The young widow
Not an apple, stolen and bitten,
Not the wine, sore and spit,
But a Villa, just lived in
And emptied is a widow
She is a refined Villa,
Hence a refined virgin.
A widow is much renowned.
26.05.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Honey is to taste
Honey is sweet to any one to taste
But its confinement, alas, is its fate.
Others, suited, are forbidden to taste.
When that one is lost honey goes naked
And seems sweeter to many wicked,
For which must it find soon a safe pocket.
Otherwise, it may turn sour in neglect,
Or may dry out in long disuse,
Or, perhaps, lies bare for someone’s abuse.
Honey, when orphaned by the host,
Be reclaimed by any one worth it,
Before it is too late, and thus be it blest.
Youth is honey,
Be she a a virgin or a widow,
With the same flow.
[About a young beautiful widow]
12.04.2000, Palakkad Lady Airly
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Be a bud anew
She stands over there a widow,
Aloof, like a barren meadow,
Having lost her stand and beauty,
And is flung to melancholy.
With the loss of solid mountain,
Went away the placid fountain,
Leaving abrupt her cup empty
Of love and sweet, once aplenty.
Her presence is now a bad omen.
Her sari, the rainbow, turned white.
She went graceless lest she must excite.
Is she lust-less, to be sexless?
Ere wedding, was there she alone;
Even now, as a widow, she’s alone.
Once a solitary mansion,
Now she is a lonely grave.
She is set to lament and mourn
Ever-long, without a happy end,
Though in no way can it lighten
The loss of her pair. Why, then, to pretend?
Which widow, save corrupt one, unwept
Over the fate to which she was put,
With choked lust having no outlet,
Other than duress she went through?
Youth in prime, charm is still unshed.
Lust to brim, thirst is still unfed.
Hard would be she to stay the wicked
Were she destined to never re-wed.
Women’s eyes upon her conduct,
Men’s spicy eyes upon her neglects,
If she is to rebel, men will spurn;
If she is to yield, men will ride.
There comes spring to trees, when leaf-less.
Also comes monsoon to grass, when list-less.
None comes to her, who went mate-less,
And was thrown an orphan, name-less.
When a pot is lost another is bought.
When a hut is lost one more is built.
While a mate is lost no one is sought
To tender her lust, otherwise a beast.
A widow is not a left-over,
As a poem read is not leftover.
A portrait is fresh to everyone.
A mother’s breast is alike to her next child.
She is unlike the one as had deserted
Her husband, as furtively flirted,
Or as had her child by him fostered:
A lived villa, not a spit apple.
Over years virgins married widowers.
Without tears they lived in fervour.
For her cheers, let her get the same favour
from a man of choice to restore her flavour.
No animals keep their spouses in widowhood.
Why is, then, this invention on womanhood?
She better be sanctified before having erred
So that she could lead a life, unblurred.
Let her wed, anew,
‘as though a rose shut
and be a bud, again’
11.11.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid
If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.
A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
A widow is froward, and never will yield;
Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.
A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.
A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.
The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
But too well all their beauty they know to display;
But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.
Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
If to marry with any I be not afraid;
But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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To slip is not easy
As a guest I had been to her,
Who is a widow, living single,
With all paraphernalia.
Absolute privacy and sure secrecy.
Nothing happened in three hours,
Notwithstanding her guilt complex
At low ebb, from her advanced age.
Adultery is not that much easy.
Women aren’t that much yielding
27.02.2000, Palakkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Song For Heroes
Captain O’Hare was a mariner brave;
He refused to abandon his ship;
A hero, he sleeps in a watery grave—
And his widow is now Mrs. Bipp,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Bipp!
Henri Dupont was a fearless young ace;
Five thousand feet up he was hit;
Each year on his grave pretty flowers we place—
And his widow is now Mrs. Schmitt,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Schmitt!
Corporal Dunn was a volunteer bold;
He plunged in the deadliest fray;
A bayonet thrust laid him out stony cold—
And his widow is now Mrs. Gray,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Gray!
But Peter McGuck was a cowardly sneak,
Like a hound he remained home in fear;
When fishing one day he fell into the creek—
And his widow is now Mrs. Greer,
Haw! Haw! Haw!
Mrs. William O’Houlihan Greer!
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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The Black Knight's Song
Knight And Wamba
There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
And where was the widow might say them nay?
The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
For she was the widow would say him nay.
Wamba
The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay;
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?
