My Husbands
My first I wed when just sixteen
And he was sixty-five.
He treated me like any queen
The years he was alive.
Oh I betrayed him on the sly,
Like any other bitch,
and how I longed for him to die
And leave me young and rich!
My second is a gigolo
I took when I was old;
That he deceives me well I know,
And hungers for my gold.
When I adore each silken hair
That crowns his handsome head,
I'm everlastingly aware
He wishes I were dead.
How I would love my vieux if he
Today were by my side;
My gig would have been daft for me
When I was first a bride.
But for his mother I can pass,
Although I am his wife;
Like father was my first - alas!
The irony of life.
poem by Robert William Service
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Sorrow
I walked into the park and saw a young man sitting by a flower bed
I asked him why he looked so miserable and this is what he said,
“Sixty years ago I fell in love with a beautiful girl and now she has to die
I knew her time would come one day, but the years have just flashed by.
I knew that it was wrong to love her, but my heart ruled over my head.
I was there when she was born at home and I stood by her mother’s bed.
As the years passed I watched over her, and proposed when she was sixteen.
She was so young and beautiful then, and everyday we lived a dream.
She didn’t know that I was different and I just couldn’t bear to tell her so,
but she had suspicions as her hair greyed, and my age didn’t show.
And now my heart is breaking because I want to die and be with my wife,
without her my life isn’t worth living, and I no longer want this life.
For sixty years life has been wonderful for me and my only true love,
but soon I must take her up and leave her in the heavens above.
I don’t know how I’m going to take the woman I adore from my side.
I’m sorry for sharing my sorrow with you, ” and as he left he cried.
poem by Orlando Belo
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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What a Bitch You Are
What a bitch you are,
Your bitch ass said you
Loved me but you were only
using me to get a car.
What bitch you are
You had me waste two years of my life
With your fake ass promises that one day I’d be your wife.
What a bitch you are
When I wanted loving instead of you
Scream my name. Your bitch ass would rather play a fuckin’ video game.
What a bitch you are
I used to clean and cook for you,
But instead of appreciating it you complained that I was smothering you.
What a bitch you are,
To leave me for that no good ho’
You to stupid to realize that all she wants is your doe.
What a bitch you are,
Call me and hanging up
Just because you are jealous that
I now got a good man.
who loves me for who I am.
Now don’t get twisted
You are no longer in my heart
I just wanted to tell you what a bitch you are.
~60~
It doesn't seem like it...
But I'll be 60 soon!
Sixty years
Of some heartbreak,
And many cheers...
To excite me with many passed moons!
Oh yes...
And friends of mine,
Who know I've spent years at '49'
Appear to show they are upset
With those who guess I'm '39'.
Although they wont say
They wish they had a youthful glow,
To display...
They grunt from sore joints
Doing their exercises each day!
Getting older for some...
Makes them want to sit down and cry!
Not me!
Not today!
Not as long as I can pass,
For a young and 'stunning'...
Goodlooking '55'!
Honest...I'm serious!
And I'm so glad no one's around to watch...
How I get 'this' Frankenstein to come alive,
With every limb cracking without a stop!
Especially early in the morning,
When I myself want to run and hide!
But I thank God each day...
Even if I have to hop from side to side!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tale Of The Trucker's Life
The young bride sits alone in her house,
waiting for her farm hand husband to return to her lonely bosom.
Enters the husband, tired, and cranky.
He goes to the stereo, hooks up his headphones,
and falls asleep listening to country, and western music.
The bride long since gone to bed alone.
The young mother, and her toddler son
in front of the TV watching movies while the
husband/father works third shift at Wal-Mart 25 miles away.
The mother takes her son to his baseball games,
explains why daddy can't come,
because he decided to be a truck driver.
She is mother, father, and sole teacher to there young son.
She wipes away his tears when he is hurt,
Comforts him when he is sick,
and makes excuses for the absent father
who never has acted like he loved their child.
Who wipes away the tears that the
mother/wife sheds every time she sees
how much their son misses his daddy.
Their little boy puts his arm around his
mother's shoulders and with a hug,
he says, 'mom it will be all right.'
Does the trucker miss his family?
Does he feel the same pain, and sorrow?
He must not care, for he stays gone sometimes four,
sometimes six weeks in a row,
only coming home long enough to make love.
Never does he interact with his son, not really.
The wife, and son now lay in the cold, hard ground,
never to rise again. Now it is too late
for the old trucker to tell them how he really felt.
He sits alone in an old rocking chair,
staring at old, faded photos of his wife,
and son, but he is not in any of the pictures.
He stands in front of the pearly gates of Heaven,
he sees his wife, and son just on the other side,
But they don't recognize him.
