I blame my mother for my poor sex life. All she told me was 'the man goes on top and the woman underneath.' For three years my husband and I slept in bunk beds.
quote by Joan Rivers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whore! ! !
Whore! ! !
Man meets woman she was working the night
Man falls in love boy she had him in her sight
Man says the Thunderbolt struck, she uses it to take all his might
Whore! ! !
Man makes so many mistakes including divorcing his wife
Man gives woman EVERYTHING his body, his soul, his life
Man leaves all that he knows behind in just two weeks with the woman, only now he feels the knife
Whore! ! !
Man provides and protects the woman taking all her cares away
Man completely changes his life thinking that God blessed him that day
Man shuts out all his friends to make more time only for her, all he wants is for her to stay
Whore! ! !
Man is stunned and shocked when the woman won't defend
Man knows this is the issue and he will no longer pretend
Man sees the woman for who she really was and knows he cannot mend
Whore! ! !
Man is torn, twisted like a knife in his throat and he can't breathe
Man knows woman has done this before but yet he still doesn't want her to leave
Man begs, pleads, bears his soul, loves her with every fiber of his being and still will believe
Whore! ! !
Man learns even more about the woman and cannot believe what he hears
Man is told woman just did it with another poor sap, now he realizes his fears
Man knows now there's no honesty or loyalty with the woman, says no more years
Whore! ! !
Man thinks this whole love thing is just a bunch of bunk
Man now knows this woman was and is a Whore! , but he's strong and refuses to be in a funk
Man is done with the Whore! , and all the girls are back on me, yeah they love doing the dunk
She Was A Nice Old Lady
Does it really matter one little bit at all
If only her family and her few friends memories of her do recall
She was a nice old lady that much of her I did know
But she did not die easily her end painful and slow
I had not seen her for somewhile but sad am I to say
That this evening one who knew her told me she was buried yesterday
In the flesh she will not be seen walking in the park again
But fond memories of her in those who knew her are destined to remain
Pre-deceased by her husband he died ten years ago
Their only offspring a Granddad in his late fifties the years on him begin to show
To her son she was a good mother and to her husband she was a good wife
A kind and caring person and one who did love life
Since her husband life departed she had lived on her own
She did not have a public profile and she was not well known.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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More Of A Man Than Me
She said that he was more of a man than me
Though he cheated and committed adultery
He does not work so he doesn't have a job
So all he knows to do is to lie and rob.
He told her that we was a very noble man
But he still knew that she was a married woman
He asked her to cheat on her husband true
And she didn't care as to that she wasn't new.
She would go visit him while I, her husband slept
And that secret to no-one did she kept
Her daughters and friends knew of the affair she was in
And they knew how once again she committed that sin.
She and him with her children now live in his house
They belong to no-one but a forgotten spouse
He’s commits crimes of sin against his soul and GOD
To man and woman he is nothing but a fraud.
Now she lies and steals and puts the blame on me
For her weak soul and mind and her adultery
A woman I know now she truly never was
As she cheats and steals and lust as a whore does.
She went to school thinking that will erase her past
But that's a game she plays as her sin will always last
And the lies she tells others so her they will believe
But all any soul has to do is look at her and see.
So now I think of what to me that she had said and done
While the thought of being true and devout she did shun
I remember when she said he was more of a man than me
But neither of them knew of truth, honor love or honesty.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Husband.
Husband is someone;
You spend most of your life with.
And with him;
You are for years.
My life has become strong;
For my husband is not wrong.
My life has become independent;
For my husband never let me dependent.
My life has become pure;
For my husband had every cure.
My life has become romantic;
For my husband is very aromatic.
My life had a new beginning;
For my husband was nearing.
And the most valuable gift-
My husband has given me;
Are my 2 wonderful and the best kids-
And I thank God,
For the wonderful family he has given me.
poem by Anju Addanki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Was a Great Woman - Coretta Scott King
She was a woman of strength
She handled great responsibility as her husband fought for our freedom
She was a woman of vision
As she stood by her husband she could see what he saw and continue to stand
She was a woman of courage
She never backed down because of danger that was around
She was a woman of intelligence
Being educated never propelled her to an attitude of haughtiness
She was a woman of passion
Once Martin was gone she continued the quest for the accomplishment of his dream
She was a woman of prayer
Her communication with God let her know that she must carry on
She was a woman of greatness
She never tried to place herself out front
She was a woman of servanthood
She served others while not seeking to be served
She was a woman of determination
She traveled near and far to carry on the legacy of her husband
She was a woman full of life
She loved God, her husband, her children and all mankind until the day she was called home
She was a Great woman
poem by Deidre Blair
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An Epic Of A Mother
when night felt deep in the main street of that bordering town, when streets were dipping in profound silence, we were in search of news moving aimlessly from here to there we met that mother, rather, we met that family unit some years ago.
