Sorry Dear, I Just Tolerate It
An advertisement that drew my attention
A dancing blonde
A sports woman
A robot with in-built female system
And, why even an airhostess
All break the wall of decency
And stand before a man
Who sprays a deodorant
Over his bare chest
Criss cross
Probably emptying the entire content
Of the scent-bearing-tin
All look at him romantically
Message to all men
Attract women with this,
Leave alone, retaining the one
To whom you belong
I would have it
Was my decision at the first sight
When me and my wife
Went for shopping next time
I signalled my desire
Towards this fair-sex-friendly product
Without hesitation
She went for it,
Though grumbled over its pricing later
I started using
With enough due care
So that it lasts long
After some days of this fragrancing exercise
I asked my wife
As to how she likes it
She said
Sorry dear, I just tolerate this
And added
I also came to know how readily
Men get fooled
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Related quotes
Who is a wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can be a virtuous wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can stand the strife
To be a wife?
There is a woman
And there is a wife
Any one can be a woman
But not any one can be a wife
A wife will stand for her pride
A woman will always want a ride
A wife will say
“we ‘ll have a say”
A woman will say
“I ‘ld have a say”
A wife will say
“WE bought you those”
A woman will say
“Mom bought you those”
A wife would say
“We share the bills”
A woman would say
“I share the bills”
A wife cooks what “we” like
A woman cooks what “I” like.
A wife loves unconditionally
A woman loves conditionally
A wife always stands by…
A woman sometimes stands by…
A wife thinks about “us”
A woman thinks about “me”
A wife supports the plans
A woman plans the supports
A wife keeps the relationship
A woman snubs the relationship
A WIFE IS OPPOSITE OF A WOMAN
Who then is a wife?
Amidst all my strife
I‘ve found a darling wife
You too can, if you also tried.
poem by Jr. J.Lakie Kollie
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The Wall
We built a black wall in our white space
To create two different worlds, where you and I
Could live separately
It was an internal wall of human misery
Almost invisible from the outside.
Then, we sought the knowledge.
We were husband and wife,
But we separately sought the same knowledge.
We had been seeking the knowledge until
We couldn't feel any thrill of love.
We had been seeking the knowledge in spite of love,
Until we realized that
We could not live without love any longer.
Knowledge would have no sense
If we could really and permanently die
In nothingness.
Therefore, we started looking for love again.
We realized we had to break down
The wall we had built some time ago.
Meanwhile, the wall has become white and the spaces
Have become black.
We tried to break it down,
But the wall remained white.
We realized it belonged only to God.
Therefore, we asked God to demolish it
And God created a window in the wall
For us to be able to see each other.
We looked at each other
Being so surprised and terrified,
Because we couldn't recognize ourselves.
At least, we understood that our relationship was
Almost impossible.
In that moment, we've asked God to make a miracle
And God gave us the tears.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Reunion
I dreamed that I reached home after a long voyage
And I searched for my kids.
Then my wife said; ' They have gone on a holiday.'
I grumbled her to bring my children back.
But I realized they are alredy belong to their lovers
Yes, they were married and living far away.
The same moon we see on different poles in this awful night.
Wife and myself we are at the edge of the world.
Our hearts cry for the reunion and we are scared
As the days are running and we left behind.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Cigarette Song
I'm a cigarette USE ME
I am tall, I am fair
Come on use me dear
I am just a cigarette
Don't think about that lady in your home
Who is madly and deeply in love with you
Just pick me and use me
Don't think about your little kid
Who feel protected with you
Just hold me and use me
Don't think about those who trust you
Just think about me
I know you are addicted to me
So come on leave all of them
And smoke me
Think about me dear
Spend your money on me
Cause I love you
I don't care ‘how you look physically? '
‘Where you belong? '
How old are you? '
I even don't care if you are a woman or man
Cause I am bi
I like when women hold me in their long fingers
And kiss me
I love your lungs
And I want to fill them with carbon
I want to poison them
I know you know about it
But you don't care
So if you really don't care
Then come to me
And use me till death
Cause you are gonna die soon.
poem by Nikhil Chandwani
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It is your choice.
