Take That Rosetta!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Take That, Rosetta!.”

Oh!I'm taking it, and will fly
to Tokyo, on the next vacation, and I'm learning Japanese,too
if you please, (s'il-vous-plait!)
The last Time, I was there, some twenty years ago,
I visited the Emperor pavilion on a tour, a visit on-site-seeing to the wing-lot, open to public section.
The tea house, with the geisha in Kimono preparing Japanese tea ceremony, and all the solemn rite, meticulously unfolded before our eyes; the bow before sitting, the receiving guests, the turning of the bowl  with the fingers while holding it with the other, sweeping the rim, the bowling water in iron pot, all in all. There was a scroll pined to the wall of an alcove, a beautiful drawing with a poem,I must say,from passing centuries, that attracted my eyes.
But sorry, I couldn't read it, although the guide had explained the meaning to us, foreign visitors, I didn't get it, in the moment, and forgot about it.
It took me  sometime, and a library, to discover_ Zen in the Japanese culture, a book of D.S. Suzuki, 
and fall incidentally in love with Zen, green tea, tea house, and all the charivari like; to the point to build a tea house in my backyard, to indulge unsweetened Japanese green tea, and listening to the wind crisping the pine tree needles
I hope you got it, too, Zen
Oh! Rosetta, sayonara, wish you were there

Poet n’ troubadour|Soul-of-my guitar

http://poetreecreations.org/2014/06/23/passing-time-square-promote-yourself/

Thanks to http://poetreecreations.org/author/poetreecreations/, Gillian Sim, by them I get published my poem above,

The poem must resist the intelligence, Almost successfully.

_http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Stevense

 “Companionable.”

Soul-of-My Guitar

 Sometimes, when you get the Blues
 or The Nana of yours, she is jalous.
 That whe You feel lonely, to-night
 and in your heart, insides, it tears

 I harken to the Soul-of-my guitar,
 I hugged that Old'-companion of mine

 It's my Pêché-Mignion, my glass of wine
 My-bread-and-butter, my Duchess
 It's My guitar, my Gitane*, my muse.
 
 Keep your laughers, and your tears,
 and your sarcasm, and also please
 Doesn't matters if my sorrow that's ye amuse

 we had, an _á peut-prêt, this small talk
 T'was two o'clock in morning, I suppose
 This kind of a language, I propose,
 and a lit'le of your time, I may dispose
 if you please, and I will take
 
 I said to her: "Longtime no-see, dear"
 She said: " I was just  sitting here,
 already set, with all my frets
 Longing for your fingers,
 on my neck to linger
 I was all the time Resting on a chair,"
 I was "Just gathering some dust_
 And you were always  at a hast,"
 "You fled for a woman,and her hair,"
 Now, that you come back to me,
 with heart-broken, at last
 And for my hard strings always to press_
 At seventeen, I know L'Amour, ç'a blesse."
 I'm longing for your caress,
 I am weeping, Can't you see it?"
 with some reproach in her voice,
 She said: "can You believe it?"
 I said: " Ain't  got no choice"
 "mais encore", she said
 I said, "Strike a chord"
 "It doesn't mean a thing," I plaid
 "Seise the thing,"  she said,
 "and let it go"
 Grate the strings,
 just add a touch,
 some Sol La Si and the such
 And Say it low
 And the words will follow
 And put some rhymes.
 It works sometimes
 Then, there you get the Blues,
 And you'll be at ease"
 I said: "tonight.
 " I have to write,
 she  said:" and it's will be alright,
 just get it right."
 "And you are done with that beautiful mess"
 
__At a wee hour, I felt like my soul of a poet, and a troubadour, I ceise my companionable guitar 
so  I just gave it a try, and see what happens, like bonjour, it's five morning
_Kalimelo

*Gitannes, a trademark of French cigarettes, and it means also, a gypsy woman fortune-teller

*gitane, a gypsy woman_ Frensh Dictionaries

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/strike-a-chord/

The sitting it’s the thing|’T was at the Blue-Note|a Blog for no regrets

 

image

Courtesy to: fantasy sports


We met at the end of the party_Philip Larkin

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/because-the-night/

 

T’ was at the Blue-Note,

Un soir, peut-être

A soirée too singular

The ones you never forget

she was just sitting there…

In the heat of the night

I was taking  note.

a complain moaned, from the clarinet,

Miles Davis, it was in the mood.

you never felt so good,

after that.

She, about  a vignette, she wrote,

in a sudden she left

for the piano-bar or to the waiter,

there ever we met

 

 

‘T was at the Blue-Note|a Blog for no regrets

 

I got the Blues
Jazz-it up_kalimelo

 

image

Courtesy to: fantasy sports


 

Because the night

‘T was at the Blue-Note,

un soir,  peut-être,

a soirée too singular

that you never forget.

She was just sitting there…

In the heat of the night

I was taking  note.

A complaint moaned, from the clarinet,

Miles Davis, it was in the mood.

you never fell so good,

after that.

She was, about  a vignette, she wrote,

Then, in a sudden she left

for the piano-bar or to the waiter,

there ever we met