A sperm donor
As a sperm donor, what pride can I have?
Neither the world nor I know who's my child.
It's like the novel without the author's name
Printed; here the autor can knows it is his.
08.05.2012.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Father 2
You are not my father.
You are nothing to me but my sperm donor.
I cannot even look at you without hatred.
You are the reason I am like this.
You pushed me too far
You made me hate my mother
When it was you I should of hated
poem by Makayla Straight
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Libido and fertility
With his charisma, he got women ‘n bed.
He had many actresses as his mistress.
His sexual prowess was well known to all.
Without a child, he ended as sterile.
Libido has no say on fertility.
Low sperm count is not corollary
To deflated libido in sex life
And will not affect the couple's pleasure.
30.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lotus-flowers
Lotus-flowers
Naked I am before The Author of Life
-the child of nature’s birth and death
Imperfect I am before The Great Mind
-the child of passion’s limited to earth
Rebellious I am before The Truth
-the child of desire clothe with pride
Vicious I am before The Law
-the child of deceit and endless lies
Avaricious I am before The Master of All
-the child of corrupt and distorted image of life
Nauseous I am before The Ancient One
-the child of folly, ignorant antagonist
And I am the pilgrim before the God of the Universe
-the ‘you’ and the ‘I’ across time and space
Note:
Inspired by the teaching on “Nirvana”
poem by Jordan Legaspi
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The cheapest is advice
Donor is happier than the receiver;
Cheaper than water anywhere
Is advice, free of cost, unasked.
In its balance sheet, there is no loss.
Always is gain, the ego of donor.
04.12.2001, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Nothing To You and Nothing To Me
Your name is not on my birth certifict.
So dont claim to be my mom
You are nothing to me
All you are is my sperm donor's wife
That means nothing to me
Do you understand what I am saying
Stop telling people I am your daughter
Because I am not
You will NEVER EVER be my mom!
To my face you are so ever nice
But behind my back you thrive knife into my back
So you hate me?
Ha thats funny!
Because last night you said 'I Love You'
Why must you lie to me
And then yell and cuss when I do the same
I will not lie when I say
I hate you
You are nothing to me!
Nothing! !
Dont call me your daughter
I am nothing to you
But your husband's mistake! !
poem by Makayla Straight
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Every author really wants to have letters printed in the papers. Unable to make the grade, he drops down a rung of the ladder and writes novels.
quote by P.G. Wodehouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man is proud though.
Yet, he took pride about himself
When his actress wife bore him a child,
A privilege she had denied
To many heroes she slept with.
24.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Talisman
The studs worn by her are more fortunate
Than their donor, with their sanctity
To touch her. What sensation can they feel?
The donor can feel but is barred to touch.
No matter.
It is a talisman,
for her he has given.
23.05.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Being mother is a boon.
To be a mother is a woman’s pride.
The child being a son, her pride doubles.
If the child goes unmanageable,
Her pride will grow triples; she would chuckle.
05.07.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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991. Give Me The Pride Of Being Your Child.
You bestow
Some people with pride of having best parents.
Some with pride of inheriting immense wealth.
Some with pride of being born in high caste.
Some with pride of possessing an extraordinary talent.
Some with pride of controlling a great mass.
.....
For me, You denied all these.
I too don’t regret.
In fact, I thank You
For not having added all these
To my already taxing ego.
But, don’t deny Your uplifting love.
Give me only one pride.
The pride of being Your child!
poem by Raman Savithiri
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Giving is pleasure.
The donor is happier than the recipient
As his hands place above the recipient’s..
Donor’s ego and recipient’s hands are full.
The giver remembers longer though.
23.03.2001
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Broken child
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.
poem by Joshua Reid
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Pride and humility
Pride is the trademark of ego.
Pride erects ego to be broke.
Humility is the spirit's root.
Humility vanquishes the pride.
