The mistress
Mistresses save men from bad marriages.
Mistresses break marriages that are smooth.
However, the word mistress still suggests
A sleazy liaison devoid of respect.
To have mistress stems from carnal desire.
A triumph or extravaganza can induce.
Desire to conquer a new territory
That lets them sow wild oats there, rules in men.
Mistress is branded as other woman
And is hated by all other women,
However worth she is or however
Beneficial her connection is.
However, the society gives lineage
To the mistress who is popular or
Whose custodian is all powerful,
And hails their relationship, dumping wives.
Affluent mistresses aren’t branded
As a man stealer or a home wrecker.
Rather, their power of being a temptress
Gathers more charm and wipe out wives’ presence.
03.06.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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All Hail My Dear Mistress I
My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress
Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress
I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress
Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.
poem by Tolulope Modupe
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My Name Is Qalme-Tari
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
People will follow.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
Death follows.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
I bring death
Upon people of injustice.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Death for people of injustice.
Tyrants beware!
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Dictators beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Kidnapers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Child abusers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
For those of injustice
I am Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
For those of purity
I am Hope
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
The in just
Shall flee before me.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
The pure
Shall follow me.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
Were I go
People will flee.
Were I go
People will follow.
I am Qalme Tari Mistress of Death Nat. Norville.
Cretics Welcome
poem by Athena Goddess of Wisdom Lumis Light to all
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The Balcony
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,
O you, all my pleasures! O you, all my learning!
You will remember the joy of caresses,
the sweetness of home and the beauty of evening,
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!
On evenings lit by the glow of the ashes
and on the balcony, veiled, rose-coloured, misted,
how gentle your breast was, how good your heart to me!
We have said things meant for eternity,
on evenings lit by the glow of the ashes.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
How deep the void grows! How powerful the heart is!
As I leaned towards you, queen of adored ones
I thought I breathed perfume from your blood’s kiss.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
The night it was thickening and closing around us,
and my eyes in the dark were divining your glance,
and I drank your nectar. Oh sweetness! Oh poison!
your feet held, here, in these fraternal hands.
The night it was thickening and closing around us.
I know how to summon up happiest moments,
and relive my past, there, curled, touching your knees.
What good to search for your languorous beauties
but in your dear body, and your heart so sweet?
I know how to summon up happiest moments!
Those vows, those perfumes, those infinite kisses,
will they be reborn, from gulfs beyond soundings,
as the suns that are young again climb in the sky,
after they’ve passed through the deepest of drownings?
-O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Minus into minus
The chambermaid, as usual, made ready
The bedroom for her mistress and master
When the master’s eyes fell upon her shoulders,
That the mistress took note of the least.
Without any fuss, saw the mistress
The master lay his hand upon the shoulder
Of the maid. No rage, no jealousy.
She, the straying, rather felt relieved.
07.02.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Men aren’t safe
Men desire women save their wives.
Men provide all they have for wives
So that with them they would remain.
Men aren’t safe with wives charming.
13.11.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Wives are young men's mistresses, companions for middle age, and old men's nurses.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lets Hear It For Women
Lets hear it for women a huge hip hooray
They are the unsung heroines of today
We need them as leaders to educate men
With wise women as leaders less wars for to win
At the hands of men they have suffered for years
Lets hear it for women for the young and old dears
With wise women as leaders the World would stand to gain
Lets hear it for women i say it again,
To the women of the World my toasting glass i raise
Since tis time we did sing their overdue praise
For centuries and centuries by men they've been kept down
Make way for the women tis their turn for renown,
The mistresses, the spinsters, the mother and wives
Tis about time we celebrated their lives.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The virtuousness
I doubt not the virtues of your mistress
But doubt your undue faith in her virtues.
Your confidence, not her reputation
Makes her virtuous, regardless of truth.
The one who suspects one’s mistress’ virtues
Makes her adulterous, regardless of truth,
And loses confidence to live with her.
Neither way is the mistress affected.
27.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Harsh Mistress
The call of the seagulls,
near the edge of the sea,
is the lure that attracts men
to their boats to test the sea.
Waves dance a beckoning call, their waters to explore.
Therefore, men set off in their boats
to answer the wandering call.