Both
So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Black Widow
I just love my nightmares
I cant wait to sleep
Enjoying all my dreams
Got no regrets
I can be a flash of lightning
Striking down on rocks
Burning down the law
Getting things I never got
Turning the world
Nothing unheard
One night can be more than a day
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
I cant stand the dreamers
Scared of things that fly
They just have sweet fantasies
And fade and die
Nightmares - are so good, so good
And they always end just when they should
Nightmares are cool, nightmares are cruel
I love the fun and the thrill
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
Black widow
Just like a black widow
Here comes the morning
And who can deny
Leaving the dream is so hard
I love my nightmares
I await their return
And this time, Im dressed to kill, dressed to kill
Just like a black widow............
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Guilt is not so to the guilty
The one who married as second or second time,
The one having a concubine or is cuckolding.
An eloper, a paramour, an incest sinner,
A widow in love, a widow to wed, or a love
Across the cast and creed, all I abhorred.
The concept would have been different
Had I been involved in any of them.
Guilt is the guilt to one till one commits it.
15.09.2000, Paklm
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I've refined my mechanics, refined my pitches. I've gotten more confidence, and I've gotten more determination. I've got a better idea what I'm doing out there.
quote by Randy Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are only Epicureans, either crude or refined; Christ was the most refined.
quote by Georg Buchner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Widow of Massacre
Some said she lost,
None said she crossed,
Nothing was known clear
Something about her was fear.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
If asked, she never say,
because witness you can pay,
She lost hee husband,
Then lost her hand.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
Behind her, there're stories,
Behind stories, there's worries,
Her village was ambushed,
And in bullets, washed.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
She survived the claws of wild,
After death of her single child,
Finally she ran to this village,
Where we paid her homage.
Everything, though said
She's a widow of massacre.
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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The Poor Boy’s Christmas
Observe, my child, this pretty scene,
And note the air of pleasure keen
With which the widow’s orphan boy
Toots his tin horn, his only toy.
What need of costly gifts has he?
The widow has nowhere to flee.
And ample noise his horn emits
To drive the widow into fits.
MORAL:
The philosophic mind can see
The uses of adversity.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Villa Jovial
On my way to the Villa Jovial,
The Summer Mist Christening-
The grass with dew,
Stood a marble pillar standing,
Proud and erect-
Creating an opening to a:
Most breathtaking view...
The waters looked so inviting,
With backdropp of waves
Tidal flows-
Kissed by the Sweet Golden Arrows-
Shot by Match-Maker-Love-God-Eros-
On the way to the Villa Jovial,
Jupiter influences the ebb and flow,
Incantations of Mystical
Themed spells-
Directing the tourists towards the glow...
Ah, the Mediteranean-
As it meets the Aegean for a dance,
On the way to the Villa Jovial-
In the air, one could just feel, The Romance...
The Romance of the vast blue-deep-
Of Oceans connected by time,
Along the road of forever my love-
Together, kissed, by love most divine...
poem by Theodora Onken
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A sort of Poem about Fear
Are we all initially driven by FEAR?
Is this negative energy in the form of FEAR necessary in Her grand evolutionary scheme?
Perhaps FEAR is the great catalyst in which LOVE is refined:
FEAR of loss of means is refined to a motivational LOVE to find new, more positive means
FEAR of loss of community is refined to motivational LOVE to build and strengthen community
Fear of God is refined to motivational LOVE to protect and bask in all that IS.
Fear of loss of LOVE is oxymoronic as FEAR is the ABSENCE of LOVE
I am not afraid
poem by Goocolbe Questioni
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Cocotte
When a girl's sixteen, and as poor as she's pretty,
And she hasn't a friend and she hasn't a home,
Heigh-ho! She's as safe in Paris city
As a lamb night-strayed where the wild wolves roam;
And that was I; oh, it's seven years now
(Some water's run down the Seine since then),
And I've almost forgotten the pangs and the tears now,
And I've almost taken the measure of men.
Oh, I found me a lover who loved me only,
Artist and poet, and almost a boy.
And my heart was bruised, and my life was lonely,
And him I adored with a wonderful joy.
If he'd come to me with his pockets empty,
How we'd have laughed in a garret gay!
But he was rich, and in radiant plenty
We lived in a villa at Viroflay.
Then came the War, and of bliss bereft me;
Then came the call, and he went away;
All that he had in the world he left me,
With the rose-wreathed villa at Viroflay.
Then came the news and the tragic story:
My hero, my splendid lover was dead,
Sword in hand on the field of glory,
And he died with my name on his lips, they said.
So here am I in my widow's mourning,
The weeds I've really no right to wear;
And women fix me with eyes of scorning,
Call me "cocotte", but I do not care.
