Used and crumpled
Discarded as a tissue
A woman moaned…
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Sea Of Crumpled Dreams
Beyond the sea of crumpled dreams
the fractured souls sit
lost within a maze of discarded thoughts
on a plateau of inconsistencies.
Their tribal infusions of opulent airs
hang high in spellbound colours
above the sea of crumpled dreams
watched by ever-vigilant eyes
from the watchtower on the shore.
Confusion reigns supreme
from the souls lost on the sea
as they tumble in a drought of words
discarded annually.
Their hidden agenda sprout up
like mountains out of crumpled dreams
that swirl around in the oceans near infinity,
and are left there for eternity
at the mercy of destiny’s slide
on the opposite side of the horizon,
beyond the sea of crumpled dreams.
10 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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A Simple Explanation Of Your Misery.....
sometimes you feel so unlucky.
you feel that you are carrying the whole earth
in your shoulder.
very heavy, and your shoulders feel like breaking into
glass pieces.
sometimes you feel like a slave.
following orders, all orders from the higher up
from those cloud
gods.
sometimes you feel like sitting down on the pebbles
muddy ones, from the river,
you feel like throwing your body in a mud-hole
and cover every part of your body with mud
or buffalo dung.
everyone is making you feel like a dirty towel,
a rusty shovel,
an unwanted discarded spare part of a motorcycle
or an outmoded cover of a cell phone,
you are familiar with a tissue that someone just wipes on his nose
after sneezing and throwing the crumpled piece
outside the window of the bus
that speeds along the road
on a winding path,
that piece is left on the road and blown by the wind
and simply forgotten
very unimportant
so insignificant, sometimes you feel that way
you know why? i can explain it in the most simple terms
using only six words
to end this misery that you are in, and it is this, to wit:
'because you allowed it to happen'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.
quote by Henry Rollins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The approach of woman and man.
Woman treats men as tissue paper
When they approach for a night stand.
Man treat women as a dustbin
When they approach for money.
Must man and woman be cheap to each other?
13.11.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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An Old Tyre (Fun Poem 79)
Someone had discarded an old tyre.
It was all battered and worn.
As I stared at it, I wondered
of what journeys it had been on.
How far had it gone,
and if it had seen
some interesting places on its travels around?
That old tyre discarded on the ground.
When I think of the travels
we make in our car each day,
I bet that old tyre would have a lot to say.
However, it is abandoned,
no use to anyone.
When I looked the next day and the tyre was gone.
Overnight it must have stood up
and rolled along on more travels I presume.
Therefore, this ends the tale of an old tyre,
which was discarded on the ground.
14 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Tissue Tigers (The Arguers)
I shout this,
You shout that,
The clouds are coming over looking awful black.
Its all hot air.
You say go,
I say stay,
Clear blue sky goes sheffield grey.
Its all hot air.
Ive grown immune to your claws,
Pussycat, I know...
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping em up is easy for me now.
I shout this,
You shout that,
An eye for heart and a tit for a tat.
You easy tear.
Think your stripes,
Are yellow and black,
I can only see the yellow one down your back,
You easy tear.
Ive grown immune to your claws,
Pussycat, I know...
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping em up is easy for me now.
We argue all life long,
Youd swear that black was wrong,
Throw tantrums like queen kong,
Ive trapped you in my song.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping em up is easy for me now.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tissue Tigers
I shout this,
You shout that,
The clouds are coming over looking awful black.
It's all hot air.
You say go,
I say stay,
Clear blue sky goes sheffield grey.
It's all hot air.
I've grown immune to your claws,
Pussycat, i know...
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping 'em up is easy for me now.
I shout this,
You shout that,
An eye for heart and a tit for a tat.
You easy tear.
Think your stripes,
Are yellow and black,
I can only see the yellow one down your back,
You easy tear.
I've grown immune to your claws,
Pussycat, i know...
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping 'em up is easy for me now.
We argue all life long,
You'd swear that black was wrong,
Throw tantrums like queen kong,
I've trapped you in my song.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Crawling across the table to me.
All your threats are tissue tigers,
Ripping 'em up is easy for me now.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I probably carry more scar tissue on my derrire than any other candidate-that's political scar tissue.
quote by Alexander Meigs Haig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman Driving, Man Sleeping
Woman driving, man sleeping.
Wear the suitcase on the rack.
White lines shooting by,
On the pavement like the sky.
Looking straight ahead, into the black.
Woman driving, man sleeping.
Theres no radio to play.
Sitting with the map,
Laying crumpled on her lap.
Looking for the toll money to pay.
(chorus)
Man sleeping is man dreaming,
In a large apartment house.
Walking and knocking on doors.
Woman driving, man sleeping.
Passin all the other cars.
Searching in the black,
But never turning to look back.
A little metal box under the stars.
(chorus)
Woman driving, man sleeping. (x2)
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem of Thoughts as the Evening Faded: I
Last night
Have you seen
The red roses
Dancing in riot
In your garden?
They turned redder
When the thorns
Raised a revolt
Did you know
How the garden-night
Moaned and moaned?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Witchdoctors!
The poor child groaned
while his mother moaned
''Ah, he's possessed,
ah, he's been bewitched'',
she finally bemoaned.
To the witchdoctor she sped
and was back with murky potions
such yucky stinky lotions
those mythical concoctions
The woman obeyed the wily witchdoctor
Placed belief in that traditional healer
and the poor child still groaned
but his mama no longer moaned
After two days of treatment
and no lessening of predicament
she thought he needed
something more potent
When all it turned out to be
was a toothache!
But she would hear of no dentist
like all quacks her witchdoctor
had fooled her five senses
for his spells and his chants
held her too in a trance
Quite a weird weirdo is he
Beware the medicine-man!
poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
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Her Hidden Treasure
Her flame was only for the women –
Not for us unlucky men;
A weakness lay for feminine way:
To feel an even fairer skin
In silky slide.
Her lips were for the satin love that
Only flows from rising breast;
The creamy tan was not for man
To pull towards a chiselled chest
In weathered hide.
Her hidden treasure down below
Would shy away from macho length
And only rouse upon the blouse
Undone by other sapphic strength –
In time, inside!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Blank Paper
the blank paper
is like a virgin
woman,
it is not blank because
it wants to
there is this inner desire
to be scribbled
be it love or lust
or whatever
it is just its nature
to be written
anything that fills it up
with words
for its perfection
or even for its destruction
and soon
it will have its fate
a love letter kept for years
or a scratch paper
crumpled in the
bin
burned by another man's
lighter or
torn by a woman's
anger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You ARE A Woman :)
You are a woman,
A strong woman,
A grown woman,
One who WON'T give me what I want just cause I want it woman.
He needs you woman,
A loving woman,
Non-trusting woman,
One who knows the difference between right and wrong woman.
I found a woman,
You're one of em,
So many love em,
You just need to see the places you can be woman.
Hear me woman,
Don't fear me woman,
You're near me woman,
We all face strife, gotta change yo life woman.
See me woman,
No fake or frontin,
Can't be me woman,
For I am a man and you need to be a WOMAN!
['Enpowering women since the age of -9 months :) ']
poem by Tamell Bailey
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When I Write These Lines
when i write these lines it is as good as
thrown paper, some words are written but
they are meant to be discarded because they have
occupied much of sadness
worn out memories
overused mumblings
they are meant to be crumpled
and thrown away
this one, this one is not meant to be kept
it is written
but meant simply to be deleted
some words are meant to be said
and be forgotten
because of pain and because they do not mean anything anymore.
goodbye lines, goodbye
take your time, there will be a little waiting
until another fool takes you in
another poet in the state of an inevitable
writer's block
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Now that august is gone
Now that august is gone
And we all know that all augusts come and go
Is this woman? a woman of vertue,
Is this woman? a super woman
Is this woman? a woman of mission and vision
Is this woman? classy and stylish
Is this woman? preffesional or house wife
And the woman of action and motion
A woman of courage and resilence
A woman of liberation and liberty
A woman of passion and compassion
A woman of thoughts and opinions
A woman of empathy and sympathy
A woman of concerns and kindness
.
A woman of confrontation or insecurity
A woman of altracation or tranquility
A woman of ambition or armunition
A woman of redeemtion or detention
A woman of power or affection
Is this woman a woman
I am not questining you, woman!
I was questioning this woman
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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High School Memory
three of you in class had a crush on her
You threw a crumpled yellow paper with a note in black
Ballpoint pen
I love you
She opened it and crumpled it again and threw it back to you
It read in red ballpoint pen
I love you too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Man, I Do Not Really Know If I Have Written Something
i like the sound of the poo
not winnie's
i waited for minutes
and scribbled something
on that white tissue paper
and then i made the last moan
and then i sighed
and wiped my bottom
and then i throw away the
tissue and then there
was this sound of
relief, this flushing sound
and then everything
is gone after a short
whirl & whirl and whirl
and swosh
man, i did not know
that i have written
(something so well?)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Dying Soldier
' Here are houses,' he moaned,
'I could reach, but my brain swims.'
Then they thundered and flashed,
And shook the earth to its rims.
'They are gunpits,' he gasped,
'Our men are at the guns.
Water! . . . Water! . . , Oh, water !
For one of England's dying sons.'
' We cannot give you water,
Were all England in your breath.'
' Water! . .. Water! . . . Oh, water !'
fie moaned and swooned to death,
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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