.
I think it is ridiculous
What politicians promise us.
When they are on the campaign trail
and hope their party will prevail
They seem to think we are naïve
enough to readily believe
All of the promises they make
which once elected they will break.
We know that politicians lie
we also know the reason why
They are afraid that they will lose.
I we were really free to choose
A system which truly fair
to everybody everywhere.
The present system guarantees
a government which will not please.
The bulk of the electorate.
We have no choice but to demand.
This is no time to hesitate
We need to make them understand.
The time has come to make a stand.
Insist on change long overdue.
They’re not elected to command
But do the job they’re paid to do.
Perhaps this time our votes will show
we will no longer tolerate
The antiquated Status Quo
unsuited to a modern state.
It is your choice it’s up to you
to use your vote or to abstain
To take a chance on something new
Or settle for the same again.
Tuesday,27 April 2010. http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Question
AND so in the death-darkened chamber they met,
The woman that once he had loved and the one he loved yet—
The wife who had warped his desire and the woman he could not forget.
They stood by the bier where between them he slept,
And the love he had lost in his wife to her swimming eyes leapt;
But the woman his life had belonged to—his paramour—spoke not nor wept.
It was only a story of sated desire—
Of a love merely sensual burnt to an ash by its fire,
And a husband who turned to a more luscious love that was his for the hire.
All had sinned. For the husband had killed by his clutch,
Rough-handed, the fruit of a love that had dropped at his touch.
One woman's great sin was not loving, his wife's was in loving too much.
And so he had died; it was over at last;
And across him the two women looked at each other aghast—
Across his cold corse, and across the cold corse of the loathsome dead Past!
Then the smouldering love of the wife leapt to flame,
And she poured forth her kisses upon him, and called on his name.
But the other said “No, he is nothing to you; soul and body I claim!”
They looked at each other awhile. Said the wife wearily,
“He is mine; for I loved him, and ever shall love him; let be!”
But the other sneered, “No, he is mine, and mine only, because he loved me!”
Then the two laid their hands on the body between;
And fought for it, wife against paramour, fiercely, unseen—
For the body diseased and polluted, as ever his spirit had been.
And this is a question for answer in Hell:
To which of the two did his spirit belong, can you tell?
Think, was it the woman he loved, or the one who had loved him too well?
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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My Wife Is A Most Knowing Woman
My wife is a most knowing woman,
She always is finding me out,
She never will hear explanations
But instantly puts me to rout,
There's no use to try and deceive her,
If out with my friends night or day,
In a most inconceivable manner,
She tells where I've been right away,
She says that I'm 'mean' and 'inhuman.'
Oh! My wife is a most knowing woman.
She would've been hung up for witchcraft
If she had lived sooner, I know,
There's no hiding anything from her,
She knows what I do -- where I go;
And if I come in after midnight
And say 'I have been to the lodge,'
Oh, she says while she flies in a fury,
'Now don't think to play such a dodge!
It's all very fine, but won't do, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
Not often I go out to dinner
And come home a little 'so so,'
I try to creep up through the hall-way,
As still as a mouse, on tip-toe,
She's sure to be waiting up for me
And then comes a nice little scene,
'What, you tell me you're sober, you wretch you,
Now don't think that I am so green!
My life is quite worn out with you, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman!
She knows me much better than I do,
Her eyes are like those of a lynx,
Though how she discovers my secrets
Is a riddle would puzzle a sphynx,
On fair days, when we go out walking,
If ladies look at me askance,
In the most harmless way, I assure you,
My wife gives me, oh! such a glance,
And says 'all these insults you'll rue, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
Yes, I must give all of my friends up
If I would live happy and quiet;
One might as well be 'neath a tombstone
As live in confusion and riot.
This life we all know is a short one,
While some tongues are long, heaven knows,
And a miserable life is a husband's
Who numbers his wife with his foes;
I'll stay at home now like a true man,
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
poem by Stephen C. Foster
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The old Watch Maker in my schooldays
One day I took my Grandpa's 'Damas' pocket watch for repairs
As he complains it goes ten minutes faster and he doesn't want to die soon!
