Beauty Has No Grammar
Egg shaped face, not moon like one,
Cropped hair, not a long plaited one,
Plain neck and face, not ornamented,
Tiny breasts, not surging ones,
And casual wears adorn modern girls.
Concept of beauty has no grammar.
01.08.2001
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Grammar of beauty
The stress long, jet black, tightly plaited,
The eyes, fish like, black, brows blackened,
The face, moon shaped, yellow, with red lips,
And the bosom massive were once of beauty.
Jewels and silk in profuse adorned every part.
Short cut, dishevelled, unoiled is the hair,
Eyes and lips are kept in subdue with out paints,
The face of any shape, stripped of blush,
And the toned body are now taken for beauty.
Coarse garments without jewels adorn.
With the yellow skin, also came in dusky skin.
Plumpness went out and thinness came in.
Why is this somersault in beauty grammar?
Fashion is invented by the upper one and
Is caught by others to identify with the upper
02.10.2000, Vijayavada
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Aish is all graceful
Be in ultra modern jeans, with hair cropped,
Be in curves with a bikini, with hair cascading,
Be in swimming suit, with hair dripping,
Be in top and middy, with hair thrown back,
Be in velvet chudidhar, with hair hiding the cheeks,
Be in saree and blouse, with hair loosely knotted,
Be with chemise on breasts, with hair permed and ornamented,
Be on cotton saree, with hair made to bun,
Be in half saree and blouse, with hair tightly plaited,
Or be in any fashion that comes into being,
The actress Aish is blooming and beaming,
What not is the fashion or style for Aish, all the grace?
19.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Liberation of female sex.
You cannot grow taller than you are.
But you can be leaner than you are.
Dwarf is not the sign of beauty.
Be thin to look taller.
Surging breasts and broad hip are outdated.
Tiny breasts and narrow frame are the order of the day.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The lasting beauty.
The lasting beauty lies
not in surging breasts, chubby cheeks,
cloudy hair, fair skin and ornaments.
It lies in one’s aura and personality.
Often the common are sexy.
12.02.2001, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beauty has no standard
Plump cheeks,
Surging breasts,
Massive buttocks
Fleshy thighs.
It is epic beauty.
Firm cheeks,
Standing breasts,
Bonny buttocks,
Slender thighs,
It is modern beauty.
Beauty reforms according to fashion.
26.04.2002, pkd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An island beauty
A tiny frame, as high as
Five feet and three inches,
So elegant, so supple,
Weighing thirty-five kilograms,
So youthful, so tender,
At her two and twenty,
Pleasant but not extravagant,
She stunned me at first sight.
Square face, square forehead,
Square jaw, square shoulders,
And square nose on thin frame,
She had changed
The grammar of beauty.
A Mongolian beauty.
Unobtrusive breast and
Un-ejecting buttocks
Added only colour to her
Bravado looks.
Her velvet hairs, plaited, tucked
Above and pinned atop,
Baring the lemon nape,
Is an Ajenta in drawings.
She commanded my respect.
She summoned my reverence.
But for she, called Zeenas,
My three days sea voyage
Might be a waste.
Long live, the poor Maldivian.
25.12.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Second Poem
the woman wears a long gown
covering her toes
she veils her face and neck
there is no way that you can see
her veins
her back is covered with
fox hair
she wears gloves and her
mouth is covered with
silk cloth
she looks like a mummy
though fashionable in some sense
less the context of
death
get nearer she has a very
important matter to reveal
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Modern Dancing
Modern, modern, modern, modern dancing
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Modern dancing, modern
I see you acting modernly with the boys and girls
Exposure breeds discovery in the modern world
The 60's hairdos 90's eyes are just flashing lights
A touch of neon hinting class for the modern night
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Dancing
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Modern dancing, modern
Mono vision tv face and determined eyes
The clothes are perfect the rips in place just the perfect size
Familiarity breeds contempt but it doesn't show
We've heard the music times before but it still makes you go
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Modern dancing, modern dancing
Modern dancing, dancing
....variations to fade....
