Men’s behaviors
In a reception, came in a woman
Wearing a gown, cut daringly low.
Men there gazed not at her but at him,
The chief guest, to see if he looked at her.
28.03.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Did I Really See That?
A woman on our bed wearing my gown with ma woman
Sleeping on my side of the bed?
Am I replaced?
So quick?
I thought we were going to talk
About it
Try to work it out
I cancelled all my plans
In a manner to surprise you
I didn't like the way things went
The other day
And now I get home
To find this?
A woman on our bed
Wearing my gown with ma woman on ma side of da bed
Am I replaced?
Just like that?
I thought what we had meant
Something to you
I thought we had a connection
I thought fate had brought us
Together
I thought our future
Was written somewhere
In heaven
Most of all I thought the feeling
Was mutual
For 5years I was relaxed
Thinking I'm in the right place
Where my soul belongs
Wasn't looking
Wasn't searching
Was content
And now I find
A woman on our bed wearing my gown with ma woman
On my side of the bed
Am I replaced?
Already!
I had always been loyal
You cheated more than I could remember
And I kept forgiving n forgetting
I kept loving you like you
Never wronged me
I Kept on trusting you
but to you all that was just a blur
I bet you thought I was fool
I bet you thought I'd never leave you
I bet you thought you were ma life
That's why you cheated
That's why you lied
That's why now I find
A woman on our bed wearing my gown with ma woman
On my side of the bed
Am I replaced?
I know you are
I have ran out of tears
I cried for so long*difedile*
I have ran out of Forgiveness
I forgiven you more than the
Bibble Says I should
I have ran out of space for you
The place I used to keep you is shuttered
And I have ran out of love for you
What I thought was mine
Is now ours
What I thought I owned
It turned out
We own
What I thought was true to me
It was all a lie
A woman on our bed
Wearing my gown
With my woman
On my side of the bed
She can stay
I'll leave..
poem by Diopelo King
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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
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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He's a Woman - She's a Man
I saw it walkin' lonely down the street
Cool like a cat, like crazy clean
I looked twice again, I can't believe
Oh no no no
It turned around right then
And looked at me
I said oh no, it really couldn't be
It was a man, it was a woman, too
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
I think it really came from far away
I'm feeling head uptight so I have to stay
It takes my hand and says come on, let's go
Let's go, let's go, let's go
We're goin' home, it's nice and warm to say
He starts to move, she starts to play
I need a body, why not you
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
He's a woman, she's a man
He's a woman, she's a (woman)
song performed by by Scorpions, music by Rudolf Schenker, lyrics by Klaus Meine, Herman Rarebell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wearing White
Phones were ringing, tongues were wagging
Hot gossip was flying
All around town
She heard the talk, the lowdown was
The shameless color of
Her wedding gown
It's white
I mean really who's she trying to kid
Everybody knows the things she did
It just isn't right
Won't that be a sight
To see her wearing white
She was wild, a wayward child
To put it mildly
She made her life a mess
But she was young, the past is done
Now she's in love
And putting on a new dress
It's white
And it's nobody's business what she wears
Anyway the truth is she don't care
Baby it's her life
She'll do what she likes
And she likes wearing white
He's all nerves when he sees her
As far as he's concerned
She's an angel
In white
He just can't believe that she is his
What a crazy miracle this is
Who she was he don't mind
'Cause on their wedding night
She'll be wearing white
She'll be wearing white
She'll be wearing white
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Electric Fire
Electric fire is defective among the mercies,
What cheerful glue it makes!
Dashing, dangerous disasters make damnation
In this blue-eyed world.
The chief of boundless energy charmingly exceeds
The energy of words, and the chief of energy
Is destroyed.
Scandalous reception affronts us when time has elapsed,
The energy of angers and the iris dissolves
After blindness, after the regular science.
poem by Naveed Akram
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La Derniere Robe De Soi
OH, silken gown, all pink and pretty,
Bought, quite a bargain, in the City,
Your ill-trained soul full false has played me--
No Paris gown would have betrayed me.
You knew, my pretty silken treasure,
I must not wed for love or pleasure,
But for a settlement and title;
Yet you encouraged his recital!
He said--oh, faithless gown, you listened
While on your sheen two tear drops glistened--
He said . . . let love to music set it,
I'll never speak it--nor forget it!
