Chastity is evergreen
Man gave birth to chastity;
Woman brought it up.
Mother clung to it
And saw her daughter cling
Chastity lives as long as mothers live
10.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Ignorance yoke the couple
Civilizations brought in chastity;
Chastity gave birth to prostitution.
Man was sexually emancipated.
The yoke of chastity paid its price.
Male sex workers are in the emergence.
Woman is sexually emancipated.
Ignorance of one’s partner’s indulgence
Yokes together the couple for harmony.
28.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Can a woman be redeemed?
Every woman wants to mete out
The same treatment she has received
From her mother-in-law, in full
To her daughter- in-law, with force.
Every mother wants to mete out
The same treatment she has received
From her mother in chastity
To her daughter in full measure.
Can a woman be redeemed?
18.02.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Chastity, a myth
A prey of the pursuit
Or a pawn of the assault
Though one may fall,
The one is not unchaste.
A victim of the molestation
Or a ruin of the rape
Though one is made,
The one is not unchaste.
A model, a nude
Or love embrace on stage,
Though one may do,
The one is not unchaste.
Enough to be a coquette,
No need of adultery,
One practices infidelity.
Tumbles down the chastity.
Never in nakedness,
Never in sexy touch,
But only secret relation,
Chastity is tarnished.
Seduction of mind,
Followed or not by
Seduction of body
Tells upon ones chastity.
Whoever lived
That has lived not
Without the seduction of mind?
Then where is the chastity?
Chastity is a myth
Without a pith.
09.11.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Evil And The Devil
I deserted my wife as I suspected her.
I courted a woman, a known harlot.
Chastity helps woman to cling to a man,
But not to stop him from falling for someone.
01.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The sanctity of the chastity
Petrol is the most refined crude oil.
Chastity is the sanctified woman’s lust.
Both are highly inflammable products.
They both entail a constant vigilance
Against catching fire from the heat outside.
They spend themselves through evaporation
And through monotony mechanism.
Chastity exists under surveillance
And as such it must have no sanctity.
05.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Mother Does Not
A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.
Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away
A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.
A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What The Poet Wrote
What the Poet Wrote
(Birth over an open grave)
A poet wrote: ”Mothers give birth over an open grave. I thought it was harsh, most
children live long after their mothers die. A young man driving behind me was edgy
wanted to overtake thought I was driving too slow. I kept as far to the right as I could,
he saw his chance, but he was not quick enough, front collision. He wasn’t wearing
seat belt, died on the bonnet of his car. So much blood, dark red and sweet, but his
eyes were open and they saw beyond to a place I have never been. His mother,
a widow, collapsed when the coffin was lowered into a an unfeeling ground, she had
given birth over an open grave. I see a field lit by millions of candles in rows a man
walks among them and ever so often snuffs out light with his thumb and index finger.
But behind him new light appear, sometimes he turn go back and snuffs the new
lights out, mothers who have given birth over an open grave. He is now heading for
the part of the field where the candles have burnt out, only the wick flickers, quickly
he snuffs them out, but misses some, of people who live too long, those who death
has cruelly missed. There is no light on my terrace, a car passes by and plants casts
shadows on the wall, they have no colours. I’m past caring; tomorrow will come
whether I’m there or not, mother will never know if she gave birth to an open grave.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
‘Happy Birthday’, Mother Mary!
8th September – your birthday,
O Queen of heaven, all say;
The grace that filled your heart, aye,
Gave us and world, a mighty day.
O Maria Bambina!
Daughter of Joachim and Anne;
You acceded to God’s request
Through angel Gabriel.
You grew up in great piety;
God chose you from amongst women –
A virgin to mother a child,
A baby boy, Immanuel!
By pow’r of Spirit Holy,
You bore the sacred baby,
In your womb of sanctity,
O Mother Virgin Mary.
Hail Mary, Mother of Jesus;
Heavenly mother of mankind;
Look down with mercy upon us,
Ask God to cleanse our sin-stained souls!
O New Eve of the world of men!
The Word became flesh in your womb,
And born was the Lord, ‘King of Kings’:
You trounced Satan forever then.