So goes the tale of the trucker's life.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
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Shophia Loron.
‘Shophia Loron, the majestic, ’
To say of you, I am apologetic.
You were born low, as illegitimate.
Your mother made you legitimate.
It is your mother who made you the great.
Her love for you was total, and vital.
Carlo Ponti was, who made you the screen queen.
Older by twenty years, he was mad of you.
He couldn’t coax you to be less than a wife
He had to give up his family as prize.
In Hollywood actor, Cry Grant,
You found your love and warmth
But it is Carlo who got your warmth
You had to yield as a grateful dog.
You never changed husbands like
Monroe did.
You never betrayed your husband.
Nor did you sell yourself for wealth and fame.
Your two sons are legitimate,
By which you rank high in estimate.
Your mate is the most fortunate.
You seduced attention all over.
No worthy man could lay hand on you,
The poorest of poor, who grew the richest of rich.
You were not the queen of Rome
But you swayed as the queen of celluloid.
You were honoured with Mrs. World,
For consistency at your five and sixty.
As much you barred men as you lured.
A lover of gratitude and solitude;
A symbol of honesty and majesty.
A blend of beauty, love and culture,
You last by your inner beauty.
You still exist so no scandal is thrown.
01.05.2002, pkad
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Betrayed
You pay your taxes, you pay the rent, till you havent got a cent
Its the law of the jungle, if you got the hunger
What doesnt kill you makes you stronger
Just hold on to what you got (hold on, hold on), just live it to the last drop
You cant help it, you just cant stop
Betrayed, yeah, lifes a bitch, so just dont feel
Betrayed, no, you aint the only one whos been betrayed, betrayed
Stone cold and all alone, and youre wearin everything you own
They bare your flesh and strip your soul, but underneath you got a heart of gold
Just hold on to what you got (hold on, hold on)
Betrayed, you aint satisfied, I know you feel betrayed
You aint crucified, so get real, betrayed, betrayed
All alone, far from home, and youre feelin cold as stone
Dont give up, dont give in, lifes a bitch if you lose or win
Betrayed - yeah, you aint the only one whos been
Betrayed - lifes a bitch, if you lose or win - betrayed, betrayed
Betrayed, betrayed (repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Betrayed
Betrayed by the one who says she loves you
By the one who says she needs you
Above all other men
Betrayed by her fragile, vicious beauty
Her father did his duty
And I lie down betrayed
Justice taught her confidence
Her mother was like steel
Her cousins, theyre all convicts
She alone rose above that wheel
But a motorcyclist no matter how good
Is slave to the oncoming truck
And the poison of her father was
Her most pitiless luck
Betrayed by the one who says she loves you
By the one who says she needs you
Above all other men
Betrayed by her fragile, vicious beauty
Her father did his duty
And I lie down betrayed
Three of us lie in this bed
Night of infamy
One of us lies on our back
Her fathers in her head
And quick she turns and slaps my face
And with her eyes open wide she screams
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you
But shes looking right past me
Betrayed by the one who says she loves you
By the one who says that she needs you
Above all other men
Betrayed by her fragile, vicious beauty
Her father did his duty
And I lie down betrayed
And I lie down betrayed
I lie down betrayed
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boy Mimics The Father
The boy mimics the father he is his father's son
And he tells all of his young mates of the good things his dad has done
The mentors of tomorrow are the fathers of today
Through your good or bad example your child follows the way.
Since dad was his role model before he walked on his feet
The mistakes of the father the son he will repeat
The mentor of his young years is the mentor of his life
He watched dad beat his mother he too will beat his wife.
The boys mimics the father though you well may disagree
That us humans are impressionable but that's how 'twould seem to me
The main role model of our childhood through life points us the way
The young rogue of the future is the son of the rogue of today.
That the boy mimics the father in most cases does apply
And why this should be I cannot say though I can understand why
The boy mimics the father his role model is dad
And most times that is a good thing though on rare occasions it can be bad.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sixty to Sixteen
If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I,
I would not be as I have been,
You would not be so shy—
We should not watch with careless mien
The golden days go by,
If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.
The years of youth are yours, Sixteen;
Such years of old had I,
But time has set his seal between
Dark eyebrow and dark eye.
Sere grow the leaves that once were green,
The song turns to a sigh:
Ah! very young are you, Sixteen,
And very old am I.
Red bloom-times come and go, Sixteen,
With snow-soft feet, but I
Shall be no more as I have been
In times of bloom gone by;
For dimmer grows the pleasant scene
Beneath the pleasant sky;
The world is growing old, Sixteen—
The weary world and I.
