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Face Concealed Under My Hat (Revised)
I waltz into the office after lunch, brag about my
new Mafia hat which makes me look like a rich widow
- my colleagues looked askance, said Rich Widow -
you hope; I amended it to The Merry Widow - Franz
Lehar's operetta, I can see me on stage singing,
face concealed under the brim - but receiving
less enthusiastic response from a working crowd
I hung it on a hatstand to look impressive among
silver chains, xmas decorations already finding
their way there and a white scarf with silver
glitter; going home I took it with me to look
again at the toy in my hands - not wishing my
realistic family to burst my bubble too soon,
I hid the hat, as yet a game too new
To have shattered, a dream I'll treasure until
ready to let go of what it means to me…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The 'Viduate Dame
'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe,
And she goeth upon the spree,
And red are cheeks of the bystanders
For her acts are light and free.
In a seven-ounce costume
The widow of Thomas Blythe,
Y-perched high on the window ledge,
The difficult can-can tryeth.
Ten constables they essay
To bate the dame's halloing.
With the widow of Thomas Blythe
Their hands are overflowing,
And they cry: 'Call the National Guard
To quell this parlous muss-
For all of the widows of Thomas Blythe
Are upon the spree and us!'
O long shall the eerie tale be told
By that posse's surviving tithe;
And with tears bedewed he'll sing this rude
Ballad of the widow of Thomas Blythe.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Song For Heroes
Captain O’Hare was a mariner brave;
He refused to abandon his ship;
A hero, he sleeps in a watery grave—
And his widow is now Mrs. Bipp,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Bipp!
Henri Dupont was a fearless young ace;
Five thousand feet up he was hit;
Each year on his grave pretty flowers we place—
And his widow is now Mrs. Schmitt,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Schmitt!
Corporal Dunn was a volunteer bold;
He plunged in the deadliest fray;
A bayonet thrust laid him out stony cold—
And his widow is now Mrs. Gray,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Gray!
But Peter McGuck was a cowardly sneak,
Like a hound he remained home in fear;
When fishing one day he fell into the creek—
And his widow is now Mrs. Greer,
Haw! Haw! Haw!
Mrs. William O’Houlihan Greer!
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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The Black Knight's Song
Knight And Wamba
There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
And where was the widow might say them nay?
The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
For she was the widow would say him nay.
Wamba
The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay;
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?
Both
So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Black Widow
I just love my nightmares
I cant wait to sleep
Enjoying all my dreams
Got no regrets
I can be a flash of lightning
Striking down on rocks
Burning down the law
Getting things I never got
Turning the world
Nothing unheard
One night can be more than a day
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
I cant stand the dreamers
Scared of things that fly
They just have sweet fantasies
And fade and die
Nightmares - are so good, so good
And they always end just when they should
Nightmares are cool, nightmares are cruel
I love the fun and the thrill
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
Black widow
Just like a black widow
Here comes the morning
And who can deny
Leaving the dream is so hard
I love my nightmares
I await their return
And this time, Im dressed to kill, dressed to kill
Just like a black widow............
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you die, your sister's tears will dry as time goes on, your widow's tears will end in another's arms, but your mother will mourn you until the day she dies.
A rich widow weeps with one eye and laughs with the other.
A rich widow weeps in one eye and laughs with the other.
A rich widow weeps with one eye and signals with the other.
When you are dead, your sister's tears will dry as time goes on, your widow's tears will cease in another's arms, but your mother will mourn you until she dies.
A Coin Of Little Worth
I have seen and liked
silver coins stamped
in ancient Greece Rome
these usually carry the image
of supposedly great men
kings emperors face in profile
but their deeds were often
treacherous harsh cruel
wars these started for more
wealth slaves land to rule
my favourite coin
is a very small coin
tiny of little worth
that a woman with nothing
once gave at the temple
a very very long time ago
My Lord praised her
for giving all her livelihood
for giving more than
all gathered rich worshippers
combined because
proud rich gave a percentage
from all their amassed profit
a percentage calculated
based upon requirements of
law; but a poor woman gave
everything she had
based upon her own giving heart
it is written how Jesus sat down;
with the treasury chests in view
observing how the crowd dropped
money into the treasury chests;
many rich people were dropping in
many coins however a poor
widow woman dropped in only two
small coins which had very little value;
these coins became known as the widow's mite.