I call him uncle who does watch repairs in his cubicle in the shopping complex.
When I entered I saw he's watching the Sun a long time
And laughed continuously.
I asked; 'What's wrong with you uncle? '
Then he started the story;
'You must know this sonny, I was really amazed of my next door spinster those days and she's in her naughty forties!
You cannot see her blue eyes straight away a minute
And you feel like burning inside yourself.
You know what happened at last?
My wife put up a parapet wall but ten feet high from her father's pension
As I was unemployed.
Afterwards she has moved to another place and I heard no more.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Pretty woman
Pretty woman.
But wife is beautiful.
Pretty woman is hot.
But wife is the sexiest.
Pretty woman is just for sex.
But a wife is to make love.
Wife is a forbidden fruit.
To you and all.
and wife is more caring.
Be at home and by her husband.
and wife is the husband diamond.
And the husband love making love to her.
That no other women can.
Make him feel so good.
and her husband always in love.
With her.
And wife is the husband success.
Loving and warm full happiness.
She bears our children. And
She is the most gifted darling.
poem by See Fee Lee
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At Bay
Wife
Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast.
Tell me there are no memories of your past
That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.
Husband
Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred.
Does not the deed speak louder than the word?
(dear God, that old dream woke again and stirred.)
Wife
As you love me, you never loved before?
Though oft you say it, say it yet once more.
My heart is jealous of those days of yore.
Husband
Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my child,
My life is yours by memory undefiled.
(it stirs again, that passion brief and wild.)
Wife
You never knew a happier hour than this?
We two alone, our hearts surcharged with bliss,
Nor other kisses, sweet as my own kiss?
Husband
I was a thirsty field, long parched with drouth;
You were the warm rain, blowing from the south.
(But, ah, the crimson madness of her mouth!)
Wife
You would not, if you could, go down life’s track
For just one little moment and bring back
Some vanished rapture that you miss or lack?
Husband
I am content. You are my life, my all.
(One burning hour, but one, could I recall;
God, how men lie when driven to the wall!)
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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You are much more than what you think you are, you have much more than what you think you have
You are not
What you think you are
You are just the force
Operating a robot
Whose physical and
Chemical dimensions
Are determined by
A permutation and combination
Of certain amino-acids
You are not
What you think you are
You are not
What you think you are
You are not a female or male
You are not a daughter or son
You are not a sister of brother
You are not a mother or father
You own not a thing
You belong to one
Nothing is yours
None is yours
The only thing you own
Is you
As said elsewhere
You are born a daughter or son
Only to the nature’s desire
To ensure continuity
Of a particular
Genetic system
Your emotions are thus unreal
Your pleasures are unreal
Your pains are unreal
Your sorrows are unreal
All keep changing
With your change with
Your attitude and out look
The only thing unchanging and real in you
Is you
You are placed in this robot
And operating it
Just to accomplish the
Unmet desires that you
Were nursing
Earlier in yet another robot,
Or in previous birth,
As some learned say
And if you so believe
Remain just a witness
To what all happening
Stay emotion free
Stay fear free
Stay in confidence
Stay in peace
Stay in balance
You will see
Great things got
Achieved by your
Effectively operating
The robot, wherein
You are placed
You are not
What you think
That you are
You are much more
Than what you think you are
You have much more
Than what you think you have
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Albert's Allotment
Albert loved being on his allotment
he'd be on his plot everyday of the week
growing Cauliflower, Parsnip, Cabbage,
and winning awards for his Carrots, and Leek.
He spent so much time on his allotment
his wife thought he was having an affair
but Albert was more interested in his Potatoes
than any curvy woman with long Blonde hair.
When it rained Albert sat in his shed
reading Gardening books and having a cuppa
then he'd be out again digging for hours
till his wife called him in for his supper.
Albert liked growing all sorts of vegetables
but his favourite of the lot was the Marrow
he could grow them so big and so large
that some wouldn't fit into his Wheelbarrow.