Ah, would that once again, Sixteen,
A kissing mouth had I;
The days would gaily go, I ween,
Though death should stand anigh,
If springtime’s green were evergreen,
If Love would never die,
And I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Silver Dagger
Dont sing love songs
Youll wake my mother
Shes sleeping here right by my side
In her right hand is a silver dagger
She says that I cant be your bride
All men are fools
So says my mother
Theyll tell you again
Love and lies
And then theyll go
And court someother
Leave you alone to pine inside
My daddy is a handsome devil
Hes got a chain five miles long
On every link, a heart does dangle
Of another maid hes loved and wronged, ohhh
Go court another tender maiden
In hopes that she might be your wife
For Ive been warned so I decided
Ill sleep alone all of my life, ohh...
Beware, beware, a silver dagger
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Grieving Mother
The patriots celebrating the war has been won
But the grieving mother weeps for her dead son
Who died a young hero in a war far away
His twenty third birthday it would be today.
Out of the young war dead war heroes are made
This morning she did not go to watch the parade
Instead she placed flowers on the grave where her son lay
And knelt on the grass for awhile for to pray.
She sees her son's death as a waste of a good young life
He never had the chance to make the young woman he loved his wife
He surely would have made a wonderful dad
One of the joys in life that he never had.
Today had he been alive he'd have been twenty three
Her son was a brave man none braver than he
She wept at his grave whilst through the streets of the town
The patriots did proudly parade up and down.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Anzac Day
Patriotic men and women from sixty down to sixteen
Rode proudly on their horses in the famed Anzac green
Followed by the women of the Red Cross in their renowned white and red
On this day every April they honour the war dead.
Up to the war memorial where a large crowd stand around
And at the front of the congregation old 'Diggers' to be found
Old veterans of World war 2 they show their years in gray
Their war medals pinned to their lapels their bravery on display.
A lone bugler played the last post to honour the war dead
And an old man who was standing near i saw him bow his head
And tears were trickling down his face his thoughts were far away
Some noble men who were his friends in foreign Country lay.
We are gathered here this morning the ageing speaker said
To commemorate true heroes our great and brave war dead
They made the ultimate sacrifice and at a young age they did die
And we have them in part to thank for the freedom we enjoy
For our soldiers who died in foreign wars for their souls let us pray
It's only to remember them that we have Anzac day
Their bones may lay in foreign fields but in history they survive
And the spirit of the Anzac is still very much alive.
He thanked the old war veterans who marched in the parade
How can we thank you enough for the sacrifice you've made
You risked your lives in cause of peace 'we salute you today'
You noble men who won the war in Country far away.
He thanked the red cross women the finest in the Land
And the bugler who played 'The Last Post' and the six piece marching band
And the horse riders dressed as Anzacs in the famed faded green
And he asked the band to finish up by playing 'God save the Queen'.
And the band played 'God save the Queen' but not 'Advance Australia Fair'
And i who doesn't believe in war could only feel aware
That in Britain they don't play the Australian anthem when they honour their war dead
Was it for Britain or Australia that young Aussie blood was shed? .
The horse riders dressed as Anzacs in the famed faded green
And the bugler played the last post and the band played 'God Save The Queen'.
And a war veteran spoke of Aussie war dead their bones in Europe lay
At least they are remembered still on every Anzac Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nothing At All In the Paper Today
Nothing at all in the paper today!
Only a murder somewhere or other;
A girl who has put her child away,
Not being a wife as well as a mother;
Or a drunken husband beating a wife,
With the neighbors lying awake to listen,
Scarce aware he has taken a life,
Till in at the window the dawn rays glisten.
But that is all in the regular way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today.
Nothing at all in the paper today!
To be sure, there's a woman died of starvation,
Fell down in the street, as so many may
In this very prosperous Christian nation;
Or two young girls, with some inward grief
Maddened, have plunged into the inky waters;
Or father has learnt that his son's a thief,
Or mother been robbed of one of her daughters.
Things that occur in their regular way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today.
There's nothing at all in the paper today,
Unless you care about things in the city--
How great rich rogues for their crimes must pay
(Though all gentility cries out, 'Pity!')
Like the meanest shop-boy that robs a till.
There's a case today, if I'm not forgetting,
The lad only 'borrowed'--as such lads will--
To pay some money he lost in betting;
But there's nothing in this that's out of the way--
There's nothing at all in the paper today!
Nothing at all in the paper today
But the births and bankruptcies, deaths and marriages,
But life's events in the old survey
With Virtue begging, and Vice in carriages;
And kindly hearts under ermine gowns,
And wicked breasts under hodden gray;
For goodness belongs not only to clowns,
And o'er others than lords does sin bear sway.
