"riviera" poems
*
The girl that I like is young, quite petite, I might add
Bluish-greenish turquoise eyes, like the forest and the sea combined
Her voice, a sweet, gentle overtone; the ocean, calm waves that reach ashore
The breeze, blows the forest trees; a rustle, soothing to the human ears
Her skin that luminesces; the white sands of the Riviera Maya
Here and there, little sprinkles of darker sand on her pretty face
Her natural dark, red hair, as fiery as the midday sun,
And her lips a vibrant red, that melt you in the summer days,
So warm and cozy as the winter rays.
*
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Watchin' bikinis as they stroll,
they show a lot of skin, but not much soul.
You're out of your league boy, but that's OK.
Tomorrow could be your lucky day.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together,
till my skin turns into leather,
down on the Redneck Riviera.
"4x4s" sportin' bars-n-stars.
Ball caps and tank tops, their hittin' the bars.
Tattoos gettin ********* scarin' "tourys" away.
It's alright Ma tomorrow's a beach day.
And if you ain't a "toury"
you're runnin' from your past.
FBI, DEA or maybe the IRS.
Past wives, past lives, AWOL.
Everybody knows you here, but no one will tell.
Non-com fly-boys with their Amerasian wives,
bringin' 'em to America, given 'em better lives.
Some stay together, but others will roam.
They'll hit the street for money like they did back home.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together.
Frankly Scarlet I don't give a **** about Tara.
I'm down on the Redneck Riviera.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
Call me your seaside goddess
your riviera darling
I'm made of honey
and saltwater and lavender
I won't stay for long
I have to leave soon
But I'll live forever
in your memories
My demonic charms
will haunt you forever
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
I need the beach
sand in the places
where
it's hard to reach
the sea
clotted cream and
strawberry jam for tea
You
at my side when
the tide comes in
bingo and
sin, oh!
the devil
says no
so
sand eels
fishing reels
catch of the day.
B and B
you and me
double room
ideally.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
I felt your skin
strip away from me-
you said you’d be right back-
as you slipped into foreign bodies,
lips soft with easy dinners,
who forgot the lightbulb burning out,
the lid left rattling on the counter,
a suit of pots dented, stacked,
steam lifting from a rust-ringed drain.
That studio in the Texas Riviera
was never meant to last-
brown carpet, AC rattling,
bass beating through drywall,
neon from the Whataburger sign
bleeding through blinds.
We were two beautiful accidents
in a month-to-month, always paid late,
your sweat a spell pressed into my skin,
ankles grinding on parking lot gravel,
the road outside a forgotten promise.
And when you smiled I held you
like a chipped glass,
rim still sharp enough to cut.
The ember died against porcelain,
the glitter was swept with the crumbs.
Your armor slumped in the pantry corner,
rusted tins, lids unfastened.
You walked away, naked and ordinary,
the light left buzzing in the kitchen-
outside, asphalt slicked with oil-sheen,
my body, also, dissolved
into the shimmer of the road.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 10:51 PM UTC
A time from now, we'll put the French Riviera to shame
with the spellbinding travesty
of our **********
The stars that grazes the Monte Carlo sky must realize that they've never even really shined once they witness how my eyes will glisten with rapture as you taste me for the very first time.
Oh, we'll hush the musicians of Vienna with the rhythm of our moans, the terrifying yet invigorating song of your gruff voice begging for more.
As we succumb to each other's biddings, the world shall be left helpless with no other choice than to watch.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
The diaper fell to the floor
assisted by a tiny hand.
A grin spread from ear to ear
“I am free and here I stand.”
Freedom is short lived it seemed
On it goes, “I must have dreamed.”
“I try so hard to be cool.”
“They said something about a stool.”
Sixteen months and training for,
The Riviera... “I'm out the door!”
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 11:48 AM UTC
near three years, nearer to eclipses,
since last scribed here, been there
been loved, mistreated, done my share
of giving beatings, for the deserving,
never been any body’s ****** no starting
now=ever.
men look at me, their eyes self-seducing,
a crook(ed) finger never summoned me
or any self respecting woman of valor,
with a full fist of words, a tongue sharper
than a deli slicer, if looks can **** then
left my fair share of men on the Riviera,
the Hamptons, the Gold Coast, uptown
and way downtown where the cool kids
pretend play @ being prey hunting grownups.
ya, hear your thinking and it’s stinking,
my generated magno-electric vibes that’s
to blame, get this kids! never your fault
being whom you the actual F are, it’s their filters
that ***** their vision, their desires unbidden,
casual dispensed, thinking glory is theirs to share.
my road is not broken, there are signs even I spot,
when the man I crave is nearby, whose calm is not
couched cool, who doesn’t wear his possessions on
his sleeve, one who says adventure, yes, let’s go,
never saying when, for the only when is what both crave,
the loving of immediacy of “right now,” and add
to that pithy, my name, Brandy, acknowledging it’s
me, just me, he addresses and not some vision that
was crafted by others into an ideal, and ‘because’ is
not sufficient but the perfect rationale, to trust what
your absent father called your *“finely tuned instincts for
human finery, humans who eclipse ordinary stars*”
Jul 15, 2023
Jul 15, 2023 at 7:57 AM UTC
When I look at you
and your hundred photographs
with some smiles saying cheese
while you are busy making some material memories.
