A Husband's Regret
she got pregnant only once
on the third month yet
they still made love on the
hard floor of the house
and the lights were on
to see their beautiful
bodies soaked with sweat
and she moaned and blood
flowed and what she got
was not an orgasm but
an abortion
she recovered in the hospital
after a papsmear
and he bought a puppy all
white to mark the beginning
of his regret
on that sad day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Puppy and kitten
I had been with a kitten,
With whose love I was smitten.
Warmth wafted us between.
She left after a good innings.
I had been with a puppy,
In whose company too I was happy.
Currents flowed between us.
I left her in the beginning of the innings.
One day I had a vivid dream,
Wherein came the puppy before my avid eyes,
Wagging, her head under my cares.
The puppy, not the kitten, I rules.
The one who is in your stream
will only come in your dream.
29.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(Angry Poem) Blood On The Floor
Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On Floor.
Spilt Everywhere.
All Because Of You.
All Because You Can Never Lose.
Always Right Never Wrong.
Just Walk Away Leave It Alone.
Its Like Trying To Talk To A Brick Wall.
There's Just No Way To Get Through To You.
Mark My Words,
This Will No End Good. I Can Already Blood On The Floor.
Must We Go Through This Once More.
The Stress Builds,
The Headache Becomes A Migraine.
Too Close To Just Losing It.
Becoming Completely Insane
Going On A Rampage.
I Just Can't Stop Now,
I Won't Stop Now.
Not Till The Place Is Burnt To The Ground.
Buried In Mounds Of Ash Lie's A Key chain Its All That Will Be Left Of You.
Please Oh Please Just Stop Enough Is Enough.
A Scream After Every Heartbeat.
No Reason,
No Logic Behind All This.
Just Swallow That God Damn Pride.
Or Just Go Kill Yourself,
Yes Oh Yes Beautiful Suicide.
This World Would Be So Much Of A Better Place.
Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On The Floor.
You Opened This Door.
Now Theirs No Going Back.
You Better Just Shut Up Now, Now, Now.
I Say Bow, Bow, Bow,
Beg For Mercy, Kiss My God Damn Feet.
For We Have Reach The Tipping Point.
Just Relax It Will Be Quick.
It Will Be A Great Ending To This.
Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can Already See The Blood On The Floor.
As The Anger In Me Soar.
Like An Eagle I'm Flying So High Right Now.
With Nothing But Pure Adrenaline
I'm Prepared To Rip You Heart Out With My Talons So Sharp.
Mark My Words,
This Will Not End Good.
I Can already See The Blood On The Floor.
Theirs Just So Much Blood On The Floor.
Just So God Damn Much Blood On The Floor.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young Men in Maun
The house, on which the moonlight fell
Leaving a ghostly shadow mark
Had a porch, a low white wall
On which my Norwegian friend
Perched with the trophies of his hunt
He worked in the village hospital
A laboratory technician, he knew
Exactly who had tested and for what
But it was not so bad, those were
The years before the HIV
Once a month, just after pay day
When the moon was full over the plains
We'd open the door
Loudly unleash
My late 70s dance mix tapes
And invite the council workers in,
The nurses and the Danish volunteers
He bought the beer, I bought the bream
From the fisheries depot, cooked it up
With lemon juice in thick wide pans.
Six days a week John drove to work
Never bringing his lab tests home
Preparing for his doctor's life
He stocked the fridge with kudu meat
I cooked quietly, not touching his peace
Far from perfect, but beautiful
Ruled by the codes and by the moon
Like the lovers of our nights, with whom
We visited the riverside
Drank beer and coke and watched for birds
And that house - still standing, probably
These twenty-five years on
Protected district property
Its small garden of moon
Drunk dry by brazen sun.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For The Misfits
You should come into the beautiful house
It’s a spaced out palace
You’d never find a mouse
Come into the beautiful house
For all you misfits out there
Who love to howl
Who love to cry
Don’t care to die
Who want to fly
Take a look in the eye
You should come into the beautiful house
It’s the only rocket
To escape from this clouds
Come into the beautiful house
For all the living out there
Who love to cry
The ones who forget
Without some regret
Who watch the sky
In paradise
poem by Frosted Fire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Key
You should come into the beautiful house
It’s a spaced out palace
You’d never find a mouse
Come into the beautiful house
For all you misfits out there
Who love to howl
Who love to cry
Don’t care to die
Who want to fly
Take a look in the eye
You should come into the beautiful house
It’s the only rocket
To escape from this clouds
Come into the beautiful house
For all the living out there
Who love to cry
The ones who forget
Without some regret
Who watch the sky
In paradise
poem by Frosted Fire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From The Terrace
White house
brown roof
windows with outsretched arms
speak to my eyes
urging acceptance
Walls lift roof to gray sky
breeze flowing through the columns
floor, not for walking
but for ascending
request my steps
to be uplifted
Arches curve upwards
and downwards
dancing like the waves
invite me to join
all is in place
all agog with excitement
My soul flutters
knees buckle
and answer no
to House built with greed
not sweat of labour
Here I stay
on the terrace
watching house
not Home
blocks and roof
not sweat and contentment
poem by Mark Nwagwu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood of an Innoccent Little Vampire, Maria
Blood of an Innoccent Little Vampire, Maria
By, Demon
Maria,
Maria come to me,
Mom will sing a song to you that she once knew,
Far,
Far that angel did cross and he gave me my dear Maria,
Oh my Maria that I love so,
My little angel,
My angel of white and black,
My dear angel that I named my Maria,
My little angel covered in blood,
Oh my Maria what have you done,
Blood covering your whole body,
So many dead bodies on the floor,
So much blood every where on you and me,
The bite marks on our bodies,
Where did they come from my dear Maria,
The blood dripping from our mouths,
Oh my Maria what have we done,
The blood tastes so good to us,
The angel that gave me my Maria,
Wasn’t an angel he was a vampire,
A white haired demon with blood red eyes,
Our fangs paired with our angelic vampire.
poem by Demon Elwin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The End
We decided to have the abortion, became
killers together. The period that came
changed nothing. They were dead, that young couple
who had been for life.
As we talked of it in bed, the crash
was not a surprise. We went to the window,
looked at the crushed cars and the gleaming
curved shears of glass as if we had
done it. Cops pulled the bodies out
Bloody as births from the small, smoking
aperture of the door, laid them
on the hill, covered them with blankets that soaked
through. Blood
began to pour
down my legs into my slippers. I stood
where I was until they shot the bound
form into the black hole
of the ambulance and stood the other one
up, a bandage covering its head,
stained where the eyes had been.
The next morning I had to kneel
an hour on that floor, to clean up my blood,
rubbing with wet cloths at those glittering
translucent spots, as one has to soak
a long time to deglaze the pan
when the feast is over.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Puppy In A Cup
Have a cup of puppy,
Puppy in a cup.
Brown and slightly sugary,
Puppy in a cup.
Warm, soft and cuddly,
Puppy in a cup.
Don't drink the puppy, silly,
Just pick the puppy up!
Dumb-Bells
DUMB-BELLS left, dumb-bells right,
Swing them hard, grip them tight!
Thirty fat men of the town
Must sweat their filthy paunches down.
Dripping sweat and pumping blood
They try to make themselves like God.
One and two, three and four,
Cleave the air and smite the floor!
Five and six, seven and eight,
Legs apart, shoulders straight!
Thirty fat men grunt and puff,
Thirty bellies plead, Enough!
Dumb-bells up, dumb-bells down,
Dumb-bells front, dumb-bells ground!
Thirty's God has just the girth
To pull the levers of the earth,
They made him sinewy and lean
And washed him glittering white and clean.
Dumb-bells in, dumb-bells out,
Count by fours and face about!
Put by dumb-bells for to-day,
Wash the stinking sweat away
And go out clean. But come again;
Worship's every night at ten.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The First Part Of The Misleading Venture
the poor [ i.e. workers of the farm,
pregnant corn husker, the driver of the
pedicab, the smoking tomato gatherer,
the sweet potato washer}
i am lost in the symbols
of humanity, i am trying to decipher again
the meaning of their visit
and they decision here to spend the night
at the second floor of this house
where my father-in-law died because his
son pushed him towards the stair
and hit his head
on the grinding stone
the bolo is sharp, blood flowed from the
pig's neck
after that scream
there is noise, and some magicians are selling
potions
when someone needs love so badly
and then resorts
of spells
the natives are smelling so bad
there is no water in the river where they come from
they are thin
there stomachs are filled with air
hairs with lice
i guess you know when this happens
and why this happens
because, it is fiesta time and there is no more road for us to use.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Lady of Pain and Sorrow
Once I loved you,
Once I cherished your phantom flesh,
Once I lost myself in orgasm after orgasm,
Once I bought you flowers (what a cliche!)
You were the Queen of hellish thoughts,
Sweet Harlot and Mother of Lies,
You made me long for your rotting corpse
In your heavenly and bestial disguise,
But now I see you for what you are,
As the rabbit sees the fox before it dies,
Now I'll see it wherever I turn,
The cold, implacable cruelty of your eyes! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood On The Dancefloor
She got your number
She know your game
She put you under
It's so insane
Since you seduced her
How does it feel
To know that woman
Is out to kill
Every night stance is like takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you're gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world I've got to enjoy that simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(Blood on my side)
She seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now she's out to get me
And I just can't take it
Just can't break it
Susie got your number
And Susie ain't your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susie's got your number
And Susie says its right
She got your number
How does it feel
To know this stranger
Is out to kill
She got your baby
It happened fast
If you could only
Erase the past
Every night stance is like takin a chances
It's not about love and romance
And now you're gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin' a chance
It's not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world I got to enjoy this simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(Blood on my side)
It seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now she's out to get me
And I just can't take it
Just can't break it
Susie got your number
And Susie ain't your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susie got your number
You know Susie says its right
Susie's got your number
Susie ain't your friend
Look who took you under
She put seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susie's got your number
Susie says its right
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
And I just can't take it
The girl won't break it
Ooo...
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood On The Dance Floor
Written and composed by michael jackson and teddy riley
She got your number
She know your game
She put you under
Its so insane
Since you seduced her
How does it feel
To know that woman
Is out to kill
Every night stance is like takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now youre gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world Ive got to enjoy that simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(blood on my side)
She seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now shes out to get me
And I just cant take it
Just cant break it
Susie got your number
And susie aint your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susies got your number
And susie says its right
She got your number
How does it feel
To know this stranger
Is out to kill
She got your baby
It happened fast
If you could only
Erase the past
Every night stance is like takin a chances
Its not about love and romance
And now youre gonna get it
Every hot man is out takin a chance
Its not about love and romance
And now you do regret it
To escape the world I got to enjoy this simple dance
And it seemed that everything was on my side
(blood on my side)
It seemed sincere like it was love and true romance
And now shes out to get me
And I just cant take it
Just cant break it
Susie got your number
And susie aint your friend
Look who took you under
With seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susie got your number
You know susie says its right
Susies got your number
Susie aint your friend
Look who took you under
She put seven inches in
Blood is on the dance floor
Blood is on the knife
Susies got your number
Susie says its right
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
It was blood on the dance floor
(blood on the dance floor)
And I just cant take it
The girl wont break it
Ooo...
song performed by by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Abortion (1-6)
Abortion #1
Watch them
slaughter
the child
and
'dispose'
of it.
Abortion #2
A life snuffed out
before it can begin.
No chance to love,
to grow, to learn
to live;
no chance to do anything.
A life
just created
and destroyed.
Abortion #3
A quick flow of blood
a tiny corpse.
A baby murdered,
it's mother leaves the clinic
continuing to live her life
unlike her child.
Abortion #4
Tears
dropp from Heaven
as another child is murdered.
A soul without a name
unwanted by its own mother,
robbed of its right to live.
I pray for you.
Abortion #5
As you go to get your abortion
remember that at this moment
you are alive
and able to kill your child
because your mother
did not choose
to abort you.
Abortion #6
Abortion
is not murder
any more
than shooting a little baby
in the back of the head
is murder.
poem by Zachary Zuccaro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unknown Tablets
The lady got pregnant because of you!
But you gave her some unknown tablets to swallow;
And, inserted something into her private part to abort the foetus,
However, this illegal abortion led to her death! !
Yes, you've killed today!
A mother and the unborn child;
And to terminate the three-month-old pregnancy was the case.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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At The Other House Of Ill Repute
a few meters from here
where i am writing
the peace of this town
is a little bit disturbed
by the song of Bob Marley
or his look-alike in that
known house of ill-repute
where the women make
love with you in bed
where the men also take
other men instead
those that smell like pigs
are given soap and water
and a sachet of shampoo
on dim lights and cubicles
happiness is bought
for a very cheap rice on
these hard times
and as the Bob Marley song
is played the bursts of
the Fourth of Julies happen
the women have deep sunken
eyes and so are the men
prostitutes
this is a peaceful neighborhood
decent and responsible
until the hard times came
throwing away whatever education
is left, whatever values remain
the bodies become commodities
for the meal of the day....Sadly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bread
bread we eat is soaked
in farmer's, floor mill worker's
and bake-man's sweat
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Great Man's House
It was written in marble in golden letters:
here a great man lived and worked and died.
He laid the gravel for these paths personally.
This bench — do not touch — he chiseled by himself
out of stone.
And — careful, three steps — we're going inside.
He made it into the world at just the right time.
Everything that had to pass, passed in this house.
Not in a high rise,
not in square feet, furnished yet empty,
amidst unknown neighbors,
on some fifteenth floor,
where it's hard to drag school field trips.
In this room he pondered,
in this chamber he slept,
and over here he entertained guests.
Portraits, an armchair, a desk, a pipe, a globe, a flute,
a worn-out rug, a sun room.
From here he exchanged nods with his tailor and
shoemaker
who custom made for him.
This is not the same as photographs in boxes,
dried out pens in a plastic cup,
a store-bought wardrobe in a store-bought closet,
a window, from which you can see clouds better
than people.
Happy? Unhappy?
That's not relevant here.
He still confided in his letters,
without thinking they would be opened on their
way.
He still kept a detailed and honest diary,
without the fear that he would lose it during a
search.
The passing of a comet worried him most.
The destruction of the world was only in the hands
of God.
He still managed not to die in the hospital,
behind a white screen, who knows which one.
There was still someone with him who remembered
his muttered words.
He partook of life
as if it were reusable:
he sent his books to be bound;
he wouldn't cross out the last names of the dead from
his address book.
And the trees he had planted in the garden behind
the house
grew for him as Juglans regia
and Quercus rubra and Ulmus and Larix
and Fraxinus excelsior.
poem by Wislawa Szymborska
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I am only the house of your beloved
'I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it.'
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the 'state,'
it does His bidding;
when that one wills, bodies become spirit.