Albert is buried down on his beloved allotment
as that was to be his final dying wish
when tearfully his wife asked him why he replied:
'So I can keep an eye on my Runner Beans and Radish! '
poem by Kevin Halls
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Messages will die
A message lasts no longer
Than the canvas bearing it.
A message lasts no longer
Than the language having it.
Language dying, no amount
Of saving, even in stones,
Of writings is possible.
Yet I leave my works behind.
28.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Are You a Good Husband?
All married men want to be called a good husband
A good husband is a decent husband
Mr. Husband what you done to deserve this decency?
Has your wife ever referred to you as her good husband?
It is known that the eyes cannot see itself
Unless by reflection. Have you ever asked
Your wife for a performance appraisal
Honey, how did I perform last year?
On a scale of one to ten, one for very poor
Ten for excellent, how did I perform?
Your wife may think you are now on new drugs
If you receive less than six, you need to
Start fence mending before it is too late
A good husband sees his wife as his friend
A nice husband treats his wife as his lover
A decent husband regards his wife as a soul-mate
You should anticipate what your wife
Will need before she makes any request
By the way, have you ever bought a gift
For your wife without an occasion?
Do you have to wait for her birthday?
To inform her that she is very special to you?
Do you have to wait for your wedding anniversary?
To tell her that she is the best thing in your life
When last did you talk to your wife in-laws?
When last did you visit your wife in-laws?
What have you done to be called a good husband?
Ask for performance appraisal on a regular basis
Remember, if you make your wife happy
You will get happiness in return
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Why Do Women Cry
I had gotten this from a friend, and the author is unknown
But it is so beautiful I decided to post it for others to read.
There was no title so I added my own title.
Why do women cry
Why are you crying? A young boy asked his mom.
Because I am a woman, she told him.
I don’t understand, he said.
His mom just hugged him and said:
And you never will, but that’s okay.
Later the little boy asked his father,
Why does mom seem to cry for no reason?
All women cry for no reason.
Was all his dad could say.
The little boy grew up and became a man,
Still wondering why women cry.
Finally, he went on his knees and asked god:
GOD*** why do women cry so easily?
And god answered…
When I made women, I decided she had to be special.
I made her shoulders strong enough to carry
The weight of the world,
Yet her arms gentle enough to give comfort!
I gave her the inner strength to endure childbirth
And the rejection that many times will come
even from her own children!
I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going
And take care of her family and friends,
Even when everyone else gives up, through
Sickness and fatigue, without complaint!
I gave her sensitivity to love her children
Under any and all circumstances, even when
her child has hurt her badly!
She has the very special power to make a Childs
Boo-boo feel better and to quell a teenagers
Anxieties and fears.
I gave her the strength to care for her husband,
Despite faults, and I fashioned her from his rib
To protect her heart!
I gave her the wisdom to know that a good husband
Never hurts his wife but sometimes tests
her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly!
Son, for all of this hard work…
I also gave her a tear to shed.
It is hers to use whenever needed and
Is her only weakness!
When you see her cry,
Tell her how much you love her
And all she does for everyone.
And even though she may still cry,
You will have made her heart feel good.
She is special! ! !
poem by Louis Rams
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Good Bye To Infidelity
Man indulges in dalliance
With random women, away from home.
It is overt rather than covert,
With a tacit understanding
Or acceptance of his indiscretion
By wife, caste conscious and house bound.
She can ignore man's one night stand.
Only when the woman happens
To be an acquaintance of them,
Wife grows nervous and revolt
As family and friends could be
Privy to the scandal to her shame.
Woman away from home on work
are susceptible to men's eyes.
The boundary of sexual loyalties
Are stretching to accommodate
Liberality of women.
To have long term relationships.
