Wife
My husband is idle, is dumb and spends money.
He either stands still at the window or runs about town like a bunny.
He stares and he stares, at a tram, at the sky.
He mutters, he whistles: he rummages over the house like an amateur spy.
And then he reads books: he turns their pages at least.
There are books in the kitchen and cellar; folios mixed with the yeast.
But what is he thinking about? what does my husband mumble?
When he tries to speak he gets nervous: piles of words flurry and tumble.
In the evening he drinks, and I feel angry enough
When I see his dear eyes getting misted up with that stuff.
His eyes are misted. He takes one more dram.
He kneels down beside me and lays his head on my arm.
It is only then that I learn for the first time who I am.
poem by Julian Tuwim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
100 Nights
(music: marillion lyrics: steve hogarth)
A hundred nights of fun and games
A thousand empty glasses
I feel it change and stay the same
As each day passes
They invite me to their gatherings
In the finer parts of town
They seem attracted to my indifference
The irony just knocks me out
And I love them as if I love them
And they reciprocate with help
But I look up at these mirrors sometimes
Oh, and I cant see myself
They say that some are born to burn
And some are born to give
They say that people live and learn
Some people only live and live
You dont know that I come here
If you did you would know why
So we close our eyes
You didnt notice me
As I passed you on the stairs
How could you ever guess lookin at my face
How closely I share your taste
How well I know your place
Even the clothes you wear
Ive seen them when youre not there
You say that you can win win win
If you know how to play the game
But while youre out there playing you see
Theres something you should know
She spends your money
She spends your money
She spends your money
She spends your money on me
This town has turned me into what I have become
This town dresses you up like a stranger
This town hangs around in the doorway and tells me Im late
This town takes us down, takes us down
I feel like Im losing you to this town
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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The Woman In The Short-Shorts. (A Very Funny Story!)
There was a woman wearing very short shorts...
The Husband just stared at them.
You'd of thought that She just had performed a can, can? ...
But still He stared as best as can, only because, He was just a Man.
You might say that 'Her risen hem...
Attracted many Male stares, all of them.
Men just love a curvaceous booty...
Their eyes are always performing their, usual eye candied duty.
That Husband was slapped as hit...
By the looks of His right eye, You'd think Him as landed in a Wasp nest, or an Asp's, or a Rattle snake pit.
Black and blue, as well as exhibiting a nasty, large swell...
Was His right eye, as easily, You'd tell.
This Mild Mannered Husband, would no longer stare...
For the benefit of His eyes, He would really and cautiously care
poem by Michael Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Before My Eyes
I see before my eyes the wonderful words,
Speak them around the mouth to sustain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
I saw so many reasons to master and also afterwards,
Seen so many sessions of praise of this book to attain,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Created and longed for, the books and pages are blizzards,
Looking for times so tight with sin again,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
May we attain longevity when we read books backwards,
Leaning against the wall to hasten the air plane,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Pleasing us one way is like living a way of life with hazards,
Leading is a disease of words, so frightening for after pain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
Can the heraldry of our country be the same innards,
Liking this sign captures the books’ meanings from the brain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Husband...
A husband should be
Loyal and honest
A husband should be
Strong and protective
A husband should be
Loving and romantic
A husband should be
Patient and understanding
A husband should know
When enough is enough
A husband should know
When to fight and when to cry
A husband should know
all your goals and dreams
A husband should know
your strengths and well as your weaknesses
A husband needs to be a true man
A husband needs to love you unconditionally
A husband needs to know your heart is forever his
poem by Sarah Holmes
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Watching Me Watching You
I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Opaque, thank God!
