The fingers of the housewife do more than a yoke of oxen.
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One hair of a maiden's head pulls harder than ten yoke of oxen.
The single mother
The word bastard has lost its stigma.
Having child without marriage is no more a sin
Single motherhood has come as a welcome sign.
The yoke of marriage is dispensed with.
The word chastity has lost its meaning.
Having affairs is not construed as shame.
No need of pre or extra marital.
The yoke of commitment is dispensed with.
The word husband has lost its standing.
No need of a man to head a family.
Sex without obligation is his blessing.
The yoke of monogamy is dispensed with.
The word father has lost its identity.
The pleasure of servility is gone.
To work for posterity is stripped.
The yoke of sweat is dispensed with.
The word mother has retained its strength.
Pleasure of her identity is established.
Possessiveness of woman is not threatened.
The yoke of bondage is dispensed with.
Man and woman are as free as cave men.
Variety in sex keeps their lust feeding.
Want of companionship will doom their end.
The yoke of orphanage will soon threaten.
01.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All Hallows
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
Sleep in their blue yoke,
The fields having been
Picked clean, the sheaves
Bound evenly and piled at the roadside
Among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
Of harvest or pestilence
And the wife leaning out the window
With her hand extended, as in payment,
And the seeds
Distinct, gold, calling
Come here
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree.
poem by Louise Gluck
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I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Mouse Droppings
When she saw brown dots upon the rug,
and more upon a chair.
The poor housewife was certain
several mice resided there.
“I’ll need a cat. Or perhaps two,
quite possibly I’ll need four.”
“This quantity of scat demands
a feline killing corps.”
Just then her rotund husband
opportunely wandered in.
with a bag of Nestle morsels
and brown stains upon his chin.
She watched him munch a handful,
several dropping to the floor
Hard to believe someone that fat
had ever missed his maw.
No killer cats were needed
if spouse droppings was the source.
What the housewife really needed
was a lucrative divorce.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Sonnet- Yet, God Is Just
Oh God, must human heads bear such big loads?
Should napes of Oxen take such heavy yoke?
Yet, everywhere, abound such human toads!
White-collared-criminals, smooth-tongued, who smoke.
Oh God, what ignominy men suffer?
What weather-beaten faces live on earth?
What roughened hands result from hard labor?
How many get orphaned ever since birth?
0 God, how poverty invites deceit?
How fate decides a life unfortunate?
The world believes in pomp and show /conceit;
Nevertheless, aren't we fortunate?
Yet, God is just and kind to all earthlings,
Takes care of, loves the least of His beings.
poem by John Celes
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House Wife Affair
I been having my housewife affair for awhile
which my husband doesn't even care about!
They are all performed in the comfort of the home
And I never have to ever dress up, or go out!
These men that live in our home
are Kenmore, and then that other fella, Hover!
They're my kind of secret men!
They are shakers and, real movers!
One takes me around and around the house
as he sweeps me across, clean floors!
The other pampers my clothes in bubbles
and sometimes, even helps me, clean above the doors!
Then one can be as cold as ice!
But does take me to the kitchen to dine.
And sometimes makes me coffee
Aromas, waking me up, before the stoke of nine.
I don't think I'll let my husband in on it
these other men I have in my life!
I'll just pretend, that they're my secret lovers
helping just another, imaginative, overworked, housewife!
poem by Linda Winchell
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A Housewife's Lament
I've had enough of the kitchen sink
So I think I'll pour myself a drink,
The hoovering has all been done,
Oh a housewife's life is full of fun!
The vodka helps me pass the day
And drives my empty blues away,
What would my husband really think
If he knew that I was on the brink
Of a nervous breakdown like my friend,
The neighbour who 'went round the bend'?
Can you imagine what he'd do
When all his mates and colleagues knew
His wife was in the loony-bin,
Oh what a terrible social sin! !
It wouldn't be long before divorce
(MY fault indeed, not HIS, of course!)
But then, at last, I would be free
And escape this bourgeois tyranny,
I'd get a job and buy a flat
And say goodbye to all of that!
And I would be so very happy
Never to change some baby's nappy,
Never to feel I was second rate,
Heavens above, it would be great! !
Well you have listened to my tale,
One housewife's long and bitter wail,
So come and join me for some tea,
Some valium and sympathy! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Beast and Man in India
They killed a Child to please the Gods
In Earth's young penitence,
And I have bled in that Babe's stead
Because of innocence.
I bear the sins of sinful men
That have no sin of my own,
They drive me forth to Heaven's wrath
Unpastured and alone.