Give good bye to infidelity.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Aint This The Life
Livin way up now in a penthouse high
Our steaks are rare and our martinis dry
Folks below they say it aint fair
Hell with them, I really dont care
Joie de vivre, mon amie
Aint this the life
Having a party on a big jet plane
I got so drunk that I could feel no pain
Hangin out in acapulco,
Drinkin rum and sniffin co-co
Pretty senorita look this way
Dancing through the night
Everythings alright
Girlfriend and a wife
Aint this the life, aint this the life
Aint this the life, baby, baby, baby . . .
Tropical island in the deep blue sea
The natives are friendly and the lobsters free
Sipping cognac like a french king
Plenty of room, I own the whole thing
Joie de vivre, mon amie
Aint this the life
Think Ill go out now on a shopping spree
Breakfast in new york, dinner in parie
Hangin out with lynn and suzie
Have a massage and a jacuzzi
Climb into bed and see whats on tv
Dancing through the night
Everythings alright
Girlfriend and a wife . . .
Aint this the life, aint this the life
Aint this the life, tell me, tell me, tell me . . .
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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i will not be fooled by Prudence
i have seen the old man
die. His face spell regrets
and no matter how the funeral
make-up artist stretched
his slips, he never formed
a smile.
I know him.
He was during his younger days
a very prudent man
He observed strictly the codes
of restraint
and refused an offer of
looseness and being
free.
He prays a lot
and reports to God
all his misgivings.
He was a handsome young man
and women adored him
But he only had one wife
one woman all in his lifetime
who never sired
him a child.
This was his prime
misfortune.
He was erased from
the genetic tree
Forever.
His wife died ahead of him
and He prayed a lot
not to betray her
even when
more women still
are willing to sleep with
him.
For after all despite his age
he was still a man
with a lovable face.
Then suddenly he died.
Absurd. He died in sleep
A happy death perhaps without
the accompanying torture
of pain and
waiting.
But no matter what,
his face in that coffin
never shows
a hint of the joy
of eternal
peace, that inevitable
rest.
I know him
He has a misgiving.
He was fooled by Prudence.
He was a slave of
His own morality always fearing
what society may name him after.
He died a lonely man.
Erased by time.
Fooled by his own Prudence.
I look at him before he was buried.
And i made a promise with him.
I am not a fool and i will not be fooled
to suffer the same fate he had.
I will choose looseness.
Happiness. The one which is always free
Unrestrained by anyone else's code of Morality.
Subjective, as i have always known
it to be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Magic Ring
Your touch on my hand is fire,
Your lips on my lips are flowers.
My darling, my one desire,
Dear crown of my days and hours.
Dear crown of each hour and day
Since ever my life began.
Ah! leave me--ah! go away -
We two are woman and man.
To lie in your arms and see
The stars melt into the sun;
Till there is no you and me,
Since you and I are one.
To loose my soul to your breath,
To bare my heart to your life -
It is death, it is death, it is death!
I am not your wife.
The hours will come and will go,
But never again such an hour
When the tides immortal flow
And life is a flood, a flower . . .
Wait for the ring; it is strong,
It has a magic of might
To make all that was splendid and wrong
Sordid and right.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Battered Wife
when they met, she could'nt know
that later on, his true colors would show.
he beat on women all his life
then he made her ' his wife'.
just so that he could have a puching bag
and that part of life ' is very sad'.
in his life he saw abuse
and decided to put it to use
he thought that it would keep a woman in line
and to them ' it was just fine'.
he did not think, nor did he care
if to his wife, it was fair.
he broke her nose
and fractured her ribs
because she refused to give
the sex that he so desired
just to satisfy his inner fire.
he thought that she was something
that he could use, as he felt fit.
til the day that she opened up her mind
and decided that it was time
to stop this physical abuse
for crying, was of no use.
so when he came home after
drinking that night, and started his routine fight
she was prepared for his attack
and she was ready to fight back.
when he raised his hand to strike
she then showed a 12 inch knife.
'touch me again and you will see
that you'll be part of history.'
he lowered his hand in dismay
she knew then-she could not stay.
the following day she packed her things
and on the dresser, left her ring.
(leave him after the first time
for there is no dividing line.
he will continue his attacks
then there'll be no turning back)
poem by Louis Rams
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