Status of women
Among horses, some are bred to plough,
Some to pull, some to race and some to gallop.
Among men, some are bred to labour,
Some to serve, some to fight and some to guide.
Female sex in both is degraded to the fifth.
As breeding ground they are kept.
19.02.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Let us be heterogeneous
Breed the horse fit for race
And discard all unfit horses.
A good theory for its race.
To us? To pull the cart and plough the field
Must there be some dull horses too.
Let us be heterogeneous.
27.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Grooming for frolics
Horses and bullocks were long ago bred
For domestic helps, now for race and fights.
Boys and girls were once brought up with a view
To works and helps, now for rat-race and frolics.
03.05.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Novella
An Epigram
You cry, She's bred in the Old Way;
Then into Laughter fall:
Were she as just to you, she'd say,
You are not bred at all.
poem by Mary Barber
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First, they were bred when I was not capable to observe or before I was born; likewise the breeding of men is of a different manner from that of women.
quote by Margaret Cavendish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gasoline Alley Bred
Woman, get your head out of curlers.
Time get your butt out of bed.
Get down your hats and baggage, my child.
Going back home,
going back to the homestead.
I'm a-gonna heat me some water,
and put a shine upon my shoes.
Telephone my ma,
Keep the room above Joe's
'Cause we're coming back,
coming back to the homestead.
Everything is packed,
getting back to the homestead.
This time, this time we'll stay.
I know that we could have made it;
we had ideas in our heads.
And I wish somehow
we could have saved it
but we're Gasoline Alley bred.
Yet the years haven't really been wasted,
and I know it in my head.
We did good for the life that we've tasted
'cause we're Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley bred
Woman, you can really believe it,
I did everything a man could do.
Breaking my back just to make us a dime.
That won't mean a damn
when no one wants to know you.
Woman, I know how you're feeling.
I've seen the hurt upon your face.
How many time do you think that I've cried?
Knowing every day that your heart was getting broken,
holdin' back your pride til you were nearly chokin'
Oh let's get away.
chorus
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
Gasoline Alley, Gasoline Alley Bred
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scandal
A female has two options:
To reject or accept
A male has two options:
To omit or select
Male is active. Female is passive.
The move comes from the male
The move is fluid in state,
Flowing from up to down
That is why man
Is not blamed for the scandal
27.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Children With Soap Bubbles
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
in the wind’s frolicking game
hopping like horses that gallop
and other children have got to look out
or their eyes are going to burn.
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
against the arms and heads of others
before they heave into the air,
hopping like horses that gallop
with children blowing over a soapy soup
soap-bubble after soap-bubble burst,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
like balls kicked off by the wind
when mothers scold their dirty children,
hopping like horses that gallop
and later an adult looks after them
to set rules for the game,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
hopping like horses that gallop.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Insanity is in Sanity bred
insanity is in sanity bred
no lack of love to guide us
without pain we cannot hate
being broken only temporary
no lack of love to guide us
the thoughts of depression only lazyiness
being broken only temporary
excesses of agony a shelter
fits of depression only laziness
like an ostrich's noodle hidden
excesses of agony a shelter
from the work left to be done
seeking pain is only running
insanity is in sanity bred
a life worth living well is found
without pain we cannot hate
poem by Tania Allen
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Shame measures culture
Living in clusters begot societies,
Which bred cultures which in turn bred ethics.
Defiance is shame, which rules one’s conduct.
The stronger the shame, the richer the culture.
27.08.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Weigh you before you strike.
With right and might,
You can fight
With right and no might,
You can weep.
With no right nor might,
You had better sleep.
You’ll have landed safe.
07.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Fortune has no qualification.
The ass is born to labour.
What credit has he?
The fox is born to deceive.
Who accommodates him?
The cat or a dog is a pet.
He gets all comfort.
Fortune does not commensurate
With the service one renders.