I am the meat of sacrifice,
The ransom of man's guilt,
For they give my life to the altar-knife
Wherever shrine is built.
The Goat.
Between the waving tufts of jungle-grass,
Up from the river as the twilight falls,
Across the dust-beclouded plain they pass
On to the village walls.
Great is the sword and mighty is the pen,
But over all the labouring ploughman's blade--
For on its oxen and its husbandmen
An Empire's strength is laid.
The Oxen.
The torn boughs trailing o'er the tusks aslant,
The saplings reeling in the path he trod,
Declare his might--our lord the Elephant,
Chief of the ways of God.
The black bulk heaving where the oxen pant,
The bowed head toiling where the guns careen,
Declare our might--our slave the Elephant,
And servant of the Queen.
The Elephant.
Dark children of the mere and marsh,
Wallow and waste and lea,
Outcaste they wait at the village gate
With folk of low degree.
Their pasture is in no man's land,
Their food the cattle's scorn;
Their rest is mire and their desire
The thicket and the thorn.
But woe to those that break their sleep,
And woe to those that dare
To rouse the herd-bull from his keep,
The wild boar from his lair!
Pigs and Buffaloes.
The beasts are very wise,
Their mouths are clean of lies,
They talk one to the other,
Bullock to bullock's brother
Resting after their labours,
Each in stall with his neighbours.
But man with goad and whip,
Breaks up their fellowship,
Shouts in their silky ears
Filling their soul with fears.
When he has ploughed the land,
He says: "They understand."
But the beasts in stall together,
Freed from the yoke and tether,
Say as the torn flanks smoke:
"Nay, 'twas the whip that spoke."
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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I have become a housewife and there is no better job.
quote by Celine Dion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How many times these low feet staggered
187
How many times these low feet staggered—
Only the soldered mouth can tell—
Try—can you stir the awful rivet—
Try—can you lift the hasps of steel!
Stroke the cool forehead—hot so often—
Lift—if you care—the listless hair—
Handle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble—more—shall wear—
Buzz the dull flies—on the chamber window—
Brave—shines the sun through the freckled pane—
Fearless—the cobweb swings from the ceiling—
Indolent Housewife—in Daisies—lain!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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If you are a housewife, take pride in that.
quote by Anthea Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter I)
A man named Job, lived in Uz;
He was an upright, blameless man;
He was a God-fearing one too;
He turned away from all evil.
He was the greatest in the East;
He had a wife and children ten-
Three daughters and sons seven.
He owned a lot of animals-
Sheep- seven thousand,
Camels- three thousand,
Oxen in yoke- five hundred,
Female asses- five hundred,
Beasts of burden- many more!
His birthday was held by his sons;
Their sisters came to eat and drink;
Job blessed them all and sent away;
Next day, he offered burnt offerings;
He did this often telling God,
“Perhaps, my children have sinned, Lord! ”
When angels came before Yahweh,
Satan too joined them, one day;
The Lord asked him, “Whence do you come? ”
And Satan told, “By roaming earth,
And going on lands, back and forth.”
God asked, “Did you notice my servant Job?
There’s none like him upon the earth! ”
Satan said, “Does Job fear You for free? ”
“You placed a hedge around his house;
You’ve blessed his work in abundance;
Just touch his things; he’ll renounce You.”
God said, ‘You may test him but spare his life.’
So, Satan went from God to earth.
One day, when job with family ate,
A messenger gave him bad news:
‘Sabeans took your asses, oxen,
Killed all servants, just I escaped’
Another told, ‘God’s fire fell down
And burnt the sheep and servants all;
Just I escaped to tell you this.’
A third one said, ‘The Chaldeans
In three bands took camels away
Killed all servants and sped their way,
Just I escaped to tell today.’
A fourth one said, ‘A fierce wind came
Flattened your house and left all dead,
Just I escaped to tell you this! ’
Job shaved his head and tore his robe,
And fell upon the ground, prostrate.
He worshipped God, his Lord and said,
‘Naked I came from mother’s womb,
Now, naked shall I too return.
God gave and took; Bless’d be His name! ’
Job didn’t sin nor God, did he blame.
poem by John Celes
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The beauty of a housewife will not put more fat into the soup.
I don't pretend to be an ordinary housewife.
quote by Elizabeth Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woe to being a housewife/househusband, you buy one thing, you don't have two others.
There is but an hour a day between a good housewife and a bad one.
I have too many fantasies to be a housewife. I guess I am a fantasy.
quote by Marilyn Monroe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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