However, to many a man
the sea maybe a mistress,
to others it is their downfall.
The sea can be a harsh mistress,
to some who come to call,
as they make time there forever,
deep in that watery bed
The storms she creates,
when angry,
has sealed many good men,
to an eternal fate.
So be warned my friends,
before you fall for the siren’s call.
The sea can be a harsh mistress.
10 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Mistress Page: Against such lewdsters and their lechery; those that betray them do no treachery.
line from The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act V, Scene 4 by William Shakespeare (1602)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Mistress Quickly: Marry, this is the short and the long of it; you have brought her into such a canaries as 'tis wonderful.
line from The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare (1602)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Mistress Of Depression
The subtle invite
Attracts one silently to the
Depths of poison.
Invitingly, enticingly this monstrosity
Of depression
Swallows the isolated air left in gasping lungs;
Air that at one time supplied
The energies needed to oppose the subtle Mistress.
Now we stand breathless
Gasping for a single dropp of air
Struggling to keep moving forward.
The Mistress donates air as she wills,
Yet only enough breath to keep us
Dangling on a thin spiders web.
We spin, we toil, we stretch, trying threads,
Only hoping to break a grip of iron
Welded to our heart.
The struggle continues,
The weariness grabs hold of weakened minds,
Resistant changes persistently take their toll
As the Mistress of Depression
Settles the score.
poem by Walt riopel
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Mistress Page: I cannot tell what the dickens his name is my husband had him of. What do you call your knight's name, sirrah?
Robin: Sir John Falstaff.
line from The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act III, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare (1602)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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She Knows Not
She is the mistress,
of his feelings.
Lay bare he does...
and stare out of heat mist windows.
Capturing moonlight,
on his skin with wishes to be touched.
She is the mistress,
of his feelings.
Unapologetic are rays carried,
from him he thrusts.
He trusts that she
will someday receive his yearning.
He burns in hunger longing...
And she knows not of his need!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ariel Tiger Woods Play Off
Tiger Woods golf superstar, sex scandal entrepreneur
boasts as winner, of 14 major, golf championships
dominant golf superstar, and sex scandal entrepreneur
allegedly has,14 women, mistress confessionals
but rocker rookie Peterpan, is a less discrete man
boasting to have stroked, more birdies in the hand
his reputation surpasses, Tiger Woods for mistresses
his video proofs run reckless, regardless of consequences
Ariel Peterpan boasts,25 videos, with Indonesian female celebrities
surpassing Tiger Woods, by conquering a harem, of 25 celebrities
Luna Maya and Cut Tari, among videoed conquered, concubine cream
how many women, did Ariel Peterpan not record, falling on his sword?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Cupid In Ambush
It oft to many has successful been
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean,
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently squeeze her knees, or press her feet.
All public sports to favour young desire,
With opportunities like this conspire.
E'en where his skill the gladiator shows,
With human blood where the Arena flows,
There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy;
While the spectator gazes on the sight,
And sees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conquest gains,
Slily the god takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he sees he bears his part.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Woman’s virtues
If you doubted your mistress’ virtues
She'd be adulterous though she’s not.
If you trusted your mistress’ virtues
She'd be virtuous though she’s not.
Thus you make your life a hell or a heaven.
Neither hell nor heaven would be her abode.
04.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dunne Studying.
Dunne watches her mistress sleep.
There is the flickering of the eyelids
As if in dream. She gets out of bed
And with soft tread walks to her
Mistress’s bed side and looks down.
She holds her breath. She takes in
Each aspect of the face and neck
And how the hair is spread upon
The pillow. She wants to lean down
And kiss the lips, put flesh to flesh.
She hovers like some hawk waiting
To fly down and take her fine prey.
She breathes out slowly. She watches
The rise and fall of her mistress’s breast.
She moves out a hand to lay it there
But does not touch. She imagines so.
Imagines also climbing into the bed
And snuggling up close and kissing
The nape of neck. Her hand lingers
Over the breasts. Her eyes greedily
Study the soft cheek. She breathes
In deep. Her heart pounds within her
Breast. So near so near. She imagines
Lying within those arms and feeling
The hands caress her back. Her mistress
Stirs and she moves away. Walks back
To her own bed to await the light of day.
poem by Terry Collett
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