The Old Wife's Mood
'Don’t grumble and growl and roar at me
Old man, when your temper’s turning,
I’ve long since tired of your vain disputes
In the halls of your lordship’s learning,
You think, old man, you can tame me now
By beating your breakers shoreward,
I’ve never put up with your antics yet
When your spume is fuming forward.'
‘Don’t shriek at me, ’ said the old man sea
As she whipped at his crests in temper,
‘It’s always the way that your humour turns
Each bleak and harsh September;
Will ever you calm yourself, you witch
And settle my troubled rancour,
Or shriek and howl like a grey old owl
At my spindrift’s sullen anger? ’
‘Old, I was old when the world was young
In my hallowed depths and deeps,
What did I want with a wife like you
Whose temper never sleeps? ’
‘Don’t carp and cavil at me, ’ she shrilled
In the runnels at rocks uncovered,
‘I’d turn the tide in a backward slide
For the sake of a new-found lover.’
She turned to whip at the whining wires:
‘I’m leaving you and your brood, ’
The sea came grumbling round the Pier
‘It’s only the old wife’s mood.
She’s light and happy in other months,
In love that’s ever the way.’
The old wife crept from her hiding place
To join him, out in the bay.
15 March 1975
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
What I Have Seen #2
I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
He was both tender and true;
He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
'Darling, I worship you.'
Sing, sing, bird of the spring,
Tell of the flowers the summer will bring.
I saw the maiden, sweet, loving, confiding,
Smile when he whispered 'Mine,'
Saw her lips meet his with no word of chiding,
Though his breath fumed with wine.
Wail, wail, Nightingale,
Sing of a mourner bowed and pale.
I saw the lover and maid at the altar,
Bound by the bands divine;
Heard the responses-they fail not nor falter-
Saw the guests pledge in wine.
Howl, howl, ominous Owl,
Shriek of the terrible tempest's scowl.
I saw the drunkard's wife weeping in anguish,
Saw her struck down by a blow;
I saw the husband in prison-cells languish-
Thus ends the tale of woe.
Shriek, shriek, O Raven! speak
Of the terrible midnight, dark and bleak.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Howl
There is a hatred that's in my soul
I feel it strong in this world that I prowl
This anger and terror I must let go
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
I will grit my teeth and shout in anger
When anyone tries to hurt or offend me
That is who I am and it makes me stronger
There is an animal that wants to be free.
Perspiration comes quickly to my head and face
So that hostility I remove it with soap and a towel
But that coming of anger I cannot erase
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
I cannot control my ideals or a bad thought
The loathing of others I wish never was born
But being used and hurt I never had sought
As in my mind and soul that is a prickly thorn.
In disgust I walk with my two fists clinched
And when I speak it comes out in a growl
From my temper I run as though being pinched
So at the moon; I will howl, I will howl.
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: On Anger
Remember Man that Anger is futile!
Restrain your temper bad when ‘fumes’ arise;
Apologize if guilty, in high style,
And write your Anger off or play it nice.
Mere counting helps to dissipate Anger;
But slamming doors and raving mad aren’t right;
Poetry puts the ‘plane’ into hanger!
When Anger comes, Man loses his insight.
The more you write, the stinging tone gets less;
The balls you smash will fall away off-court;
Painting, cartooning help Anger harness;
Just hold your temper making it your forte!
An action rash in angry mood too fails;
When calm returns, a better sense prevails.
6-6-2001
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Wife’s Second Husband
THE WORLD goes round, old fellow,
And still I’m in the swim,
While my wife’s second husband
Is growing old and grim.
I meet him in the city—
It all seems very tame—
He glances at me sometimes
As if I were to blame.
Oh, my wife’s second husband
Was handsome, young and true;
He had his boyish visions
(I had my visions too).
He made a model lover—
The greenest in the game—
They say, when I was married
That I was just the same.
Though I am ten years older
My hair is dark to-day,
While my wife’s second husband
Is quickly growing grey.
I drank when first he knew me,
And he drank not at all;
I see that he, through drinking,
Is going to the wall.
A sweet ill-treated woman,
A drunken brute (Good Lord!)—
Ah, well, she got her freedom,
And he got his reward.
He’ll fight it out a season,
For Fate will not be forced,
But my wife’s second husband
Shall surely be divorced.
I sympathize, and wonder
What mutual friends would think
If my wife’s second husband
And I should have a drink.
And I a mere bystander—
It almost seems absurd—
Might lay prophetically
My hand on my wife’s third.
But my wife’s second husband
His sorrows shall forget,
We’ll clasp warm hands in friendship
And clink our glasses yet.