You tend a click a shooting star
or perhaps a new born flower.
You capture the reindeer
and get a video of a someone drinking beer.
Those likes that please
and the validations that they give.
Is it really what matters ?
Would you still click the riviera
instead of lying on the grass ?
or would you take a moment to breath
or post just another smiley ?
Its a never ending cycle.
Communication through light
and distantly distant on the inside
You still don't bother
and still request more friendships.
Do you still long for those hugs and
that little chemistry.
Do you still wish to hold hands
or the ups in your heartbeats.
I still wait for a whisper,
telling me that you love me.
I wish to wake up besides you
and not for a beep.
But there’s you
and your Fake Dopamine.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC
I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.
There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.
No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.
And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.
Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get ***** hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?
Let’s wax poetic..
Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.
*If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.
I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.
I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.
That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.*
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
I WAS! DESIGNED! IN CALIFORNIA!
MANUFACTURED IN CHINA!
I WAS! DESIGNED IN CALIFORNIA!
MANUFACTURED IN CHINA...
that's all the U.S.A. seems to be,
an advertising conglomerate,
oink oink it's like three blind men
and Donald Trump:
one touched his egoistic *******
impression and said it was the Mississippi
mud-hole Riviera,
another touched his overweight cheeks
and started to chuckle while calling ************
a bulldog salivating with the cheeks
choke on chuckles you chimpanzee:
chuck chuck, whatever onomatopoeia
five cents spare...
and the last blind mind touched the
over-comb quiff... and he said: by god!
the wind hairstyling grass!
while the Russians sold off Alaska historically,
and are selling bits of ******** Siberia
bit by bit to the Chinese,
evolutionary implementation
of Pan-Eskimo...
you need eyes like slits akin with excess
camel eye-lashes to survive the cold...
like i told you, Russia will end up shrinking
into a border enclosure limited to
starting between Belarus (the ******* Tsarist **** bags)
the Baltic states and Ukraine and ending at the Urals.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
I call this one the limbo week,
Where everything lies on the verge, on the peak
of an outbreak of sorts; the end of an era,
Staring out towards the French Riviera,
Still waiting.
May 11, 2011
May 11, 2011 at 7:42 AM UTC
i have always thought that
i was beautiful, but i never
took it seriously until you
started looking at my skin
like it is made up of the
brown and gold paint strokes
on a Diego Riviera portrait.
you are a lovely, imperfect
conglomerate of atoms
ever changing, in my eyes
you are the big bang.
and i've always hated the
idea of becoming someone
who wishes to control the universe
but you've made me this way.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
if a kiss is worth a thousand words
then with you,
i could talk all night/
converse bilingually/ fluently
we could discuss
the french riviera in spring time
& how lovers stroll through the park
singing/ a clair d’lune
or
you could be don juan
under a window enveloped
in flowers of red/ serenade me
with your spanish tounge
& sweet smile
while the mariachi band plays
amor/ but
if a kiss is really worth
a thousand words
then we could talk
in a language of our own
cause your lips
seem to understand mine/
talking to me/ softly touching
/smoothly matching
like a missing link
making a conversation with you
worthwhile
where words are never wasted
but always well spoken
& unrehearsed/
i like the way you speak to me
black man
so come to me
with your lips
so eloquent & full/
tell me your dreams
whisper me your secrets
in a mellow tone of kisses/
come/
i am listening
& with a kiss
i will answer
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
Snow,
deep and white
fell
sometime
in the night, but
I was alright
snug in bed.
Under the snow lies the world that I know,
the ***** and grubby
and yet it still snubs me,
I don't want the snow to go.
Under Waterloo Bridge,
another shelf in the fridge, a cruel World for some
where the Sun doesn't shine and it's cold all the time
designed to be beat
dead on their feet
a bed on cement
backs bent by the day
lay the broken and cracked.
A fact of society.
Snow came as a blessing,
one more white dressing for
the ulcerated trunks of
incapable drunks.
Do you see them?
the jetsam
do they worry you?
they will if you let them.
I bet some of them had lives
children and wives,
washed out in the flow now
thoughts covered in snow now
and it's cold outside.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Rows of oiled bodies
of every shape & size
line the shore.
From gigantic thighs
to smooth flat lines,
tons of human meat,
dot the landscape.
