En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Widow

It's hard to be a widow.
They think of you as one.
And all you ever think of
is how you two had begun.
Couple, pair, twosome,
partners all through life.
Then one day it's over.
You used to be a wife.
Now you eat your meals
all by yourself
and go to bed alone.
You see the chair
across from you
and you'd always known
there'd be a time when one of you
would leave before the other.
And now you're left with children.
You're known as just a mother.
It's hard to be a widow
but there's nothing you can do.
You keep your memories to yourself
when all you knew were two.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The prisoner of his conscience (Story Poem)

He was very poor and he married a rich woman
So he got money but he became a very sad man
She couldn't have children, even it wasn't his game plan

One day he saw a widow walking down the street ''It's later'
He told her calmly and begun to discuss about life with her
He didn't know why he suddenly felt to touch her so tender

He understood her when she confessed her cried coeur
Saying that she had three grown children and she was very poor
And she had to work as housemaid at a loudmouthed boor

She was in pain and he felt that and to help her was his concern
He wanted to take care of her family asking nothing in return
He thought never to dishonor her acting as a father to her children

He begun to understand how unhappy was the woman he loved
When he left her for another one and she became so grieved
He asked her to talk about his feelings for her and she approved

He wanted to divorce to marry her and take care of her needs
Certainly he wanted to become an adoptive father of her kids
To make her the mother of his future children he made a bid

His wife didn't agree to divorce but he left her on her demand
He took the widow and went to find their soul in a far away land
His wife got crazy and she killed herself they found her on the sand

He went to her funeral to see her last time without annoyance
He begun to scream releasing something deeper and fierce
Without his wish releasing the prisoner of his conscience.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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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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I'm My Own Grandpa

It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have talked to Debbie Hammond quite a bit, Jim Hammond's wife, his widow. I've seen their kids. And last time we played Dallas, a lot of them came over. It's hard for them to come see the show. It's still hard.

quote by Reba McEntire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Widow Like Her

A widow like her
Awakes before sunrise
Though sleepy still she rise
To work hard and end up with a prize
To break up with poverty and its ties
A widow like her must go in disguise
Only because her neighbors take her unwise
That her children have shrieked in size
From garden to market to kitchen like rolling dice
Hurrying up food to stop her children's cries
Each one she serves a plate on it a slice
Night falls and she kneels down for a sacrifice
Praying and wishing tomorrow may turn paradise

poem by Iyamuremye Wilfred
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Goodby Mass - In A Chapel Bodily Termination

Sitting on a hard chair try to sit straight
Sitting on a hard chair this moment wont wait
Listening to the speakers theyre talking about you
Look at all the people all the people you knew
Sitting with my back straight it becomes hard to hear
Some people are crying it becomes hard to hear
I dont think youd have liked it you would have made a joke
You would have made it easier youd say tomorrow Im smoke
Sitting on a hard chair how far we have come
Trying hard to listen to your friends who have come
Some of them are famous and some are just like me
Trying hard to listen trying hard to see
Sitting in a hard chair its over time to stand
Some people are crying I turn to grab your hand
Its your daughter saying thank you, you, you would have made a joke
Isnt this something, you say, tomorrow Im smoke

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Husband's exit

Widow comes in existence with husband's exit
Painful memories to last with shaky feet
Whole life is in dark with no solution in sight
Life becomes burden and nothing goes right

Woman has some satisfaction if husband has gone away
He may return one day even if found another way
Widow is strictly not called with his exit from life
She stands legally as his estranged wife

Widower stage to felt if something is committed in excess
If husband is beating daily and provides no access
Sexual harassment followed by cruel treatment
Husband is buried alive in mind with resentment

It is living hell for woman to accept status of widow
No option is left for her to think of another window
It is dark future and unbelievable forecast for tomorrow
Nothing to think of world but keep quiet and lie low

Woman has tolerance power and world has acknowledged
She has come out of dark and at least without him managed
No one has dared to defy his womanhood for simple reason
That she is symbol of courage and well understood person

If men ever thinks that women can be played around
And desert them at will to be no where found
It is grave mistake and to be taken into count
Without woman it is almost difficult to mount

If woman is encouraged to show some guts
She may prove exceptionally talented figure, but
She has to be equally respected for her weak character
Now at least time has changed for her to show as formidable character

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be a bud anew

She stands over there a widow,
Aloof, like a barren meadow,
Having lost her stand and beauty,
And is flung to melancholy.
With the loss of solid mountain,
Went away the placid fountain,
Leaving abrupt her cup empty
Of love and sweet, once aplenty.

Her presence is now a bad omen.
Her sari, the rainbow, turned white.
She went graceless lest she must excite.
Is she lust-less, to be sexless?
Ere wedding, was there she alone;
Even now, as a widow, she’s alone.
Once a solitary mansion,
Now she is a lonely grave.

She is set to lament and mourn
Ever-long, without a happy end,
Though in no way can it lighten
The loss of her pair. Why, then, to pretend?
Which widow, save corrupt one, unwept
Over the fate to which she was put,
With choked lust having no outlet,
Other than duress she went through?

Youth in prime, charm is still unshed.
Lust to brim, thirst is still unfed.
Hard would be she to stay the wicked
Were she destined to never re-wed.
Women’s eyes upon her conduct,
Men’s spicy eyes upon her neglects,
If she is to rebel, men will spurn;
If she is to yield, men will ride.

There comes spring to trees, when leaf-less.
Also comes monsoon to grass, when list-less.
None comes to her, who went mate-less,
And was thrown an orphan, name-less.
When a pot is lost another is bought.
When a hut is lost one more is built.
While a mate is lost no one is sought
To tender her lust, otherwise a beast.