We’ll smoke cigars together,
In pure philosophy,
While calmly contemplating
The fate of number three.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
He is happy whom circumstances suit his temper; but he Is more excellent who suits his temper to any circumstance.
quote by David Hume
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Dont Lose Your Temper
Dont lose your temper
Dont lose your temper
Dont lose your temper
cos I love you when youre wild
Dont lose your temper
Dont lose your temper
Dont lose your temper
cos Id hate you to grow mild
Since you took that job with a company
Youve changed so much you just wont recognise me
They have you dressed up like a secretary
You mustnt change the things that make you what you are
Since youve been listening to that linguaphone
Youre speaking in a voice that is not your own
Im not sure if its you when I call home
You mustnt change the things that make you what you are
Whatever happened to my fighting, biting, lightning lioness
Little girl, little girl, little girl, little girl
I think I preferred it when your hair was in a mess
Brittle girl, brittle girl
Theyre not your real curls
Dont lose it
Dont lose it
Dont lose it
Dont lose it
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Lost In A House Fire
The loss of a child
The loss of a wife
Tis all the same as the loss of your own life
The loss of house and all that's inside
Tis all the same as if your whole soul had died
The loss of temper
Loss of faith and self-control
Tis all the same as knowing you have now grown very old
The loss of all memory when all is becalmed
When you find that your wife and child all safe and unharmed
poem by Neil Milliner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Born Free after Joy Adamson
Young Elsa was a lioness,
when tame she jumped for joy.
She caused considerable distress
once freed, she jumped at Joy.
For Adam's son was her mistress,
to man and wife a toy,
as in the bible all may guess,
the spare rib brought her joy!
(17 March 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tuna In The Brine
I fondle keys to my heart when everyone's heart
Seems so calm
And you found the lock
To my dorm and opened the door to my trust
Fundand#8230;. my vestry
The light in my darkest hour is fear
Denies me of anything good soooand#8230;and#8230;.
Don't lose your heart you'll need it
You'll have to take another pill and tell another lie
And lie amongst your lies like tuna in the brine.
Take everything that you're not and don't be so
Scared to tamper (temper) with (temper) "tampered with" evidence (tamper)
Coz you'll come along for the sun if you come at all
To lose your heart you'll have to take
song performed by by Silverchair from Diorama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Violent Rage
I have been in a violent rage since the day that I was born
First it began when from my mother that I was violently torn
And then from that day that loss of innocence I still do mourn
I am truly the innocent, and at the world I do scorn.
Violence it is with me wherever that I might be
Where friendship is another man's drink, rage is my cup of tea
People enjoy to anger as though that is there strategy
And rage is that result, and the victim is always me.
I think about my past and the major events in my life
My first kiss, my first hug, my siblings and even my wife
But then those events brought me anger and hate and also strife
I was used and abused, cheated on and then stabbed by their knife.
When I wake up in the morning anger is on my mind
And when I go to bed at night my temper is all that I can find
I think of my rage which was caused by friends not being kind
How I wish that my peace and solitude was never left behind.
My life is filled with its outrages, anger and its wrath
I wish now that when I was walking I had taken a more peaceful path
Seems as though I have walked that road for years if correctly I did my math
How I wish that my rage could be removed, as simply by taking a bath.
I am now so tired my body is so old and worn
I wish again and again, I never came out that September morn
My mother was the rose and I indeed was her thorn
How I wish and pray many times over, that I could of been reborn.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I had a really bad temper, when I was growing up. Sport helped me channel that temper into more positive acts.
quote by Mike Krzyzewski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Turn Around
(malvina reynolds/allan greene/harry belafonte)
Where are you going my little one, little one
Where are you going my baby my own
Turn around and youre two
Turn around and youre four
Turn around and youre a young girl
Going out of the door
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young girl
Going out of the door
Where are you going my little one, little one
Little dirndls and petticoats, where are you know
Turn around and youre tiny
Turn around and youre grown
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
Turn around
Turn around
Turn around and youre a young wife
Turn around and youre a young wife
With babes of your own
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Devil world
my wife and
my mother
fight
every day
at home
some time
on street
i did not ask
my mother
i am asking something
only my wife
wife say 'your mother
was bad...nasty...'
some bad words
my mother also
comment 'your wife bad
irrresptable person...'
many bad things
i was sad
too sad
i am not leaving on
earth
that time
i was leaving on
devil world...
you also leave
love devil
live devils...
for only my children...
for my states...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wife- better half of life
Wife is the better half of life
Give wife love affection as soul-mate
Wife is not glorified maid as said
Wife do not want money salary honorarium
Do not make hulla gulla and do not beat drum.