Conceived without Original Sin,
Becoming Mother of God;
You set aside all Natural laws,
And gave birth to the Lord.
You brought Salvation to mankind
Through Jesus Christ your son,
Who came as Savior, Messiah,
And suffered a death on cross!
O Lady of great chastity!
You obeyed Almighty’s one wish;
Exalted more than angels, saints,
Heaven is now your true abode.
O perfect vessel made by God!
Afilled by grace up to the brim;
The most blessed among women,
Our Intercessor, Pure of heart.
O Mary most immaculate,
Assumed into heaven by God;
Do pray for us sinners on earth
And protect souls from fire of hell.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 09-08-08
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Women
This world is, because of the woman
this universe is, because of the woman
nothing exists without the woman
our existence is, because of the woman.
Why being a woman then
should be humiliation?
Why a woman then
should face indignation?
always the woman becomes the prey...?
always the woman has no say.....?
The woman is a mother, also a mother–in-law
the woman is a sister, also a sister-in-law
the woman has many roles to play
a daughter-in-law perfects that night & day.
Why then a woman does
torture another woman?
Why does a ma-in-law
torches a daughter in-law?
Why does a woman destroy another’s world?
Why does jealousy overcomes a sister-in-law?
In the woman, power is manifest,
yet she is unaware and that is a jest.
she becomes Durga when in rage
telling everyone, she is no sage
the woman is where, awakening is there
her absence creates crematoriums everywhere.
Why do then a woman abhor the birth of a female?
Wants a child, whose gender is male?
the male is indebted to her for the courage and life
yet no rewards for the woman, her entire life.
This is the story of the woman, full of anguish
Plight of a woman is because of another’s wish
Exploitation of the woman could not have taken place
Had a woman given the other a little more space.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A late wisdom
A woman is biased
As she prefers son to daughter
In the treatment of love.
It is daughter that nurses her.
A late wisdom put the mother to repent.
24.02.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thrift is to a man what chastity is to a woman.
When a woman has lost her chastity she will shrink from nothing.
I Like My Mother
There's candy
Icecream
Chocalate
Good dreams
And I like my Mother!
Mothers are sweet
Mothers are nice
They help you
Give you good advice
And they make you cookies!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I Like my Mother!
I really
Like
My Mother!
Theres Uncles
Cousins
Sisters
Brothers
Fathe rs
And I like my Mother!
And I pray God
You'll let my Mother live a thousand years
So I don't have to get a job or do anything
And I can just live with my mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I like my Mother!
I really
Like
My Mother!
poem by Art Paul Schlosser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The brain and balls
Where chastity is purity
There men grow with brain
And go impotent.
Where rules promiscuity
There men grow with balls
And go idiotic.
25.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On the First Night
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
'second sex'
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you 'second'
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my breasts,
growling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second sex,
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nursing You
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
'second sex'
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you 'second'
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my breasts,
rowling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second sex,
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An untempted woman cannot boast of her chastity.
quote by Michel de Montaigne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Nursing You
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
"second sex"
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you "second"
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my breasts,
rowling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second sex,
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Old Woman And Her Loyal Maid
the old woman is very rich
she has two children, a lovely daughter and a very naughty son
the lovely daughter dislikes her
and the naughty son wants to kill her
she slaps her often and the more the daughter wants to go away from her
the son is disturbed and furious because he did not know his father enough
the daughter married a gentle man
and the son went away with no know address no known destination
he never came back
while she lives her own life away from the rich woman
the old woman has a loyal maid
who has no memory of humiliating words that the old woman more often
inflicts in her person
the old woman is dying
but the son and daughter have no respect anymore for such word
as mother.
meanwhile the loyal maid keeps swallowing the pesters of the old woman
expecting a part of the wealth
as her pay and legacy
well, this story cannot have an ending yet
the old woman is still alive and the son and daughter are still making up
their minds
what to do next.
Life is a comma. The ending always waits
for something that will be a happy one.
But who knows, except this one, something tragic may happen
at the end. Who knows?
I will for sure.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!