a scratched man of broken images guides the woman with a girlbaby on her lap, clients appeared from the dark to bargain woman's flesh, the scratched man fixed the rate holding the girl of three years from her lap to him and allowed the woman to go with them.
the woman went to a deserted dark marketarea just beside the mainroad, during this break we appeared immediately in front of that man that broken man and learned he was the father of that little girl, husband of that mother-woman whom he sold for temporary shot-contact to be vamped her warm and salt, to be cooked her flesh and flexibility.
just we met that night with that woman that mother and also learned her dream was her girl-child would grow-up as a dignified woman which needs a lot of money, so she used to run on that underground track, she also knew her husband, the girl child's father physically not fit to meet her demand of purchasing the so-called dignity one need to acquire from human society.
when that woman the mother talked with us, the street lamp showed us her eyes were glittering with her dream of a glorious future of her three years old girlchild whom she loved more than herself.
where she now I don't know, but this epic I send for the readers of my site to pray for her specially for this day.
Pranab k c
13/05/2012
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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The Divorcee
She's been through a messy divorce case and single now she will remain
And she feels she's had it with marriage and she'll never marry again
She tried her best to save her marriage at least she gave it her best try
And from her past mistakes she has learnt like they say 'once bitten twice shy'.
She had seven years of married life and five of those years for her hell
And years from now she will remember yes she will remember too well
The beatings she received from her drunken husband as their two young children looked on
And they like their mother feel happy since out of their lives he has gone.
She married for love and love only but her feelings of love quickly soured
And years from now she will remember how beneath his cruel blows she cowered
Her children now ten and eleven feel happier without their dad
He often beat them and their mother and by him they were treated bad.
A woman in her early thirties she has only turned thirty two
And she vows she'll never re-marry that one marriage enough to go through
Her ex husband now is re-married and her sympathies are with his wife
And she hopes that he will treat her kindly and that he's learnt from his mistakes in life.
Her son and daughter soon to be teenagers are all that she worry about
That 'life isn't meant to be easy' at such a young age they found out
She raise them as a single mother and she works hard for them every day
Since her ex husband doesn't pay alimony or help them out in any way.
She vows that she'll die a divorcee and that she'll never marry again
And the sad memories of her broken marriage through her life time with her will remain
For she took the abuse and beatings when she was a callous
man's wife
Still she doesn't feel bitter towards him she merely gets on with her life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Happy To Live On Her Own
For twenty years married to a horrible man
In human years that does seem quite a long span
Her son and her daughter eighteen and nineteen
One might say that her better days she has seen.
A woman who does know about male abuse
Her husband when drunk often beat her though that's not an excuse
For such criminal behaviour to his beautiful wife
Some women with men have a terrible life.
He was not a good husband and a rotten dad
Herself and their children he did treat so bad
That he has left her for another she does feel quite glad
Though for his new woman she feels a bit sad.
She knows all about the anger of a man
And to marry again it is not in her plan
Some hard times in life one can say she has known
And now she is happy to live on her own.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor Little Drea
Poor little Drea
Walking down the street
Confused about the world outside
And all the persons she will meet.
Does not know what to do or say
Such a confused little girl
Always did what her mother said
Maybe that's why her mind is in a twirl.
She was never told not to smoke
Or not even to never drink or curse
No one cared what she read or did
Or the persons she might use or hurt.
She sees the examples her mother left
Knowing someday they might be her own
So sadly she walks and talks to herself
How she wished that she was all alone.
Someday she wants to become a woman
And maybe she’ll be like her mom
Maybe that's why she is so very confused
As of her mothers way she is not that fond.
As she knows there is a GOD
And he does not want us to commit any sin
But sadly that has been in her daily life
Since day one when her life did begin.
One day she might want to get married
And have a husband not two or even three
And she might want to trust in man and GOD
And hope that freedom will set her free.
As she doesn't ever want to cheat or steal
Or doesn't ever want to use or lie
She has seen that so much in her own little life
I could understand why she will sit and cry.
So as those thoughts enter her brain
I wander what answers that she might seek
Does she wish that her mother wasn't hers
As sad little Drea is walking down the street
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Fifty Year Old Woman
That fifty year old woman
she is someones mother
that fifty year old woman
she is someones lover
them fifty years of her life
unseen by a cover.