'No, no!' I cried, I tried to save you--
False gown, you showed the tears I gave you!
You looked discreet when first I found you.
How could you let his arm go round you?
You darling dress--I'll smooth your creases,
I'll wear you till you drop to pieces;
But poor men's wives wear cotton only--
Dear gown--I hope you won't feel lonely!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Woman In White
As I look out the window
from where I work
at the car park
about fifty yards away.
Near the fence that borders it
is a tree stump about five feet tall.
Bleached white by the sun
it resembles a woman in a cloak.
It seems to change daily
though I don’t know why.
One day it seems she is praying,
the next day she has what looks like
a basket in her hand.
When it rains, she changes colour
from white to grey.
Now the summers here
and the greenery surrounds her,
she looks like she is walking through a garden.
It is strange how my imagination
changes her from day to day
and I wonder what more
this tree stump figure will give my imagination.
Now this woman in white
has me puzzled as to who she really is.
I can give her many names
of precious people from the past
who may have worn a cloak and gown.
However, for me she is
just my woman in white.
15 August 2011
poem by David Harris
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The Look Of Hatred And The Innocent Man
he gazed at all the eyes
that gazed on him inside
that smoky room
there was one eye which
looked at him with the gentleness
of the man of compassion
he knew it
as it was devoid of
the usual cruelty
that all of them inflicted
upon his
innocence.
he knew it
because it was fake
in fact in truth
it was made of marble
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's a surer way to a woman's heart to be interested in what she's thinking than what she's wearing or not wearing.
quote by Tina Louise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Bum
‘Does my bum look big in this? ’ She glared.
I gulped and stared upon the floor.
I must escape; the bedroom door
Was open. ‘Run! ’ my senses cried.
But I was numb – nerves were fried!
‘Well? ’ She scowled. I sought a subterfuge.
‘It’s absolutely huge! ’ I thought –
But how to tell her that–? A short
And blighted life she’d wreak on me.
And so to Wife, on bended knee
I prayed ‘Oh please release me from this hell! ’
She gave a yell: ‘So is it big? ’
I looked again – a mammoth rig
Was hanging down – but how to say?
An honest man would surely pay!
I stuttered ‘Err... well, yes it’s nice.’
Her voice was ice: ‘But in this? ’
I tried diversion with a kiss.
‘I love you’ also burbled out – but
I was heading for a rout.
I drew a breath. ‘Be a man! ’ I growled
Inside this howling, quaking head.
‘Well actually love, ’ and now I’m dead,
‘It’s colossal – a real whopper... ’
The bedroom shook; I couldn’t stop her.
I daren’t publish anymore…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman woman woman
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Fear me not for wearing a hijab
Why are you standing so far away?
come near and fear me not for wearing a hijab (veil)
I wanna obey the Creator of the world, so that's why I 'm wearing it
I 'm a successful businesswoman and a princess in my home
I respect everyone and judge not anyone I don't know
I don't care how people look like
I look more at their hearts
I don't say anything bad because I 'm a moralist
I 'm doing my best to be in a good relationship with my Creator
and wearing my hijab is supporting me and giving me a push forward
fear me not for wearing a hijab
because my best example is Mary, mother of Jesus Christ
she is the purest woman ever on earth
and I wanna keep my chastity like her
men respect me because they know deep inside that
I 'm wearing a hijab not to seduce them,
but to make our society moralistic and ideal
fear me not for wearing a hijab because I won't do you any harm
you are one of God's creatures and I respect all God's creations
poem by Rehab Helmy
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The Wrong Occasion
you arrive in a place
it is familiar
the chairs are in your
memory
and pillars know you
well
enough like a mother
to her son
you look at yourself
you are wearing the wrong dress
for the occasion
where it calls for a suit
and a pair of glossy black
leather shoes
what you have is a lousy
loose shirt and
cheap sneakers with untied
shoelaces
you want to take the exit
but the door is too far away
from where you are seated
you want to say an excuse to
the woman beside you
but she is busy with her prayers
then the bride comes with
her veil and
white gown
she is being wed to another
man
and the people are not talking
about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Personel Manager's Niece
Hello Friend I mean my brother
Have you a job for my young daughter
She is back from the middle east
And on the computerised board and "reception
With her is a feast.