A widow is not a left-over,
As a poem read is not leftover.
A portrait is fresh to everyone.
A mother’s breast is alike to her next child.
She is unlike the one as had deserted
Her husband, as furtively flirted,
Or as had her child by him fostered:
A lived villa, not a spit apple.

Over years virgins married widowers.
Without tears they lived in fervour.
For her cheers, let her get the same favour
from a man of choice to restore her flavour.
No animals keep their spouses in widowhood.
Why is, then, this invention on womanhood?
She better be sanctified before having erred
So that she could lead a life, unblurred.

Let her wed, anew,
‘as though a rose shut
and be a bud, again’
11.11.97

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sexy Ida (Part I)

Don't give your love to sexy Ida
'Cause she's the sister of a black widow spider
Don't try your love on sexy Ida
You might as well try it with some spider
She's got this long black hair, it's a hangin' on down her back
Long black pretty legs and she walks just like a cat
Hypnotic eyes and a stacked up love sack
She not only wants your love
She wants your life after that...don't do it
Don't give your love to sexy Ida
'Cause she's the sister of a black widow spider
Said you better not try it
Don't try your love on sexy Ida
You might as well try it with some spider
She's got a king sized bed with satin sheets of love
And you'll never wanna leave, no
The web of love she weaves...but I'll tell you
Don't give your love to sexy Ida
'Cause she's the sister of a black widow spider
You better not try it
Don't try your love on sexy Ida
You might as well try it with some spider
You gotta beware of sexy Ida
'Cause she tries to look so sweet and kind
But her looks can be deceivin'
'Cause her love is like strychnine
So don't give your love now
So don't give your love to sexy Ida
'Cause she's the sister of a black widow spider
Better not give your love to Ida
Don't try your love on sex Ida
You might as well try it with some spider
No, don't you give your love
Don't give your love to sexy Ida
'Cause she's the sister of a black widow spider...

song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Habits Die Hard

(criston barker, david moyse)
Seems like yesterday my life had begun
As we went through life
Tryin to make it so much fun
And I know that Im still in love with you
Cause youre one bad habit that I cant refuse
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Lifes been strange to me since youve been gone
And its so hard tryin; to say that I was wrong
Now I know that Im still in love with you
Cause youre the one bad habit that I cant refuse
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
You know and I know that you cant live on memories alone
Theres just one memory that Im thinking of
Just one habit that I cant shake off, its you
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
And theres just one memory Im thinking of
Just one habit that I cant shake off, its you
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard
Old habits die hard

song performed by by Air Supply
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Widow's Party

"Where have you been this while away,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
'Long with the rest on a picnic lay,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
They called us out of the barrack-yard
To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard,
And you can't refuse when you get the card,
And the Widow gives the party.
(~Bugle~: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)

"What did you get to eat and drink,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
Standing water as thick as ink,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
A bit o' beef that were three year stored,
A bit o' mutton as tough as a board,
And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword,
When the Widow give the party.

"What did you do for knives and forks,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
We carries 'em with us wherever we walks,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
And some was sliced and some was halved,
And some was crimped and some was carved,
And some was gutted and some was starved,
When the Widow give the party.

"What ha' you done with half your mess,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
They couldn't do more and they wouldn't do less,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
They ate their whack and they drank their fill,
And I think the rations has made them ill,
For half my comp'ny's lying still
Where the Widow give the party.

"How did you get away -- away,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
I comed away like a bleedin' toff,
For I got four niggers to carry me off,
As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough,
When the Widow give the party.

"What was the end of all the show,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
Ask my Colonel, for ~I~ don't know,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
We broke a King and we built a road --
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed.
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed
When the Widow give the party.
(~Bugle~: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Hard Rock Kid

(tom lang/additional lyrics by myles goodwyn & mike stone)
Published by goody two tunes, inc./additional publishers - bmi
The boy inside the man, looks hard into the night
The neighborhood cant get to sleep
The stereo is playing something hard and fast
The boy is tough, he plays for keeps
No ones gonna tell him hes too wild
Everybody knows hes a problem child
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Its a hard time, its a fine line, for a hard rock kid
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Leave him alone, hes in a hard rock zone
In the shadows, theres a heart thats beating strong
And through the night, he feels the heat
Hes like a stranger as he dances on the stage
Hes made a promise that he cant keep
But no ones gonna tell the boy hes wild
Everybody knows hes a hungry child
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Its a fine line, its a hard time, for a hard rock kid
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Leave him alone, hes in a hard rock zone
She watches as he turns, pretending not to care
And yet she knows the way he feels
The need for love so strong, together they can win
For now the musics all thats real
But no ones gonna tell the boy hes wild
Everybody knows hes a problem child
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Its a hard time, its a fine line, for a hard rock kid
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Leave him alone, hes in a hard rock zone
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Its a hard time, its a fine line, for a hard rock kid
Hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock, hes a hard rock kid (kid)
Leave him alone, hes in a hard rock zone

song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: The Young Widow

What will she do, the poor widow so young?
Her husband died by accident sudden!
The world will not keep quiet with its tongue;
It blamed the lady for the mishap then.

And now, a few years later, changed have things;
Nay, her agony always does remain;
Her daughter’s growing fast and problems brings;
Though now a doctor, life is sad again.

Society looks down upon a widow!
’Tis a male-dominated cruel world;
What treacherous plight for the lady, oh!
The world on widow-remarriage is cold.

How will she quench her sexual thirsts, O God?
Adulteress in life, she turned, O lord!

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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