One woman is gossiping with her husband
How another woman is all the time
Complaining about her husband about
All small, small things: and this husband
Nods his head, and agrees to what his wife says,
Thinking all the time, “What about you, my dear? ”
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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The Young Boy And The Sea
the young boy sees the sea
as the sea
what else could it be?
a giant breather in front of his
little eyes
the rolling arms that want to
catch him in his
breast
the boy remembers his mother
and runs towards her
the big body of the sea stares at him
'soon i will catch you my boy
until you become the man
who shall search for the pearls
inside my belly! '
the boy lays his head upon his mother
he closes his eyes but could not remember his dream anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hate Stinger
For all of time we had a man
Who had a frozen heart
Hes standig on a hill
And sees the morning come
Fear and rage - destruction
He made a world of pain
Hate and sin - confession
He craved a senseless crime
cause hes a sane killer - he takes you by surprise
Hes a sane killer - stares into your eyes
Hes a hate stinger - nothing left to chance
Hes a sane killer - and hes the last to dance
Just in time he finds the way
To do without the lies
Its time to bruise and maim
Stripped of all disguise
Fear and rage - destruction
No warning or a sign
Hate and sin - confession
Hes deadly from behind
cause hes a sane killer - he takes you by surprise
Hes a sane killer - stares into your eyes
Hes a hate stinger - nothing left to chance
Hes a sane killer - and hes the last to dance
The devil rings - we pay the rent
The cruellest cut of all
We built the road he travelled on
The lessons come to call
So look for signs behind the eyes
Destructor of us all
Stands alone deathly still
The stealer has arrived
Fear and rage - destruction
He made a world of pain
Hate and sin - confession
He craved a senseless crime
cause hes a sane killer - he takes you by surprise
Hes a sane killer - stares into your eyes
Hes a hate stinger - nothing left to chance
Hes a sane killer - and hes the last to dance
cause hes a sane killer - he takes you by surprise
Hes a sane killer - stares into your eyes
Hes a hate stinger - nothing left to chance
Hes a sane killer - and hes the last to dance
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Husband Where Are You?
Can you feel the music play? I think about you everyday, husband of mine where are you?
I see you arms around me as, your growing love surrounds me, can you feel it to, husband where are you?
There music in my heart, I don’t know just where to start, the universe has told me my love about you. Husband of mine, when we meet our eye’s won’t turn and our hearts will forever yearn, letting us know we are for each other.
I waited all so long, met the one’s that were all wrong, husband of mine I know your coming for me.
I see your eye’s! I see you smiling! When we make love it all our hearts yearning.
Husband of mine, please come for me I know it time for us to meet, I can even smell the smells around you.. We read the same books yeah, the sprit of the universe surrounds me, the sprit of the universe surrounds you.
The day we meet you will say, I waited day after day, for the softness of your beauty.
Husband of mine you finally found me, Husband of mine your love surrounds me.
poem by Ivy Saldana
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Blank Pages
Blank pages
Blank books
Lie with only drowning white
No pretty messages in the sand
No clocks to turn a hand
Blank pages
Blank books
Looking into an empty void
Like staring at purgatory
Words with no meaning making up a story
Blank pages
Blank books
Stay staring at the celing
Empty without effort
Nothing without words
poem by Autumn Winds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not This Time Will You Win
as the icy cold chill seems to jump down my spine
then yet up again back to my cooling heart that barley beats
no matter how hard I breath it stops for yet another second
or was that one two I cant tell any more
I smell the sour sent of my own body failing
though I’m not in pain I wish I could
I wish I could feel something other then cold and tired
not this time will you win
I shall be the one calling out victory not you
not this time
I see everyone crying please will you all stop crying
my dear husband don’t shed one more tear I can say I love you honey I really can see
I open my mouth but all that comes out of the dry and almost voiceless whole is a quiet mumble
similar to what a tired baby makes before learning to speak
Ethan my baby brother I hate seeing you cry please don’t cry
I love you so much I’m going to sleep but I’ll be up in an hour
I close my eyes as I drift off to sleep
I hear the two people I care about the most loose all of their control
a little less then an hour I feel my husband softly kiss my lips
then said I love you baby please wake up
then as I open my eyes I see the two people that I love more then my own life crying happy tears
Ethan is rushing to get the others the first thing that I say is
I told you I would be the one calling out victory not you
not this time death for this time you are the true loser not me
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stand in The Rain
She stands bellow the tree,
As she looks out towards the sea.