31.07.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beginning of destruction
pride it’s all your fault
Pride it’s all your fault we in this mess
Pride it’s all your fault we are suffering
Pride it’s all your fault people are shedding blood
Pride it’s all your fault families are destroyed
Pride it’s all your fault people are so greedy and selfish
Pride it’s all your fault people have no love
Pride it’s all your fault are so jealous of each other
Pride it’s all your fault people are so lost
Pride it’s all your fault dying from this horrible diseases
Pride it’s all your fault we have so many orphans
Pride it’s all your fault people are betraying each other
Pride it’s all your fault are dying of hunger
Pride it’s all your fault fathers are sleeping with their children
Pride it’s all your fault people are so heartless
Pride it’s all your fault there is no peace, unity and harmony in this world
Pride it’s all your fault we have all this sorrow
Pride it’s all your fault God has rejected us
Pride it’s all your fault people are so evil
And they have decided to be in love with evil rather than good
You have ruined this world
You are to blame for all this misery
If lucifer did not have pride in his heart we wouldn’t be in this mess
Pride it all your fault! ! !
Vangile Mtyali
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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April Summers
How can I forget those April summers.
Blue now is brighter to deeply to tell.
Red roses too our favorite flowers.
Scars were silver and words rang as knell.
Yes, I cried when I kissed thy pallid brow.
And thus, the words were spoken, woe is me!
I can tell that I am not happy now.
For it is thee that I will never see.
Quivering dread setting in my bossom.
That bleak April summers had made me cold.
And thy child I bore, I named her, Blossom.
Seraphs took thee and I was never told.
On thy sepulchre, I sat down and wept.
And near that rushy glen, thy vows, I kept
A thought is a child.
A thought is conceived in one’s brain
By the fusion of memory, the ovum
And the perception, the sperm.
A child is a copy, not a duplicate.
12.07.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wake Not My Sleeping Child
Wake not my sleeping child
This world awaits not thy vision,
Talk not my sleeping child
This world listens to no one,
Move not my sleeping child
This world senses every vibration!
Think not my sleeping child
This world is void of thoughts.
Live not my sleeping child,
This world offers nothing but death!
Lie in my arms in perfect numbness…
This world will spare you its camaraderie!
poem by Anuradha Datta
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Nativity Song
At the coming of the little Child
Let bitter foes be reconciled,
Don't let violence run wild
At the coming of the little Child.
At the coming of the little Child
Don't let innocence be defiled,
The world was changed when His Mother smiled
At the coming of the little Child.
Never again let blood be shed,
But listen to the words of the dead:
'Let all religions live in peace
And all extremes of hatred cease,
Let gentleness conquer strife and war
And pride and arrogance be no more! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Six-Toed Tina
There was a young queen who knew a boy's love,
who ruled a great yard and led a small pride.
From her extra toes to her noble ears,
she was incongruent in scope and size.
Yet her purr was the world to one odd child,
for whom every word was a bur unfair.
Calico and beige, with a mange unfair,
she appeared unkept and bereft of love.
Even the boy, so different a child,
was led astray by his diffident pride,
and couldn't quite take her strange paws and size,
until loving rubs made him scratch her ears.
Satiny soft- those tall Bastet-like ears-
made her nightly hunts endeavors unfair,
for Tina teased out sounds tiny in size-
even large rodents in the throes of love-
and dragged them writhing to the grateful pride,
who devoured them whole in front of the child.
Then something died deep inside that strange child,
as a slate of new sounds pricked up his ears.
He sought sensation and elusive pride-
baring it all yet becoming unfair.
Cool was he, and insensitive to love,
paying no heed to it's presence or size.
Yes, women- not felines- zero in size-
became the prize for this once awkward child,
who delighted himself in faking love
'til news of Tina at last touched his ears,
and life was again an affair unfair,
ruled by the cruel and their f***ed up pride.
So clutching her image, he faced the pride,
dreaming of justice, caliber and size,
and what he'd do to those humans unfair-
but now he was grown and not a small child,
and his soul soon mellowed as did his ears.
He'd bury poor Tina and try to love.
Dark days unfair would again test his pride,
but knowing of love would limit their size,
and the child moved on with enlightened ears.
poem by Taylor Rosewood
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In writing biography, fact and fiction shouldn't be mixed. And if they are, the fictional points should be printed in red ink, the facts printed in black ink.
quote by Catherine Drinker Bowen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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