old men and hot men precisely dance in my head ladies carefully dead

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10.5k

E. E. Cummings

Little Ladies

little ladies than dead exactly dance in my head,precisely dance where danced la guerre. Mimi à la voix fragile qui chatouille Des Italiens the putain with the ivory throat Marie Louise Lallemand n’est-ce pas que je suis belle chéri? les anglais m’aiment tous,les américains aussi….”bon dos, bon cul de Paris”(Marie Vierge Priez Pour Nous) with the long lips of Lucienne which dangle the old men and hot men se promènent doucement le soir(ladies accurately dead les anglais sont gentils et les américains aussi,ils payent bien les américains dance exactly in my brain voulez vous coucher avec moi? Non? pourquoi?) ladies skilfully dead precisely dance where has danced la guerre j’m'appelle Manon,cinq rue Henri Mounier voulez-vous coucher avec moi? te ferai Mimi te ferai Minette, dead exactly dance si vous voulez chatouiller mon lézard ladies suddenly j’m'en fous des nègres (in the twilight of Paris Marie Louise with queenly legs cinq rue Henri Mounier a little love begs,Mimi with the body like une boîte à joujoux, want nice sleep? toutes les petites femmes exactes qui dansent toujours in my head dis donc,Paris ta gorge mystérieuse pourquoi se promène-t-elle,pourquoi éclate ta voix fragile couleur de pivoine?) with the long lips of Lucienne which dangle the old men and hot men precisely dance in my head ladies carefully dead

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~I remember... ~For my two sisters Future lovers Are not knocking on my doors, No line ups Around the corner Of my house; The ladder to my window Lies injured On yellow Lawn Not nurtured, Down bellow. On the Queen Anne arm chair Ashes of my Fabulous years, Wireless affairs, No strings Unattached To my violin. Sketches in the **** Of lovers past Are shivering, Longing for my tapestries, Trying, in vain, to hide Under sad sepia. Portraits, I promised To paint To Dorian Gray. May still age Given just a little More time. On the stage I, Manon Lescaut, die, Only sixteen - Poor Knight De Grieux Just another year, please, That I have not for sale Anymore. Pastels and aquarelles Turned monochrome; Chronos Doesn't stop here For a single moment - Walks all over. In the middle of my chaos 23/7 (What's an hour glass Or more?), Sleeps Master Behemoth. His fur coat Once luxurious black Has specks of grey, One white whisker; So are three of my hair. Wise Sybilla? I don't think so. It's not what It used to be, my Master Let's go out To the open Let's breathe, Let's see new cats. On the chopping block, Let's lose our heads Let's get lost. Let's elope together The weather Should be Just rainy-fine For the Requiem, For the funeral. Tree Sisters gone To the Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya, again, Left alone on the estate. Seagull, before rain Flies over my head For the last time. Author Notes Two of my sisters are gone already. Anton Pavlovich Chekhov's plays: Three Sisters Cherry Orchard Uncle Vanya Seagull ...To name just a few. Manon Lescaut by Abbe Prevost, two operas as well, one by Puccini, one by Esprit Auber. "A woman like Manon can have more than one lover." The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

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Oct 14, 2010

Oct 14, 2010 at 2:07 PM UTC

milushka

Cherry Orchard

~I remember... ~For my two sisters Future lovers Are not knocking on my doors, No line ups Around the corner Of my house; The ladder to my window Lies injured On yellow Lawn Not nurtured, Down bellow. On the Queen Anne arm chair Ashes of my Fabulous years, Wireless affairs, No strings Unattached To my violin. Sketches in the **** Of lovers past Are shivering, Longing for my tapestries, Trying, in vain, to hide Under sad sepia. Portraits, I promised To paint To Dorian Gray. May still age Given just a little More time. On the stage I, Manon Lescaut, die, Only sixteen - Poor Knight De Grieux Just another year, please, That I have not for sale Anymore. Pastels and aquarelles Turned monochrome; Chronos Doesn't stop here For a single moment - Walks all over. In the middle of my chaos 23/7 (What's an hour glass Or more?), Sleeps Master Behemoth. His fur coat Once luxurious black Has specks of grey, One white whisker; So are three of my hair. Wise Sybilla? I don't think so. It's not what It used to be, my Master Let's go out To the open Let's breathe, Let's see new cats. On the chopping block, Let's lose our heads Let's get lost. Let's elope together The weather Should be Just rainy-fine For the Requiem, For the funeral. Tree Sisters gone To the Cherry Orchard, Uncle Vanya, again, Left alone on the estate. Seagull, before rain Flies over my head For the last time. Author Notes Two of my sisters are gone already. Anton Pavlovich Chekhov's plays: Three Sisters Cherry Orchard Uncle Vanya Seagull ...To name just a few. Manon Lescaut by Abbe Prevost, two operas as well, one by Puccini, one by Esprit Auber. "A woman like Manon can have more than one lover." The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

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Rondeau. Fut-il jamais douceur de coeur pareille À voir Manon dans mes bras sommeiller ? Son front coquet parfume l'oreiller ; Dans son beau sein j'entends son coeur qui veille. Un songe passe, et s'en vient l'égayer. Ainsi s'endort une fleur d'églantier, Dans son calice enfermant une abeille. Moi, je la berce ; un plus charmant métier Fut-il jamais ? Mais le jour vient, et l'Aurore vermeille Effeuille au vent son bouquet printanier. Le peigne en main et la perle à l'oreille, À son miroir Manon court m'oublier. Hélas ! l'amour sans lendemain ni veille Fut-il jamais ?

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394

Alfred de Musset

Fut-il jamais douceur de coeur

Rondeau. Fut-il jamais douceur de coeur pareille À voir Manon dans mes bras sommeiller ? Son front coquet parfume l'oreiller ; Dans son beau sein j'entends son coeur qui veille. Un songe passe, et s'en vient l'égayer. Ainsi s'endort une fleur d'églantier, Dans son calice enfermant une abeille. Moi, je la berce ; un plus charmant métier Fut-il jamais ? Mais le jour vient, et l'Aurore vermeille Effeuille au vent son bouquet printanier. Le peigne en main et la perle à l'oreille, À son miroir Manon court m'oublier. Hélas ! l'amour sans lendemain ni veille Fut-il jamais ?

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