Her eyes see the blue, yet her mind is lost,
It has left her on it's journey remembering what it lost.
The breeze blows though her dark crimson hair,
And still she does not blink, she only stares.
She stares though nothing only seeing pain,
The pain that has left her standing in the rain.
The rain falls around her on the sea,
Yet still she stands under the tree,
It will not leave her, it will not go,
What she has seen will never go,
She will always remain alone,
She remains in the wind as it moans,
She feels movement of the air,
Yet she does not hear it, she does not fear,
Se fears not the storm, only the pain,
She stands by the side of the sea, stands in the rain.
She stands here, still,
As the pain begons to kill.
She stands and looks past her heart through the pain,
As she stands in the rain.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I miss my twin sister
My twin sister...
Many people said like that to us
Even, we are not coming from the same dad and mom
But our figure are almost the same
I remember when the time she visit me and my husband
My tears came up from my eyes
I don't know why i did that
Maybe because i need her to share my feeling
I need her to hear my story
You lend me everything
You lend me your books
You lend me your Bible
You lend me your dress
You give many precious gifts to me
You lend me your husband to take me
You lend me your husband to hear my sharing
I am sorry my sister, I know i hurt you
But, i never want to replace your place
He is your King
and You are his Queen
No one can't doubt me for that
Please, smile for me
You look so pretty with that dress
He is so lucky to have you
Pray for me.... so i can live my life with smile
His Pleasure Is My Pain
A man stands in the doorway like a small child
Angry fists
She lies on her bed her head buried in her pillow
And she stares at the moon
He speaks to her all the words shes heard too many times before
And pretty soon she just lets his voice fade away
And she thinks...
This was a gradual steel frost
That started with cold feet
And ended with numb hearts
This was once satisfying sex but now no longer is
It was once filled with the possibilities of new china or old stone
But now its exagerated and waterlogged no longer what these
Hands had
Intended and still I cry in my sleep
He always said I was too sensitive,
But I say
(chorus)
At least I never meant to make him cry.
At least I never meant to make him hurt that way
Nooo I never meant to make him cry
Never meant to make him hurt that way
Yes its true, Im too senstive
But he takes pleasure in my pain.
Yes its true, Im too senstive
But he takes pleasure in my pain.
And the unheard hours they fly by
She goes to the window
She puts on a nightgown and brushes her hair
Hes already asleep
By the time she
Goes and lays herself back down.
She thinks
My god, what am I doing hear?
My bones have grown tired of his hunger, of his gray eyes,
And I feel if I were to stay one more night here Id die or explode
Or worse yet just fade away.
There have been days so dark that I felt like august
And that I soon too would turn to fall.
He always said I was too sensitive that if I cared so much
The world could kill me that way.
I wonder if hes only half alive or if hes simply always been this
Inarticulate,
Cause I say
And she gets out of bed and looks at her feet as though they
Were the wings for her freedom
She gets up and goes to the door
Its a moment in which anything can happen
Instead she gets out some clothing
Puts it in a bag and leaves him sleeping
While she heads for the door.
song performed by by Jewel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second Hand Books
Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
Some books have hard covers, while some have soft.
Some are all dusty, where they’ve been kept in the loft.
Some books have fancy covers; some just have plain.
Some have suffered mishaps, and are now all stained.
Some books are all dog-eared at the corners of their pages.
Some have gone yellow, where they’ve been around ages.
Inside some books, there can be seen a pencilled name;
Someone, who once, on this particular book, had a claim.
Some are obviously well read; their spines are all creased.
From out of a book, amazing adventures can be unleashed.
Some books have pages which are spoiled or a bit torn.
Some have covers which are grubby and look well worn.
Some just have text, while others also include illustrations.
Some are former prize winners; once the toast of the nation.
There are books by famous authors, as well as the lesser known.
Some are former library books which, to the public, were loaned.