Buddy my brother what are such brothers for
Specially whem she is beautiful your young daughter
Just having her here world be a pleasure
And during her stay she could work at leisure
Are you not aware dear brother on my old game
Which earned me a lot of fame
To rid the old girl from reception
I will act with precision
Like in the past I got in one friend's daughter
And another friend's gal
So as a formality I just have to interview
A couple of other telephone operators
Then call in an ex-industrial relations manager
And ex-assistant personnel manager
Certainly then the coast for your daughter
will be clear
Hey uncle it's me your niece
Can you please speak with you computer chief
To computerise the telephone board
poem by Marlene Thaddeus
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Same Thing
What makes a man go crazy when a woman wears her dress so tight
What makes a man go crazy when a woman wears that ol' dress so tight
Must be the same ol' thing that make a tom cat fight all night
Now, why do all the big men try to run a big-legged woman down
Now, why do all the big men try to run a big ol' woman down
Must be the same ol' thing that makes a bulldog a huggling 'round
It's that ol' same thing, now tell me who's to blame
The whole world is fighting about that ol' same thing
What make you feel so good when your baby's in her evening gown
When your baby get a little bit of an evening gown
Must be that same ol' thing that makes a preacher lay his bible down
It's that ol' same thing, it's that ol' same thing
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman with a Tattoo.
A woman with a tattoo
over the top of her breasts
above her red dress got
on the uptown bus and
sat down. Henry tried not
to look, he couldn't make
out the words that mingled
with the coloured flowers
tattooed there, looked away,
followed for a short while
the goings on in the passing
street, then turned again
and gazed surreptiously as
if he'd not intended to stare
or find once seen, but still
the words were lost in the
flowers' hold. The woman
thumbed her cell phone,
messaging a text, while he,
giving a sidelong gaze, tried
to solve the puzzle of the
words and meaning that
she wanted to convey by
placing the tattoo there,
but no matter how hard
he looked or turned his head,
no sense was made, just
a puzzled aging brain instead.
She crossed her legs, a little
more thigh was shown, her
suntanned flesh too much
for eyes of Henry's age, he
turned away, carrying the images
seen to sup upon another day.
poem by Terry Collett
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Bliss of Bachelorhood
Not to mistrust any woman,
Be no woman yours by marriage.
Being single, you need to trust
No woman other than your mother.
(02.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Sonnets To Orpheus: Book 2: VI
Rose, you majesty-once, to the ancients, you were
just a calyx with the simplest of rims.
But for us, you are the full, the numberless flower,
the inexhaustible countenance.
In your wealth you seem to be wearing gown upon gown
upon a body of nothing but light;
yet each seperate petal is at the same time the negation
of all clothing and the refusal of it.
Your fragrance has been calling its sweetest names
in our direction, for hundreds of years;
suddenly it hangs in the air like fame.
Even so, we have never known what to call it; we guess...
And memory is filled with it unawares
which we prayed for from hours that belong to us.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Caged Eagle
. . . I went the other day
To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed
In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw —
One of the first I noticed, was an Eagle,
Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars
He sat without a movement or a sound,
And, when I stood and pitying looked at him,
I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. I passed from there,
And walked about the gardens hither and thither,
Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then
To seek my home, again by chance I passed
The Eagle's cage, and stood again and looked,
And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed
Out to the horizon sky. So I went home. . . .
The Eagle is Ireland.
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Why Is The House Burning Down?
Why is the house burning down?
Do you care to repeat that?
'Sure.
No problem.
When the fire chief arrived,
The occupants assumed he was not qualified.
Based upon his
Well,
The obvious.
So,
They said they would wait
Until a new chief is appointed.'
Wait for what?
The house is ruined
Totally destroyed
What 'new' chief?
He 'is' the chief
'Sir?
If you wish to
'Approach' them with that explanation
Perhaps you can convince them of that
The told me, the others 'and' the chief
They were entitled to have their expectations met.
And
If they have to stand there for the rest of their lives
They will do it.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Changes in attitudes
If no man wants women to wear jewels
Which woman would mind wearing them?
If no man minds women being virgin
Which woman would care being virgin?
As man expects, woman changes herself.
As woman changes, man adjudges himself.
16.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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