And men look at me with eyes that borrow
The brightness of love, but I turn away;
Alone, say I, I will live with Sorrow,
In my little villa at Viroflay.
And lo! I'm living alone with Pity,
And they say that pity from love's not far;
Let me tell you all: last week in the city
I took the metro at Saint Lazare;
And the carriage was crowded to overflowing,
And when there entered at Chateaudun
Two wounded poilus with medals showing,
I eagerly gave my seat to one.
You should have seen them: they'd slipped death's clutches,
But sadder a sight you will rarely find;
One had a leg off and walked on crutches,
The other, a bit of a boy, was blind.
And they both sat down, and the lad was trying
To grope his way as a blind man tries;
And half of the women around were crying,
And some of the men had tears in their eyes.
How he stirred me, this blind boy, clinging
Just like a child to his crippled chum.
But I did not cry. Oh no; a singing
Came to my heart for a year so dumb,
Then I knew that at three-and-twenty
There is wonderful work to be done,
Comfort and kindness and joy in plenty,
Peace and light and love to be won.
Oh, thought I, could mine eyes be given
To one who will live in the dark alway!
To love and to serve -- 'twould make life Heaven
Here in my villa at Viroflay.
So I left my poilus: and now you wonder
Why to-day I am so elate. . . .
Look! In the glory of sunshine yonder
They're bringing my blind boy in at the gate.
poem by Robert William Service
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Woman is not gregarious.
There was a couple, who lived for many years,
Inseparable and indispensable.
No sooner was she dead than he married another.
Inseparable and indispensable, he found her.
A widow can be alone.
A widower feels lonely.
21.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Weeping Widow
(robert wright)
Published by belwin mills, ltd. - ascap
Weeping widow, dont you cry
Dressed in black, I dont know why
All the time that youve been waiting
You should feel like celebrating
Hell make you free as a bird in the sky
Free as a bird in the sky
Look out stranger, here comes danger
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy
You better take care, you know youve got to beware
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy, weeping widow
Weeping widow, spend your leisure
In you castle full of pleasure
When his spirit comes to haunt you
In your chamber, he will taunt you
Hell make you free as a bird in the sky
Free as a bird in the sky
Look out stranger, here comes danger
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy
You better take care, you know youve got to beware
Dont let it look you in the eye, boy, weeping widow
Weeping widow, dont you cry
Dressed in black, I dont know why
All the time that youve been waiting
You should feel like celebrating
Weeping widow, you gotta run
Weeping widow, you better see whats in store
Weeping widow, you better run
song performed by by April Wine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A beautiful fun!
In a midnight,
I heard someone whispering,
sweet heart, come to me very close.
no, no, I won't do this.
O.K. I just go out!
Right now,
first, switch the light off.
Then room became dim-lighted.
I kept one of my eye on key-hole.
The scene was going heart-throbbing,
I couldn't keep watching too long.
O' shit!
I am a widow,
I have no right to pay attention,
towards the things of such type.
I have to live like a widow,
every desire, every wish,
is not for me.
I have to live without love.
I can't love any person.
because, I am a widow.
I have always to live
like a saint! like a nun!
What a beautiful fun! !
......................
poem by Sushil Kumar
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The 'Viduate Dame
'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe,
And she goeth upon the spree,
And red are cheeks of the bystanders
For her acts are light and free.
In a seven-ounce costume
The widow of Thomas Blythe,
Y-perched high on the window ledge,
The difficult can-can tryeth.
Ten constables they essay
To bate the dame's halloing.
With the widow of Thomas Blythe
Their hands are overflowing,
And they cry: 'Call the National Guard
To quell this parlous muss-
For all of the widows of Thomas Blythe
Are upon the spree and us!'
O long shall the eerie tale be told
By that posse's surviving tithe;
And with tears bedewed he'll sing this rude
Ballad of the widow of Thomas Blythe.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Black Widow
These words he speaks are true
We're all humanary stew if
We don't pledge allegiance to
The Black Widow
The horror that he brings
The horror of his sting
The unholiest of kings
The Black Widow
Our minds will be his toy
And every girl and boy will learn to be employed by
The Black Widow
Love him
Yes we love him
Love him
Yes we love him
He sits upon his throne and picks at all the bones of his
Husbands and his
Wives he's devoured He stares with a gleam
With a laugh so obscene at the virgins and the children
He's deflowered
Love him
Yes we love him
Love him
Yes we love him
Love me
Yes we love him
Our thoughts are hot and crazed
Our brains are webbed in haze
Of mindless senseless daze
The Black Widow
These words he speaks are true
We're all humanary stew
If we don't pledge allegiance to
The Black Widow
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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