There are romances, poetry, classics, sci-fi, humour, and histories;
Gardening, cookery, travel, thrillers, manga, and murder mysteries.
In wooden bookcases, the books are categorised, and are neatly lined.
In a second hand bookshop, you just never know what you may find.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Baby Shoes
Twinkling dew on leaves of pine,
Her face, mirrors sunshine...
With spirit of a songbird,
She chuckles, a happy soul...
Watching the sun retreat,
Behind the icy mountain tops...
She knits baby shoes, in the warm fire,
With threads of gold and wool...
She waits in joy, for her husband,
Whose day of toil, she wishes to erase...
Sharing the good word, as sweet as honey...
As twilight turns the evening sky magical,
She places the dainty shoes on the doorstep...
He comes home, weary and spent...
Lays his eyes on the curious surprise,
Perceives that God has blessed them,
Husband and Wife,
With a little angel, a precious gift...
A spring of happiness gushes in his eyes,
Lighting up her heart, for years to come....
poem by Raihana Abdul Jabbar
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You're living in paradise
I'm getting tired of hearing your silly complaints.
You're angry because your husband isn't a saint.
Your husband forgets and leaves the toilet seat up and you think this isn't very nice.
You think you have it bad but you're really living in paradise.
Your husband has a few flaws but in my eyes he's great.
When I tell you about some other husbands, he'll be a man who you 'll appreciate.
I've seen husbands who beat and raped their wives and some husbands who even threatened them with guns.
And you complain about the superficial things your husband has done.
Close to where I live, a man killed his wife and then set her on fire.
Be thankful that your life isn't so dire.
These poor women's lives have been completely destroyed.
And you have the nerve to complain because your husband goes out once a week with the boys.
Before you complain about your husband again, maybe you should think twice.
You think you have it bad but you're really living in paradise.
poem by Randy Johnson
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Family life
At home
Husband
And wife...
Some time fighting...
Word's to words...
With bad words...
Sometime hit
The husband wife
Mistakes...
Wife was crying...
Husband was woory...
Wife also
Lovingely hit...
Husband also take easy...
At night husband
Wanted wife
For sex...
Wife will say
Backpain acting
Going for
Hear with life
Every day
At familylife...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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My Library
Like prim Professor of a College
I primed my shelves with books of knowledge;
And now I stand before them dumb,
Just like a child that sucks its thumb,
And stares forlorn and turns away,
With dolls or painted bricks to play.
They glour at me, my tomes of learning.
"You dolt!" they jibe; "you undiscerning
Moronic oaf, you make a fuss,
With highbrow swank selecting us;
Saying: "I'll read you all some day' -
And now you yawn and turn away.
"Unwanted wait we with our store
Of facts and philosophic lore;
The scholarship of all the ages
Snug packed within our uncut pages;
The mystery of all mankind
In part revealed - but you are blind.
"You have no time to read, you tell us;
Oh, do not think that we are jealous
Of all the trash that wins your favour,
The flimsy fiction that you savour:
We only beg that sometimes you
Will spare us just an hour or two.
"For all the minds that went to make us
Are dust if folk like you forsake us,
And they can only live again
By virtue of your kindling brain;
In magice print they packed their best:
Come - try their wisdom to digest. . . ."
Said I: "Alas! I am not able;
I lay my cards upon the table,
And with deep shame and blame avow
I am too old to read you now;
So I will lock you in glass cases
And shun your sad, reproachful faces."
* * * * * * * * *
My library is noble planned,
Yet in it desolate I stand;
And though my thousand books I prize,
Feeling a witling in their eyes,
I turn from them in weariness
To wallow in the Daily Press.
For, oh, I never, never will
The noble field of knowledge till:
I pattern words with artful tricks,
As children play with painted bricks,
And realize with futile woe,
Nothing I know - nor want to know.
My library has windowed nooks;
And so I turn from arid books
To vastitude of sea and sky,
And like a child content am I
With peak and plain and brook and tree,
Crying: "Behold! the books for me:
Nature, be thou my Library!"
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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