Jesus called his disciples and said to them
"Truly I say to YOU that this poor widow
dropped in more than all those dropping
money into the treasury chests; for they
all dropped in out of their surplus,
but she dropped in all of what
she had, her whole living." Mark 12: 41-44.
For the love of God.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Widow of Massacre
Some said she lost,
None said she crossed,
Nothing was known clear
Something about her was fear.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
If asked, she never say,
because witness you can pay,
She lost hee husband,
Then lost her hand.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
Behind her, there're stories,
Behind stories, there's worries,
Her village was ambushed,
And in bullets, washed.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
She survived the claws of wild,
After death of her single child,
Finally she ran to this village,
Where we paid her homage.
Everything, though said
She's a widow of massacre.
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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The Poor Boy’s Christmas
Observe, my child, this pretty scene,
And note the air of pleasure keen
With which the widow’s orphan boy
Toots his tin horn, his only toy.
What need of costly gifts has he?
The widow has nowhere to flee.
And ample noise his horn emits
To drive the widow into fits.
MORAL:
The philosophic mind can see
The uses of adversity.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid
If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.
A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
A widow is froward, and never will yield;
Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.
A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.
A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.
The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
But too well all their beauty they know to display;
But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.
Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
If to marry with any I be not afraid;
But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Weeping Widow
(robert wright)
Published by belwin mills, ltd. - ascap
Weeping widow, dont you cry
Dressed in black, I dont know why
All the time that youve been waiting
You should feel like celebrating
Hell make you free as a bird in the sky
Free as a bird in the sky
Look out stranger, here comes danger
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy
You better take care, you know youve got to beware
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy, weeping widow
Weeping widow, spend your leisure
In you castle full of pleasure
When his spirit comes to haunt you
In your chamber, he will taunt you
Hell make you free as a bird in the sky
Free as a bird in the sky
Look out stranger, here comes danger
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy
You better take care, you know youve got to beware
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy, weeping widow
Weeping widow, dont you cry
Dressed in black, I dont know why
All the time that youve been waiting
You should feel like celebrating
Weeping widow, you gotta run
Weeping widow, you better see whats in store
Weeping widow, you better run
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are you rich?
Because parents are rich
I am not rich.
Because brothers or sisters
Or in-laws are rich,
Because own children are rich
I am no richer.
Unless I myself am rich
I cannot be rich.
Too late to understand
And hence poor I went.
Agartala
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A beautiful fun!
In a midnight,
I heard someone whispering,
sweet heart, come to me very close.
no, no, I won't do this.
O.K. I just go out!
Right now,
first, switch the light off.
Then room became dim-lighted.
I kept one of my eye on key-hole.
The scene was going heart-throbbing,
I couldn't keep watching too long.
O' shit!
I am a widow,
I have no right to pay attention,
towards the things of such type.
I have to live like a widow,
every desire, every wish,
is not for me.
I have to live without love.
I can't love any person.
because, I am a widow.
I have always to live
like a saint! like a nun!
What a beautiful fun! !
......................
poem by Sushil Kumar
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The Black Widow
These words he speaks are true
We're all humanary stew if
We don't pledge allegiance to
The Black Widow
The horror that he brings
The horror of his sting
The unholiest of kings
The Black Widow
Our minds will be his toy
And every girl and boy will learn to be employed by
The Black Widow
Love him
Yes we love him
Love him
Yes we love him
He sits upon his throne and picks at all the bones of his
Husbands and his
Wives he's devoured He stares with a gleam
With a laugh so obscene at the virgins and the children
He's deflowered
Love him
Yes we love him
Love him
Yes we love him
Love me
Yes we love him
Our thoughts are hot and crazed
Our brains are webbed in haze
Of mindless senseless daze
The Black Widow
These words he speaks are true
We're all humanary stew
If we don't pledge allegiance to
The Black Widow
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On entering
Dementia gone
A widow now
A hand extends
To lose her tears
poem by Michael Oliver
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