Mian bibi relationship should not be commercialized
Third party intervention in family relation vandalized.
Wife is not a domestic labourer
Wife is backbone of the family
The maile stone of the family
Wife is the torchlight of the family
Wife is the colorful star
Do no put any question to her.
Wife is there to give everything
Wife is not to take anything in return
Wife is the goddess.
Only mad man can say wife is a domestic servant
Make wife a wife life-partner better half
And enjoy life freely.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Keeping His First Wife Now
IT’S OH! for a rivet in marriage bonds,
And a splice in the knot untied—
The sanctity of the marriage tie
Is growing more sanctified!
They’re getting mixed up in society,
There’s an awful family row,
For Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is “keeping” his first wife now!
Oh! she belonged to the smart, smart set
(Where reasons are far to seek)—
And the wedding and “crush” are remembered yet
As the “smart” things of the week.
Never an atom of love had she,
But they had a child somehow—
And Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Has the love of his first wife now.
Mad for “notice” and “talk” was she—
A butterfly blind as a bat—
She would flaunt for a season a divorcee,
Or divorce him, failing that.
He played his part and she held his heart
As light as her marriage vow—
But Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Has a hold on his first wife now.
She swore in Court what the world knew false,
With never a thought of shame—
She was free to flaunt to her heart’s content,
But she found it mighty tame:
The talk of the “town” for a week or two—
The gush, the smirk and the bow—
But Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is the God of his first wife now!
Her soul grew sick of the smart, smart set,
Or her conscience drove her wild—
Or she craved for “notice” and “talk” once more—
Or perhaps because of the child;
But they met at last and they met again—
No matter the where or how—
And Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Is in love with his first wife now.
’Tis a “terrible life” for the second young wife,
But she married him too for “place”;
And she mustn’t forget that a smarting set
Belongs to the human race.
They say it’s fixed up in camera,
And, if that is the case, I’ll vow,
That Reginald Jones of “The Fernery”
Will marry his first wife now.
And there is a song of the English world
And a song for the English race:
The second husband and second wife
Must ever take second place.
So cherish the best that you find in the first,
And a margin of width allow:
The future looks after itself too well!
Look after the first ones now.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
After the Golden Wedding (Three Soliloquies)
I. The husband's.
She's not a faultless woman; no!
She's not an angel in disguise:
She has her rivals here below:
She's not an unexampled prize:
She does not always see the point
Of little jests her husband makes:
And, when the world is out of joint,
She makes a hundred small mistakes:
She's not a miracle of tact:
Her temper's not the best I know:
She's got her little faults in fact,
Although I never tell her so.
But this, my wife, is why I hold you
As good a wife as ever stepped,
And why I meant it when I told you
How cordially our feast I kept:
You've lived with me these fifty years,
And all the time you loved me dearly:
I may have given you cause for tears:
I may have acted rather queerly.
I ceased to love you long ago:
I loved another for a season:
As time went on I came to know
Your worth, my wife: and saw the reason
Why such a wife as you have been
Is more than worth the world beside;
You loved me all the time, my Queen;
You couldn't help it if you tried.
You loved me as I once loved you,
As each loved each beside the altar:
And whatsoever I might do,
Your loyal heart could never falter.
And, if you sometimes fail me, sweetest,
And don't appreciate me, dear,
No matter: such defects are meetest
For poor humanity, I fear.
And all's forgiven, all's forgot,
On this our golden wedding day;
For, see! she loves me: does she not?
So let the world e'en go its way.
I'm old and nearly useless now,
Each day a greater weakling proves me:
There's compensation anyhow:
I still possess a wife that loves me.
2. The wife's.
Dear worthy husband! good old man!
Fit hero of a golden marriage:
I'll show towards you, if I can,
And absolutely wifely carriage.
The months or years which your career
May still comprise before you perish,
Shall serve to prove that I, my dear,
Can honour, and obey, and cherish.
Till death us part, as soon he must,
(And you, my dear, should shew the way)
I hope you'll always find me just
The same as on our wedding day.
I never loved you, dearest: never!
Let that be clearly understood:
I thought you good, and rather clever,
And found you really rather good.
And, what was more, I loved another,
But couldn't get him: well, but, then
You're just as bad, my erring brother,
You most impeccable of men:--
Except for this: my love was married
Some weeks before I married you:
While you, my amorous dawdler, tarried
Till we'd been wed a year or two.
You loved me at our wedding: I
Loved some one else: and after that
I never cast a loving eye
On others: you -- well, tit for tat!
