Quotes about encore, page 13
Une main sur sa robe lâche: La paix fraîche (French poem)
La paix n'est pas une trahison de ceci aimé
La paix est pas une seule chanson de ronflement.
La paix est ma belle fille
Elle tombant de nouveau à moi qu'elle est un tenir le premier rôle que je peux voir ici je sais que vous êtes là, quelque part ici je ne s'ennuiera pas de toi ces cheveux bouclés je ne voudrai pas manquer l'odeur de cet aimé.....
Je sais vous reviendrez un certain jour où je prie que vous êtes là, espère quelque part ici que vous vous rappelez m'appaling encore…. Je ne manquerai pas ce linteau pourpre que je n'embrasserai pas cette belle paix de fibre n'est pas vraiment une paix de bavardage n'est pas une seule main sur sa robe pourpre.
La paix n'est pas une affaire gitane.
La paix n'est pas une prière de avaler
( Transl. of poem: A Hand on her loose gown: The cool peace )
poem by Thampi KEE
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It's Great To Be An Actress!
Yes, it's great to be an actress - in fact, it's fun-derbar!
And with a measure of success, perhaps I'll be a star!
To wear the finest clothes on Earth like catwalk models do,
Can give a girl a sense of worth to thrill you through and through!
To talk in accents not your own is quite 'der challenge' yet,
It's up to you, your skills to hone! Get all that's there to get!
Portray in every way you can the character within...
That's how to please the fervent fan who wills you on to win!
Perform in plays and tv shows, plus adverts, films and such!
Make friends with amateurs and pros - each one can teach so much!
Success or failure! Come what may! An actress I will be!
You'll watch me on tv, one day! Yes, just you wait and see!
You'll beg me for my autograph, signed pictures and much more!
Yet when I'm gone, my epitaph will simply say, 'ENCORE! '
poem by Denis Martindale
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Ecrit sur la vitre d'une fenêtre flamande
J'aime le carillon dans tes cités antiques,
Ô vieux pays gardien de tes moeurs domestiques,
Noble Flandre, où le Nord se réchauffe engourdi
Au soleil de Castille et s'accouple au Midi !
Le carillon, c'est l'heure inattendue et folle,
Que l'oeil croit voir, vêtue en danseuse espagnole,
Apparaître soudain par le trou vif et clair
Que ferait en s'ouvrant une porte de l'air.
Elle vient, secouant sur les toits léthargiques
Son tablier d'argent plein de notes magiques,
Réveillant sans pitié les dormeurs ennuyeux,
Sautant à petits pas comme un oiseau joyeux,
Vibrant, ainsi qu'un dard qui tremble dans la cible ;
Par un frêle escalier de cristal invisible,
Effarée et dansante, elle descend des cieux ;
Et l'esprit, ce veilleur fait d'oreilles et d'yeux,
Tandis qu'elle va, vient, monte et descend encore,
Entend de marche en marche errer son pied sonore !
poem by Victor Hugo
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A Poet Of Our
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poet Of Our Time
He doesn't like non rhyming poetry ignore what he has to say
About your fashionable writing you are the poet of the day
Your thoughts on paper are as deep as the ocean you are a wise one indeed
You are an emerging writer as a poet you will succeed
Everyone has their opinions no two exactly the same
He doesn't like modern poetry but he has not sullied your name
It only means you are a good writer when others your works criticize
You are a poet of the future you've won a literary prize
At poetry nights you read your verses and always for you there's an encore
You feel so proud and so happy when the audience they beg you for more
People love you for your poetry see you as a poetic great
But not everyone as you know your success will celebrate
He is a man of the fifties he only likes poems that rhyme
So many do love your poetry you are a poet of our time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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L'Ange de mes Nuits
Je t'attends ce soir,
Comme à l'accoutumée,
Après avoir prié,
Où mes paupières closes, dans le noir,
Sont collées; parce que tu es venue encore
.
Belle et charmante, les tresses de tes cheveux
Lèchent la surface entière de mes pores.
Je ne me réveille pas même pour arroser la commode.
Tendre et délicieuse, tu portes les dernières modes
Dont je n'ose ni décrire, ni dessiner.
Tu es la voisine que je ne reverrai point.
Tu es parfaite et tu prends grand soin
A me peindre toute la soirée,
Jusqu'au moment où le ciel n'est plus étoilé;
Puis je revois le jour. Triste sort, j'étais heureux.
Maintenant, la ville est inondée et il pleut,
Jusqu'au fond de mon âme.
[...] Read more
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Journey Man
Eclipsin' the sun, with the moon blue,
Traipsin' off the path beaten, true,
He's got the world in an empty can,
Sadly nowhere is the Journey Man.
Son of none, of daughters unsure,
He's the disease to his own cure,
Consilience with many a spirited clan,
Sadly farsighted is the Journey Man.
Oh, he be recallin' those dark days,
Spent in a maze of evanescent haze,
Lone the sigh, in his hand a trepan,
Sadly passionate is the Journey Man.
Call forth his sun, a black star,
His wyrd shall his radiance mar,
Life sacrificed for Destiny's plan,
Sadly condemned is the Journey Man.
[...] Read more
poem by Lucius Sulla
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Life Is But A Stage
Like a fly drawn to a web... As I am to you,
The scent of you fills me with hope only to be dashed,
Trapped once more in your deceatful embrace,
My lungs no longer expand with the breath of life,
Your embrace has become like a death grip upon my soul,
No longer able to see the truth from the lie,
Like a second rate actor who has forgotten his lines,
Desperately hoping someone will share life's script,
All the scenes have become like a blurr of agony,
The writer abandoned this play as a lost cause long ago,
But the play goes on regardless,
So we have to endure opening nights pain,
There shall be no encore to this portrait of existance,
Lights shall dim, audiences shall vanish,
Some may laugh, others may weep, some may ponder,
But the play shall end... And all shall cease to be,
What shall you learn from the role of your life? ...
Spread the love... The peace will folow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Ballade: Legacy
Within a stalk of fennel hid,
Prometheus took fire for
some poor ancestral hominid,
infuriating Zeus in lore.
Our forbears lived by nature's law
and myth to truth is paradox,
yet when they cooked their food from raw,
they travelled paths unorthodox.
Zeus fashioned clay in counterbid,
first woman, cursed with moral flaw.
Pandora batted sweet eyelid,
Prometheus refused, wherefore
Zeus chained him, while an eagle tore
his liver flayed upon the rocks.
When Titan sought mankind's rapport,
he travelled paths unorthodox.
Zeus gave a jar and then forbid,
Pandora look into it's maw.
[...] Read more
poem by Diane Hine
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Who I Am
Mon nom est Elizabeth,
pas Emily Tyrrell,
j'ai déplacé plusieurs fois,
Angleterre, France, Scottland, New York, Nébraska, Missouri, et le Nébraska encore,
tous les endroits que j'ai étés ne comparent pas à maintenant,
je vivent avec mon père,
choses sont meilleur,
j'ont des amis,
je peut réellement les voir,
j'a trouvé l'amour de ma vie
Son nom est Ethan,
ma vie suce toujours,
mais elle va mieux,
chaque seconde de chaque jour,
je suis une étape plus près de salut
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Tyrrell
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