02.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He Is A Trier
He once was a man who owned greyhounds going back a few decades ago
But for them he was all the poorer the dogs that he owned were too slow
And now he has shares in a racehorse but for that he's not a wealthier man
The race horse though well bred is quite ordinary as they say one more also ran
With greyhounds and horses he has had it this horse he does swear is his last
Venture in the greyhound or horse racing business these things he will put to his past
Any spare cash he has he'll invest in stocks and bonds with a far greater chance of success
It is due to greyhounds and horses that he is in a financial mess
He has erred twice but never again greyhounds and horses are now in his past
The horse has never run a place the greyhounds just could not run fast
Dabbling in the stock market his newest business venture trading on stocks and shares he will try
Fortune favours the brave some will tell you this time luck him may not deny
But never more greyhounds or horses for his mistakes he has had to pay
But credit him he is a trier and good times for him may not be far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I love watching a good horse do what he's bred to do - I guess that's what I like the most about it. And I love to see good athletes do what they're bred to do.
quote by Wilford Brimley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing
NOW all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Galloping Days
Galloping, galloping, galloping horses
Weave thro' our dreaming in burgeoning Spring;
There's sun in our hearts and there's sun on the courses,
And paeans of hope Winter's threnody forces
Over the hill-tops; for joy is a-wing.
Joy is a-wing, and the galloping rhythm
Mingles, alack, with a ruefuller rune,
For winners may rug but the losers run with 'em,
On the galloping, galloping tune.
Galloping, galloping, galloping gladly
Round the white railing and on to the turn,
While keeping in time to it, urgently madly,
Pulses are racing, ecstatic'ly, sadly;
Eyes to the thundering eagerly yearn,
Voice, upraising, are praising, are pleading,
Mid rackets gay jackets flash by and are gone.
Then the field in the sunlight, retreating, receding,
Goes galloping, galloping, galloping on.
Galloping, galloping, galloping; streaming
Now in green distances, seeming to crawl,
Like miniatures moving, like manikins seeming,
While o'er hedge and hollow a bland sun is beaming
Casting a benison over it all.
They run to the 'Distance.' The horses! The horses!
They gallop! They gallop! They turn for the 'Straight!'
They gallop, the hoses! Who nurses remorse is
A runagate cringer to galloping Fate.
Galloping, galloping, galloping ever,
Tho' cheering is over, they gallop amain;
Tho' fact and fond fancy reluctantly sever,
The round of that ultimate, straining endeavor
Still buffets and bludgeons and beats on the brain.
They gallop - Wake up, man! What profits regaining?
Luck lurks in the offing. On, on with the dance.
Aw, tear up your ticket! The sun is still shining.
The next race is starting. Who foots it with Chance?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I was born and bred in a tiny, low-ceilinged ground-floor apartment.
Galloping Horses
Oh, this is the week when no rhymster may rhyme
On the joy of the bush or the ills of the time,
Nor pour out his soul in delectable rhythm
Of women and wine and the lure they have with 'em,
Nor pen philosophic if foolish discourses,
Because of the fury of galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping thro' the refrain -
The lure and the lilt of it beat on the brain.
Strive as you may for Arcadian Themes,
The silks and the saddles will weave thro' your dreams.
Surging, and urging the visions aside
For a lyrical lay of equestrian pride,
For the roar of the race and the call of the courses,
And galloping, galloping, galloping horses.
This is the week for the apotheosis
Of Horse in his glory, from tail to proboscis.
That curious quadrupled, proud and aloof,
That holds all the land under thrall of his hoof.
All creeds and conditions, all factions and forces,
All, all must give way to the galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping - sinner and saint
March to the metre, releasing restraint.
If it isn't the Cup it's the Oaks or the Steeple
That wraps in its magic the minds of the people.
Whether they seek it for profit or pleasure,
They all, willy-nilly, must dance to the measure.
The mood of the moment in all men endorses
The glamorous game and the galloping horses
Galloping horses - jockeys and courses
They gallop, we gallop with galloping horses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Is love sacred?
Love bred jealousy,
Jealousy bred hatred,
And hatred, anger.
How is love sacred?
21.04.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Windy Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Involvement makes you happy
Absence of unhappiness is the peace
Peace itself is not the happiness.
To involve is the happiness;
To withdraw is the peace.
Love, marry, deliver, toil, rear and serve.
You will have found your happiness.
25.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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