But after all I made you cheerful:
Your whims I've humoured: saw the point
Of all your jokes: grew duly tearful,
When you were sad, yet chose the joint
You liked the best of all for dinner,
And soothed you in your hours of woe:
Although a miserable sinner,
I am a good wife, as wives go.
I bore with you and took your side,
And kept my temper all the time:
I never flirted; never cried,
No ranked it as a heinous crime,
When you preferred another lady,
Or used improper words to me,
Or told a story more than shady,
Or snored and snorted after tea,
Or otherwise gave proofs of being
A dull and rather vain old man:
I still succeeded in agreeing
With all you said, (the safest plan),
Yet always strove my point to carry,
And make you do as I desired:
I'm glad my people made me marry!
They hit on just what I required.
Had love been wanted - well, I couldn't
Have given what I'd not to give;
Or had a genius asked me! wouldn't
The man have suffered? now, we live
Among our estimable neighbours
A decent and decorous life:
I've earned by my protracted labours
The title of a model wife.
But when beneath the turf you're sleeping,
And I'm sitting here in black,
Engaged, as they'll suppose, in weeping,
I shall not wish to have you back.
3. The Vicar's.
A good old couple! kind and wise!
And oh! what love for one another!
They've won, those two, life's highest prize,
Oh! let us copy them, my brother.
poem by James Kenneth Stephen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Certain Maxims of Hafiz
I.
If It be pleasant to look on, stalled in the packed serai,
Does not the Young Man try Its temper and pace ere he buy?
If She be pleasant to look on, what does the Young Man say?
"Lo! She is pleasant to look on, give Her to me to-day!"
II.
Yea, though a Kafir die, to him is remitted Jehannum
If he borrowed in life from a native at sixty per cent. per anuum.
III.
Blister we not for bursati? So when the heart is vexed,
The pain of one maiden's refusal is drowned in the pain of the next.
IV.
The temper of chums, the love of your wife, and a new piano's tune --
Which of the three will you trust at the end of an Indian June?
V.
Who are the rulers of Ind -- to whom shall we bow the knee?
Make your peace with the women, and men will make you L. G.
VI.
Does the woodpecker flit round the young ferash?
Does grass clothe a new-built wall?
Is she under thirty, the woman who holds a boy in her thrall?
VII.
If She grow suddenly gracious -- reflect. Is it all for thee?
The black-buck is stalked through the bullock, and Man through jealousy.
VIII.
Seek not for favor of women. So shall you find it indeed.
Does not the boar break cover just when you're lighting a weed?
IX.
If He play, being young and unskilful, for shekels of silver and gold,
Take his money, my son, praising Allah. The kid was ordained to be sold.
X.
With a "weed" amoung men or horses verily this is the best,
That you work him in office or dog-cart lightly -- but give him no rest.
XI.
Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the manners and carriage;
But the colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible thorn-bit of Marriage.
XII.
As the thriless gold of the babul, so is the gold that we spend
On a derby Sweep, or our neighbor's wife, or the horse that we buy from a friend.
XIII.
The ways of man with a maid be strange, yet simple and tame
To the ways of a man with a horse, when selling or racing that same.
XIV.
In public Her face turneth to thee, and pleasant Her smile when ye meet.
It is ill. The cold rocks of El-Gidar smile thus on the waves at their feet.
In public Her face is averted, with anger She nameth thy name.
It is well. Was there ever a loser content with the loss of the game?
XV.
If She have spoken a word, remember thy lips are sealed,
And the Brand of the Dog is upon him by whom is the secret revealed.
If She have written a letter, delay not an instant, but burn it.
Tear it to pieces, O Fool, and the wind to her mate shall return it!
If there be trouble to Herward, and a lie of the blackest can clear,
Lie, while thy lips can move or a man is alive to hear.
XVI.
My Son, if a maiden deny thee and scufflingly bid thee give o'er,
Yet lip meets with lip at the last word -- get out!
She has been there before.
They are pecked on the ear and the chin and the nose who are lacking in lore.
XVII.
If we fall in the race, though we win, the hoff-slide is scarred on the course.
Though Allah and Earth pardon Sin, remaineth forever Remorse.
XVIII.
"By all I am misunderstood!" if the Matron shall say, or the Maid:
"Alas! I do not understand," my son, be thou nowise afraid.
In vain in the sight of the Bird is the net of the Fowler displayed.
XIX.
My son, if I, Hafiz, thy father, take hold of thy knees in my pain,
Demanding thy name on stamped paper, one day or one hour -- refrain.
Are the links of thy fetters so light that thou cravest another man's chain?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A second wife cannot celebrate the beating of the first wife because that same beating awaits her when the third wife arrives.