O what an escape,
such a wonderful treat,
to see such diversity
glistening
under the Riviera sun.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
Since I've started carrying a Green Screen
With me everywhere I go
I've started seeing more action
Than I ever could possibly have known
If I find myself in a hurry
I just dawn my cape
Set the screen to the sky and fly
As the Man of Steel no worry unless I Green Screen Kryptonite
Now instead of going to the Office
I set up the Office in back of me
In the corner with a view a hot secretary or two
And a Boss that thinks the world of me
Whenever I need a vacation
I just push on this button right here
Whatever my mood to what spots I include
Could be the Swiss Alps or even The Riviera
And when I go out for a night on the town
In the comfort of my home
I make sure that the screen shows a lot of people with me
So that I never am alone
Yes, since I started carrying this Green Screen
With me everywhere I go
I've started seeing more action
Than I could ever possibly have known
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:54 AM UTC
I never promised you
a million dollar home
with a Porsche
in the pavered driveway,
a huge closet full
of glittery Versace gowns
or cases of Dom Perignon.
I never said
I'd give you
three trips a year
to the Italian,
let alone the French Riviera.
Isn't one Prada handbag enough,
why do you have to have four?
I know I promised you
my loving heart,
which I tried to delivered.
But you whispered
when you left,
I wasn't good enough
to deliver
the goods you really wanted.
So long,
keep your Miss Dior,
*****
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
she stands in front of me wailing inside; statuesque, freckled, sad smile, whimsical face, hard to describe. there was a subtle depth in her aura.
says, "i've given up on my life taking any faerie tale turn."
at those words,
i wanted to be everything to her.
i wished for the passion of romeo, the charm of casanova, and the beauty of dorian gray.
if only
to take her on a ride through the back streets of naples,
to traipse about the galleries of the louve,
to sleep on the sands of a riviera,
to love under a thousand magical moons.
but with my heart in my throat, I could say nothing.
in that moment, her eyes gleaming at mine, a sadness unveiled itself.
this doubt enshrouded in her crimson locks;
wanting so much of the unknown, but always staying with what is sure.
sixteen years old-
already bought and sold.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
I want to dance under the Northern Stars,
and harmonize with the birds in Rio.
I want to taste wine on the shores of the Riviera,
and swing from the trees in the Amazon.
I want to walk the beaches under the African setting sun,
and swim with the fish off the Coral Reefs,
I want to reunite my soul with where it has been,
before it was within me.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
From the Eiffel tower
to the french riviera
The louvre where the
Mona Lisa hangs
Time for a ride down
the seine river where
our love drains
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 6:52 PM UTC
Walking through a dim lit street,
recent rains pleasant stench lurks in puddles,
and the puddles, which reflected softest starlight,
the odd cars steady rumble as it passes,
the softening heart in the loneliness,
that when he leant upon the sandstone balustrade,
delicately ornate along the rivers edge,
and watching the canal boats drift on by,
as did time.
he in his depth and solitude, pondered
all his steps, wondering which step was wrong or simply,
out of place.
He had lost that which he had placed the
most value, and sadly it beat him down.
Tho' the starlit riviera, of this damp town,
was a quick relief to his aching
heart, which were torn asunder,
from a ill-thought blunder.
Oh well he thinks, as he walks down the lengthy path,
beside the starlit reflective river.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
Don't stop now, Ireland is
just beginning to warm up.
Imagine, an Irish Riviera,
a Costa Brava, an Algarve.
Olives, Cotton, Oranges, all
thanks to carbon emissions.
Don't stop now, it is a form
of weather discrimination.
Welcome to Ulster where the
red hand of Lucifer awaits you.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 1:41 PM UTC
When you were here,
way back when,
I loved you.
You were distant,
always distant.
And yet, I loved you.
But now, silence.
Ten years have passed,
Eleven since I last saw you.
You came to my house, remember?
You felt the finality as much as I did.
We both knew it would be the last time.
You had a cane.
Your clothes hung on you like rags.
Your face was gray and gaunt.
I have your Cleveland Indians hat that you wore that day.
As you left, you stumbled.
Conscious of the fact that I was watching you.
And I was.
Frail and weak.
Yet, you wanted to see me.
You pulled away in your Buick Riviera.
I cried.
Our time together, tumultuous.
But you were in your prime then.
Full of life and red of face.
Smooth and calculated.
Bold.
But then, the flame flickered,
the candle melted.
The pineapple meaning "welcome" on your front door,
seemed to be lying.
I made choices.
To protect myself.
Because I couldn't watch you **** yourself.
I couldn't beg you to get help any more.
I was angry.
Angry that love wasn't enough.
I'd always heard it was.
It wasn't.
I miss you.
You were the best and the worst of my life.
I live daily remembering you.
You gave me no choice.
What a gift to give!
I wish you'd never given such a vile present.
"Is it o.k. to go to Heaven now?"
Sure.
Go.
Maybe I'll see you there.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
A reproof of scarlet riviera
darken its seance that acclaim unforetold entrance
of lactose hence virtual lecture,
edifice with preponderance in guidance if hesitation
ready hinders them entertained by inordinate *** and
whether garish is gruesome for glutenesque and
intricately hard to maintain as their distraction is subliminal
that pain is debilitating and overwhelming in modern lifestyle.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC