The Lonely Woman And The Man Who Predicted His Own Death
The lonely woman
took a liter of costly perfumed oil
made from genuine aromatic nard
and anointed his feet and
dried them with her hair;
the house was filled
with the fragrance of the oil
If you are with me
Then you will know at once
who the woman was
for whom
we identify our own
loneliness
who the man was
who died for all of us
nailed feet
bloodied hair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Rope hair woman
Rope hair woman
Where you’re off to tonight
Rope hair woman
You’re lookin’ out of sight
O rope hair woman
I love with all my might
Rope hair woman if you could if you can
Let me be your dread lock man.
Dread lock man
Can you understand
That a rope hair woman
Does all that she can
To move you to that sexual point
Better then your hand
O rope hair woman
Here is my plain
Rope hair woman I will give
Up my womanly man
O rope hair woman
The world can understand
That you want a dread lock man.
poem by David E. Patton
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The Lonely Woman And The Sea
tonight the lonely woman sits beside the sea again
her feet are too small and her hands too gentle
she speaks about what is missing and she recalls what she cannot find
she likes the song of the empty shells
the hermit crabs are too clumsy for her
her hair falls on the rocks and she begins to shed some tears
the sea keeps on waving, signalling as though sending the message
' please don't i have so much salt inside my belly'
but the lonely woman keeps on crying and she cannot be stopped
the sea is mute and the lonely woman is deaf
the tree says they make a good pair and someone says further
they can, who knows, without a hitch, live happily ever after
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Room For The Life
Hey there, you lady in tears,
Do you think that they care if theyre real, woman?
They just take it as part of the deal.
Lost in your men and the games you play.
Trying to prove that youre better, woman.
But you neednt get heavy with them.
Like it or not, we were built tough,
Because were woman.
No, we never die for long,
While weve got that little life
To live for, where its hid inside.
No, we never die for long,
Oh! woman, two in one,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Inside of you can be two, woman,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Mama woman, aha!
Night after night in the quiet house,
Plaiting her hair by the fire, woman,
With no lover to free her desire,
How long do you think she can stick it out?
How long do you think before shell go out, woman?
Hey! get up on your feet and go get it, now.
Like it or not, we keep bouncing back,
Because were woman.
No, we never die for long,
While weve got that little life
To live for, where its hid inside.
Oh! woman, two in one,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Inside of you can be two, woman,
Theres room for a life in your womb, woman,
Mama woman, aha!
A-mama-woma-mama-woman-aha!
A-mama-woma-mama-woman-aha!
Oh, mama-woman, two-in-a-one, aha!
Oh, two in one, aha!
Oh, woman! woman! woman! woman!
Theres room for a life in your womb!
Theres room for a life in your womb!
Two in one, aha!
Two in one! two in one! two in one!
Room for a life in your womb.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman Means Beauty
To say that she is a beauty is not correct
In a sense, woman herself is a beauty.
Gradations take place with in that.
The woman’s beauty transcends colour and creed.
She is the truth, the essence, the genius,
The exuberances and the bliss
And what not, to a man’s eyes?
But she is man’s pawn.
Her fashion is in man’s power designs.
In some places, her feet were made shrunk.
In some periods, her hair was slashed,
Sometimes curls, sometimes short or close cut.
Fabrics in reduction and then in
Abundance and to be cyclic.
A beautiful woman is a distorted woman.
18.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On modern woman
Smile, take a pretty picture,
Be the best woman you can be.
Paint your nails a scarlet red,
Stain your hair a pale blonde,
Be the best woman you can be.
Perk up those breasts,
Put razor to flesh,
Then Scrape off those old skin cells
Breed, woman, breed!
But don't you get stretch marks.
Be the best woman you can be.
Tear the hair from your vulva,
Be the first to church,
When in doubt, smile.
Steam your hair and bleach your teeth,
Don't neglect your husbands needs,
Be the best woman you can be.
Woman, did you read it in a magazine?
You're a void I can not fill.
Don't ever wrinkle.
You don't have to like it, it's gucci.
Snort this line, eat my words.
Don't neglect your petty needs.
Be the best woman that you can be.
poem by H.J. Shreeve
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Woman Is Fire
There was a time when Woman went out of house, house of wax was left by Woman, Woman with waxen complexion I was, I was fiery Woman, Woman's body was a wax, Woman's eyes a flammable paraffin, what Woman's mouth was: withered red apples when Woman was fired out of house. House was invisible when Woman took a fire lamp and went to cheer in the smell of fallen apples, scattered around house, our moldy house. In the cold night Woman molded her body in a candle mould to revive old fire and saw Man that gathered apple stalks from moldy apple trees. It was a lonely man, Man that made a fire with waxed paper and moldering apple stalks. Man that sat outdoors on a moldy wooden bench by that fire and drunk applejack.
Woman saw Man, Man that felt Woman's looks through apple shaped embers bursting out of fire when wet apple leaves dried. Fire was a necessity for Man, for Man made his living being a fire-eater. The fire-eater wanted fire that gives birth, of fireworks, exploding fire. Man moved a long green apple stalk through fire to burn fire more. Man took a dropp and swallowed it. Man took another dropp and spat it into the fire. Suddenly Man realized what he needed and waxed on a piece of paper: fire must drink applejack for fire is becoming moldy, and he spat what he drunk mingled with apple-tasting spit. House is moldy too, Woman remembered and woman's heart became a rotten apple.. Fire was quenching as Woman closed her eyelids, apple peels, longing for house. House may be moldy, but house is not empty. Woman molded house the like, house full of candle lights and fireflies. Woman left Man's fire quenched and remained an apple scented candle. House melts easily and hardens quickly, Woman too. Woman abandoned Man not to be melt. That is old fire in Woman, as she stalks on apple waxed earth toward house.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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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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The Doer Of Good
It was night-time and He was alone.
And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards the
city.
And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the
feet of joy, and the laughter of the mouth of gladness and the loud
noise of many lutes. And He knocked at the gate and certain of the
gate-keepers opened to Him.
And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of
marble before it. The pillars were hung with garlands, and within
and without there were torches of cedar. And He entered the house.
And when He had passed through the hall of chalcedony and the hall
of jasper, and reached the long hall of feasting, He saw lying on a
couch of sea-purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and
whose lips were red with wine.
And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to
him, 'Why do you live like this?'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him, and made answer
and said, 'But I was a leper once, and you healed me. How else
should I live?'
And He passed out of the house and went again into the street.
And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were
painted and whose feet were shod with pearls. And behind her came,
slowly as a hunter, a young man who wore a cloak of two colours.
Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol, and the
eyes of the young man were bright with lust.
And He followed swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and
said to him, 'Why do you look at this woman and in such wise?'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him and said, 'But I
was blind once, and you gave me sight. At what else should I
look?'
And He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and
said to her, 'Is there no other way in which to walk save the way
of sin?'
And the woman turned round and recognised Him, and laughed and
said, 'But you forgave me my sins, and the way is a pleasant way.'
And He passed out of the city.
And when He had passed out of the city He saw seated by the
roadside a young man who was weeping.
And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and
said to him, 'Why are you weeping?'
And the young man looked up and recognised Him and made answer,
'But I was dead once, and you raised me from the dead. What else
should I do but weep?'
poem by Oscar Wilde
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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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What is a Real Woman
How would you judge her
would she wear her hair natural
or sit in the beauty parlor with her
new do, feet, and nails done too.
What is a real woman,
highly educated
or a young woman uneducated
but educated with street knowledge
would that be acceptable too.?
Is the real woman one that has gone to jail
a choice she made to
feed her kids,
survival was her game. .
What is a real woman
who’s obedient to your call
meets all your demands
or one who feisty,
knows how to take a stand.
What is a real woman,
one that saved when she in church
or the one that's a blessing
to your life atleast.
any way or anyhow
What is a real woman
a woman who knows all ways to please you
or the one who pleases you because she loves you
whatever she will be in your life.
if not already your wife.
What is a real woman
Does she have your babies
nuture and love them
or does she not have them
because she rather have you.
What is a real woman
does she need a man to define her name
horrible names,
you have called her
she choose not to remember.
Friends couldn't call her those names,
for they all would fear.
Her name glorious
as it weren’t perfect
Define a real woman
a name we've all been called.
Define
A Real Woman?
We all have a testimony
Do I Care?
Written by Adrienne Clark Strachn
December a very cold winter
poem by Adrienne Clark Strachn
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Wench
Written by: david henman, james henman,
Ritchie henman and myles goodwyn
I just dropped in to see how my woman was
I wish to spend some time with her
Its not hard to see no reason why
Shell be leaving when the morning come
She was just a woman now
Just some lonely woman now
Just some lonely woman
The only woman Ive ever had
She stayed while I talked love to her
There was nothin she wished to know
Well things were bad and still the same
She is leaving on the morning train
She was just a woman now
Just some lonely woman now
Just some lonely woman
The only woman Ive ever had
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Blacck Woman
Her hair is like the softest silk,
Her eyes are of deep ebony brown,
Yet her smile melts my inner soul,
She is my Black Woman!
The thick lips she posses are so pleasing;
Her touch is that of a goddess,
Her beauty is beautiful as diamond,
My Black Woman, also My Queen.
Though no one is truly perfect,
But in my eyes she is so fine,
My Black Woman everlasting….
For me there can be only her,
To stand by my side threw thick and thin,
Comfort me when I fail
To help me get back on my feet,
To believe in me when others doubt me,
She’s merely being herself….
Also my Black Woman.
A strong Black Woman she is indeed,
Also passionate with understanding as well,
This woman would never leave my side,
My lady, my friend for all times…
My Black Woman.
©2010 Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga
poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
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Washed my Feet
Mmmm I know to most this may not seem like much but last night my man washed my feet. He took the sponge and dipped in the water then he held over my feet and let the warm water dripped down on. Woo it felt so good. He then lathered up his big strong hands with soap and began massaging my feet. It felt like ecstasy. Now, he was done with his soap massage he once again wet them with the sponge and when he was done my feet shined like two new pennies. He then dried them and girl that man of mine finished by giving my feet a kiss. I know my man loved me because last night he washed my feet.
Note: This is fictional I wrote this from a woman's point of view.
Hair
Wide cheeks? Let the hair hide the ears.
Broad forehead? Let the hair spills in front.
Dwarf neck? Let the hair in knot be up.
Lanky figure? Let the hair falls on shoulders.
Hair being dense is an asset to woman
27.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Gypsy Woman
From nowhere through the caravan
Round the campfire light
Lovely woman in motion
With hair as dark as night
Her eyes were like that of a cat in the dark
That hypnotized me with love
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She was a gypsy woman
She danced around and round
Guitars melody
From the fire her face was aglow
How she enchanted me
Id like to hold her near
And kiss her hair and whisper in her ear
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
All through the caravan
She was dancing with all the men
Waiting for the rising sun
Everyone was having fun
Hated to see her go
Knowing that shell never know
That I love her
That I love her
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
I love you gypsy woman
Whoever compared it to part monkey part man hit the nail on the head. it has that same kind of dark, mysterious sound. the vocals are soft and understated, somewhat reminiscent to those on if I should fall behind or pony boy. the song is sung with that nasally twang bruce has grown so fond of lately.
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Man and Woman
The Difference between a Man and a Woman;
When Man needs your silver hugs and caressing kisses,
Woman needs your mind as well.
When Man taunts your falls and misses
Woman shares a laughing spell.
When Man tells you all will be right
Woman tells you the mistake.
When Man starts leaving during fight
Woman sees through all that fake
Woman, with her knowing eyes and blowing hair
Man with muscles and puppy smile.
Woman with her bounty fair
Man's will last just for a while.
Which is better; man or woman?
woman or man?
Men are gifts we love to open, while women that we can save.
Mary Magdalene
While the dark night folds around me
I wait on Thee,
who could speak
and sent the storm
back into the sea.
At times I wonder where my love
for Thee started,
or was I made with it,
that Though dark brown eyes
could know the dark depths of my heart
and could touch like no other
and could heal me
and make me completely free from all sin
and I was happy.
With every stroke that the hammer makes
against the cross of wood
and every nail that tears
right through Thy body,
I knew pain
like never before
and in my soul
the dark depths died
with Thy death
At a time even my pomegranate red lips
and round full breasts
made no impression on Thee
and Thy holiness
and unconditional love
touched deep into my heart,
so that I washed Thy feet
with ointment of nard
and in humility used my hair
to dry the feet
of the Son of God.
While the morning sun
rises red on the horizon
I wait on Thee,
to come back to this earth
as king and supreme Lord.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Mary Magdalene At The Door Of Simon The Pharisee.
“WHY wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair?
Nay, be thou all a rose,—wreath, lips, and cheek.
Nay, not this house,—that banquet-house we seek;
See how they kiss and enter; come thou there.
This delicate day of love we two will share
Till at our ear love's whispering night shall speak.
What, sweet one,—hold'st thou still the foolish freak?
Nay, when I kiss thy feet they'll leave the stair.”
“Oh loose me! Seest thou not my Bridegroom's face
That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss,
My hair, my tears He craves to-day:—and oh!
What words can tell what other day and place
Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His?
He needs me, calls me, loves me: let me go!”
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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She's A Woman*******************1978
she's a woman, and she's taken all she can take
she's a woman and she knows it's not too late.
to change her life style
and the way she was brought up to think.
she's a woman, and to her it's everything.
so all you men 'watch out and beware'
she's a woman that can get under your hair.
let it be known that she's out to get revenge
she's a woman and won't stop till the end.
she's a danger to men all around
and you will find broken hearts laying on the ground.
poem by Louis Rams
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My Mothers Hair
One of your hairs fell out last night:
A piece of your life was gone without a sound.
I know a difficult day is coming,
My heart, pierced, utters a quiet cry.
Let my childhood smile again in the sun
And turn me into an innocent little head louse
So I can crawl through the jungle of your hair
And sing a song of darkness in its fragrance.
Under your fingernail-roof Ill sleep in my house;
In my black dream Ill water your black trees.
Ill pick black fruits, and hair-jungle bees
Will bring me black poems to be opened.
How will I live, without your hair?
How will I breathe, without its fragrance?
How will I survive, when I am discovered
By ghosts of wooden combs combing your hair?
Let me wear shows made of dawn-flowers
And crawl without a sound into your sleep.
Ill take the place of the hair that's gone
And sing of hair-clouds flying from night to day.
poem by Ovwigho Joseph Ovedje
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