Covered by the leaves
from the autumn trees is the grass
surrounded by blue tape
and nosey people who pretend to pass
a group of actors walk by
they have come from a history class
to make history new
with conversation with questions to ask.
A fifty year old woman
in an autumn so cold
a fifty year old woman
seen dark winter unfold
them fifty years of life
it is all we are told.
The actors, they didn't get any information
they did not get pictures
nothing known about the situation
nothing at all to discuss
fifty years of age is all thats said
on the morning paper on the fifty bus
thats all thats said
a fifty year old woman, shes found dead.
That fifty year old woman
shes not someones mother
that fifty year old woman
how she had no lover
them fifty years of life
unseen by a cover.
That fifty year old woman
she was quoted in the paper today
that fifty year old woman will be gone tomorrow
the writers they will show no sorrow
because its the way things work
as people pass
she no longer lies on grass
shes covered in dirt.
poem by Daniel McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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27 Years! ! ! ! !
27 years of my life-
I lived like a wife,
waiting for my husband kiss;
Which i always missed.
27 years of my life -
Waited all the nights,
To share my happiness and sadness;
And i felt it was madness.
27 years of my life-
I spent with unknown husband,
Who has time to work;
And I felt like a jerk.
27 years of my life-
I spent with boredom,
And being a loyal wife;
I lost my freedom.
After 27 years of my life-
I still feel something missing,
I still keep looking;
And still waiting.
And the next 27 years will pass by:
Without my husband near by.
poem by Anju Addanki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Adulterous Wife
As her Children sleep in their bed
While her husband lays down his sleepy head
She quietly gets up and starts continuing her lies,
As this is the story, of the Adulterous wife.
She lies and cheats and do the sins that she shouldn't,
Sadly though, this isn't the first time for this woman
As in her past she has done this all before
Sadly her husband didn't know, that he had married a whore.
As when he is at work, she was never at home
And when her girl's slept, she was never alone
She lied and cheated and used her husband for a price
As this is the story of the Adulterous wife.
She sneaks out of the house whenever she can
So she can jump in the bed of another man
He then uses her, and then she lies to him
But neither can lie to GOD, when their beginning becomes their end.
And when her daughter's get older and they feel the strife
I wander if they will be like their mother, the adulterous wife
She argues and fights with her husband all the time
Loyalty and love to her husband has been left far behind.
The vow she swore to GOD she has broke it once again
Now she is a marked woman, in front of women and men
She has affairs with her lovers, that only the devil could believe
Asking them to come and rescue her, and set herself free.
She is never happy unless she is in another mans bed
Only happiness she brings that man, is when he is dead
She tells her lies and say all her men of hers are abusers
But she never let them know, that she is but a user.
And she'll keep her lies from yesterday unto today
And while she sins, other men lay down to pray
How sad it is to live that type of sinful life
But this is the true story of the Adulterous wife.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Such Blaming is Futile
Why blame poor Death when it does its duty?
Why blame the land for becoming desert?
Why blame Nature for unleashing fury?
Why blame dame Luck for being so inert?
Why blame the Sun for scorching summer’s heat?
Why blame the winter for its freezing cold?
Why blame the Wind for turning land less neat?
Why blame women for asking diamonds, gold?
Why blame the Sky for not bringing the Rain?
Why blame the Air for becoming so foul?
Why blame the nerves for sensation of pain?
Why blame the devils for your sinful soul?
Why blame the Stars for good or bad life brings?
Why blame your God for bad turn of some things?
poem by John Celes
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Sweet And Tender Hooligan
he was a sweet and tender hooligan
and he swore that he'd never, never do it again
and of course he won't (not until the next time)
poor old man
he had an "accident" with a three bar fire
but that's OK
because he wasn't very happy anyway
poor woman
strangled in her very own bed as she read
but that's OK
because she was old and she would have died anyway
DON"T BLAME
this sweet and tender hooligan
because he'll never, never do it again
(at least not until the next time)
So jury you've heard every world
but before you decide
would you look into those "Mother-me" eyes
I love life for you my love, you my love
you my love, you my love
So jury you've heard ever word
but before you decide
would you look into those "Mother-me" eyes
I love you for you my love, you my love
I love you just for you my love, you my love
don't blame
the sweet and tender hooligan
who claims that
"In the midst of life we are in debt ETC"
ETC! ETC! ETC! ETC!
IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEBT ETC
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well, I Told You Once
do not blame me for this
i have already told you once
some things be better left buried
under the stones under the grass
the earth is wise, it knows what
and where and when and why
you insist somehow to know what
is underneath and here you are
drowning in tears asking for help
i am watching you carried by this
river of repercussions where the
flow of rage carries you and now
you know very well, i can only watch
i am stripped of any power to help
i am at loss with the use of words
now you must help yourself from
the mess that you have inflicted
upon yourself. Don't blame me for
i have warned you and you did not
listen. I told you once, take charge.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The battle field
To marry too soon will land a woman
In a bad husband; her fate is sealed.
To marry too late will make a woman
Miss a good husband; her charms faded.
If her fortune got her a good husband,
There might be women to lure him away.
If her fate earned her a bad husband,
There would be fine men to lure her away.
A woman’s life is a battle field.
15.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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What Is A Mother
What is a mother? 10/11/07
What is a mother? You ask me!
It is something which is hard to explain.
Because no two mothers are the same.
They can be gentle as a breeze on
A mid-summers nights dream.
Or as hard as a rock which you can not stop.
They can love you one minute-and spank you the next.
If you put them to a test.
They will feed you and clothe you
And put a roof over your head-and give you
A warm, soft comfortable bed.
They will dry your tears, and heal your cuts.
They will show you the rights from wrong
So you can grow big and strong.
If you’re a girl-they’ll teach you about satin and lace.
And if you’re a boy-you must “wash your face”.
A mother is first a woman, then a wife.
Then she creates a brand new life.
She has to put her priorities in line.
Then she has to find the time.
She will first take care of her husbands needs
And feed the baby in between.
Then wash the clothes-and make the beds
Sweep, mop and wash the dishes
And in between -feed the fishes.
She becomes a juggler of many hats.
Does not get a thank you or even a pat
She will continue this throughout her life
In hopes that maybe one day-she will hear her husband and
Children say.-we love you each and every day.
And no one can take that away.
This is what a mother is to me
And I will be thankful eternally.
poem by Louis Rams
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(Meera) The Early Life Of Meera
Rajputs took ’Sati’ as a sacred one
For any live widowed woman
To burn herself in the fire
With her husband in the pyre
Meera was young still.
Lo, it was God’s will
That brought the end
Of Rathan Singh who died.
Her mother, Chandramugi
Went to join him in sati.
But Rao Dudha prevented it
For Meera’s sake, out right.
As Dudha, her grandfather,
Was too old to take care,
It fell on her mother
To care more for her,
A big crowd stood once
Outside the palace entrance
To receive red saris for women
And coarse dhotis for men.
A woman took a sari,
And asked for a dhoti.
As her husband was sick
He couldn’t come to take.
Next to her came Meera,
Asking for a sari from Dudha.
He refused to give her one,
As it was for a poor woman..
When Meera was stubborn,
Laughingly he gave her one.
Again for a dhoti she asked,
The one for her dear husband.
Dudha, who was surprised,
Asked, “Who’s your husband? ”
Promptly she then replied.
“Krishna is my husband.”
Chandramugi explained him,
How Meera had this dream,
How, one day, as a child
Lord Krishna she married.
On the girl’s passion
And her spiritual vision,
Happy they were first,
But became worried at last.
“How can a silent idol
Marry this mad girl?
Is it really possible?
What’s God’s will? ”
So said her mother
To her grandfather,
Who could understand
Her passion as a child.
He said, “When she grows old,
Reality she’ll understand.
Now, she’s only a child
To know about this world.”
But for the girl Meera,
She felt herself Radha,
Krishna’s beloved Consort
In the Dwaraka Resort.
Her every song revealed
Her deep thoughts inside,
As a wife of Krishna,
As Krishna’s Meera.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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For My Gran (Vovo Lucia)
Once upon a time
A beautiful woman
travelling over many seas
exotic and mysterious
strong and willful
came to stay in a land far away
She lived a full life
Passionate and determined
she made her way
became a mother
a grandmother
a matriarch
but still the sea beckoned
and back she went
to Portugal
the land of her birth
her roots
She had lost plenty
her husband, her son
and everyone said
her new life's begun
and in the Winter of her fears
a lifetime of over ninety years
she could not stop the tears
She fell silent on a Summer's day
Over the seas and far away
to another world
a heavenly place
where once again she would smile
the smile of a young woman
in the arms of the angels
who would greet her
at the pearly gates
her husband, her son
everyone
Her last breath a gentle sigh
and on her mouth she wore a smile
poem by Chantelle Ribeiro
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