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be beauty conscious
Loosely plaited, you are homely.
Tightly plaited, you are tiny.
Without plait, if just thrown over
Behind, you are catchy.
Light in colour and thick in fabrics,
You are good in all saris.
You shine in gold but dull in pearl.
Wear studs small and round.
Atop all, if you have a diamond
On your nose, it will change your face.
You must be as rosy as even
After your menopause. It is my wish.
06.04.2000, Mannarghat
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Who Discovered The Mirror?
Who discovered the mirror?
We don't, at all, remember.
To show our faces beautiful,
How much it's really useful?
Above the wash basin
The glittering teeth clean
We see first every morn,
Before the day starts on.
The curly hair to comb,
The mustache to trim,
The oily face to foam,
How it helps at home?
Is there any beauty parlor,
Or a fancy dress store,
Or a modern shop tailor,
With no full size mirror?
Inside the ladies hand bags,
Or the gents coat pockets,
How the tiny mirror hides,
For their face-touch up uses?
To see the distant stars,
Or to find the tiny microbes,
How it serves a giant telescope,
Or a small but sharp microscope?
Mirror, mirror everywhere,
With our life for it to share,
Thanks to the unknown discoverer
For this all-time useful mirror.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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Beauty is described
She is a beauty
Whose mouth is as wide as a python’s,
Whose nose is as sharp as a sparrow’s
Whose neck is long as a peacock’s
Whose mane is as dense as a lion’s
Whose hip is as broad as a duck’s
And whose legs are as tall as a crane’s,
What about her breasts?
Any shape; breasts themselves are beauty
For men, who’d been denied enough feeding.
01.12.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Madness Or Faithfulness
Every evening in front the mirror,
She sits to adorn herself
With faith and light of hope in the eyes.
A strange happiness spreads over her face,
She combs, braids her hair in the latest fashion,
Powders her face and neck, applies Kajal to the eyes,
Pastes a thin layer of lipstick with faint rosy colour,
Then her sober beauty begins to shine.
She often stands engrossed in the open door,
And listens to the footsteps of each passerby,
Looking into the vacancy she waits for her husband
Who went long ago in the second eve of the wedding
To defend boundaries of the country,
And laid down his life with all colourful hopes.
It is madness or too faithfulness,
She has cherished a belief that he will return,
That is why she reiterates, rehearses the same activity,
And every evening adorns herself
Waits long, and goes to the bed with a new burn,
But her parted, lost companion does not return.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Untapped...
I see beauty in the night
Graceful is the sight
As the moon floats
Amidst oceans of stars
In see beauty in nature
In the sun masculine embrace
So much beauty in the clouds
Even seas confess in rousing waves
I see beauty in the day
In the reflection of your face
So much beauty in may
As it ushers the new rain
There is beauty in your eyes
The curl of your hair...
So much beauty in your heart
And the joy that comes with your smile.
(TJ 19/01/10)
poem by Jubril Balogun
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What Is A Face?
What is a face
that wears no smile?
'Tis only the face
that's been hurt for a while.
What is a face
that's gracious to see?
'Tis surely the face
of serenity.
What is a face
with wondrous eyes?
'Tis one that sees
beyond the skies.
What is a face
with saddened eyes
'Tis the face of a soul
with inner cries.
What is a face
that's hard to define?
'Tis one with no expression
of any kind.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:
And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?
Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,
The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.
Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,
I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not.
Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow?
(There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.)
Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall?
I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The wrapper has no use
How fully wrapped you appear!
How wholly draped you are!
However, you are to me naked.
Your pallu round the lean arm
Hides from me your flat belly.
Your pallu thrown over shoulder,
Close to neck gives me a clue
How deep your cleavage beneath is.
Your pallu brought backward
Covers the blouse with bra cut.
Your pallu brought forward over shoulder encloses deep armpit,
And the dimple of elbow.
Your pallu never runs over the head,
Which gives me all the clue
How you will look where you’re hidden.
I can see your long face, long nape,
and long hair and long fingers,
By which I can sense your hidden parts.
However fully you are wrapped,
However wholly you are draped,
You are to me fully naked.
To my passion or to my acumen-
To which should the credit go?
You can shut to my eyes.
You cannot stop my eyes.
11.05.2001, Pmdi [repetition]
[pallu is the end portion of Indian woman saree,
thrown over the chest and a shoulder
to hide the contour of one's breasts]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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They lay like plaited bread in love…
Kneading those white buttocks
Back and forth, in greedy palms
Stretching over doughy flesh
He then holds her warm breasts
There rising indicates
The ovens warmth is intensifying
Moister starts to perspire!
Drip by drip, down, plaited hair.
Seconds are vacating minutes.
Minutes untangling hours…
Legs are made jelly…
And empty of all desires 'ostrigidity'.
They lay like plaited bread in love.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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A Blouse Machinist
Miss Murphy has blue eyes and blue-black hair,
Her machine's opposite mine
So I can stare
At her pale face and shining blue-black hair.
I'm sure that other people think her plain
But I could look at her
And look again
Although I see why people think her plain.
She's nice to watch when her machine-belt breaks.
She has such delicate hands
And arms, it takes
Ages for her to mend it when it breaks.
Oh, beauty's still elusive and she's fine.
Though all the moulding
Of her face, the line
Of nose, mouth, chin is Mongol, yet she's fine.
Of course things would be different in Japan.
They'd see her beauty.
On a silken fan
They'd paint her for a princess in Japan.
But still her loveliness eludes the blind.
They never use their eyes
But just their mind.
So must much loveliness elude the blind.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Why love the moon?
Why love the moon?
Because she is fair?
Because she seems so debonair?
The moon you love lives away so far,
She left you long ago for the stars;
For which in her insecurities she has prevailed,
As she hides behind her silver veil.
Why love the moon?
Because she shines?
Because you think her beauty divine?
The face she shows is but a play,
There’s another side she never displays;
A side so dark you cannot see,
It’s there she hides her agonies.
Why love the moon?
Because she is there?
Because you think you have her care?
Every month she shows her entire face,
You stare at her beauty and sit in her grace;
But as the days pass she turns to the Sun,
The person who has her eternal love.
The Sun however rejects her again,
So she turns back to you to comfort her pain;
And again you accept her, again and again,
It is your heart she holds,
it has been slain.
So why love the moon,
The Superficial moon,
The Cruel, the Uncaring and Inconsistent moon,
The moon who Scorns you!
The moon who Left you!
The moon who CHEATS WHEN SHE'S BEHIND YOU!
...because you love her.
poem by Warren Chan
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Beauty Beyond Belief!
Behold the beauty of her face, the twinkles in her eyes,
Her smile, her style, her noble grace, her countenance so wise.
Behold the beauty of her hair cascading left and right,
The way it shines beyond compare, so debonair and bright.
Behold the beauty of her lips like effervescent wine
And how genteel the lady sips when she decides to dine.
Behold the beauty of her neck, the pendants that she wears,
The choicest gems we're meant to check as she attracts our stares.
Behold the beauty of her form that stands out from the crowd...
Defiantly beyond the norm, she holds her head up proud...
For she's no timid little miss content that she's called cute...
For she's aware of all she is and seeks to stay astute.
In this old world, where youth excels, opportunity knocks...
It has been said that beauty sells as fast as diamond rocks.
To me, she's sweet, as good as gold, as fine as filigree.
When God made her, He broke the mould, for she's a sight to see...
From head-to-toe, beauty above and beauty underneath...
She's the reason I fell in love... Beauty beyond belief!
poem by Denis Martindale
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