But what do I read? 'Drowned! wrecked!' Did I say
There was nothing at all in the paper today?
poem by Anonymous Americas
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You Will Always Be My Father
I dearly loved my Father,
Till I was about twelve years old,
Then he started to go astray,
An affair is what I was told.
I fought with my Mother and Brothers,
They said he was just a rat
He was my reason for living,
My Dad could not do that.
At first he disappeared for days,
I didn't know where or when,
He could have been alive or dead,
But then he'd appear again.
There was never an explanation,
He should have given me that at least,
Then he'd show from out of the blue,
With his gifts from the mystic east.
You left my mum to struggle on,
With five of us in tow,
You let your heart rule your head,
You just didn't want to know.
I never believed you could have an affair,
I kept that in my head,
Until that fateful day I was shown,
You lying in anothers bed.
I never spoke to you for seven years,
That's when fate stepped in,
When I met you in the street one day,
I still felt the love within.
I bonded with you once again,
I unloaded my long held grudge,
Who am I to lecture you,
The Good Lord would be your judge.
You then met your younger siblings,
Whom you had barely known,
It gave you one last chance in life,
To see how they had grown.
You threw away a life of bliss,
But I don't believe you were bad,
To throw away your Wife and Sons,
You had to be bloody mad.
I was with you on the Thursday,
You just wanted to go to bed,
When I went to meet you on Friday,
I was informed that you were dead.
I will be eternally grateful,
For having you back in my life,
Life is really far too short,
To continue a lifelong strife.
So may you rest in peace Dad,
Though it's thirty two years on,
It seems like only yesterday,
I was told that you had gone.
Your wayward ways affected us all,
They had us in a lather,
But regardless of your betrayal,
‘' You Will Always Be My Father ‘'
Sweet Sixteen
Today I'm gonna ride away
And feel the sun throughout my hair
Finally free to be who I wanna be
Who that is I don't really care
'Cuz I've got friends who love me
Blue skies are above me
My blonde hair is everywhere
[CHORUS:]
Sweet sixteen
Gonna spread my wings
Sweet sixteen
It's my chance to shine
Sweet sixteen
Discovering
Sweet sixteen
So much more to life
Sweet sixteen
Drivin' down to the club where we go to dance
Radio is blastin' and the top is down
There ain't nothing' in my way
'Cept the traffic of L.A.
And I've got friends who love me
Bright stars shine above me
My blonde hair is everywhere
[CHORUS]
Mamma loves me and a sister who shows me, and a dad he's always there
[CHORUS]
I wanna know what it feels like
I need to see it from the inside
I can taste a bit of what I will find
So much more to life
Sweet sixteen
[Repeat]
[CHORUS]
song performed by by Hilary Duff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Treat Each Living Second As Your Last
When I was five how I wanted to be ten,
I just longed to be a young man,
My mind would wander now and then,
I wanted to be in the grown ups clan.
When I reached ten I thought of being twenty,
By then I'd be driving my car,
Time for the future, well I still had plenty,
Getting older was a distance to far.
Now I've hit twenty I've nothing to fear,
Time fades past me so slow,
I'm still a young man so I've nothing to fear
I've still got a long time to go.
Thirty years old and it's still not too bad,
I've a wife and children I love,
My health is good I love being a dad,
My life is truly a gift from above,
The big four zero has finally come,
I now watch, as my parents grow old,
The thought of that is making me feel numb,
As I know it cannot be controlled.
I'm now in my fifties my children have flown,
This life can be really strange,
Back when I was five I wish I had known,
Growing older you cannot exchange.
Be careful what you wish for it may come true,
Cherish life for it's far too short,
Enjoy what you have age you cannot subdue,
When you're young these facts you distort.
I'm now eighty years old how I wish I were five,
Hindsight's such a wonderful thing,
All those I loved dearly would still be alive,
I'd be thinking of what the future might bring.
You must live for today forget tomorrow,
Just be thankful for being alive,
Though there will be joy as well as sorrow,
It's how we cope that makes us all thrive.
Life is precious don't ever wish it away,
When it's gone it becomes part of the past,
Enjoy your years every wondrous day,
‘' Treat Each living Second As Your Last ‘'
The Wall Between
The wall between is grown so thin
That whoso peers may see
A flutter of rose, a living green
Like new leaves on a tree.
The wall's now gotten many a chink
Where whoso leans may hear
The feet of them who pass to drink
All at a well clear.
The people go, the people flow
T'other side o' the wall
With silken rustle and laughter low
As to a festival.
Come mother and wife and piteous bride,
The wall's nigh broken through;
And there be some the other side
That peep and pry for you.
So thin has grown, like a precious stone,
The wall no eye might pass,
You may have vision of your own
As through a crystal glass.
And if that sight should you delight
Your tears will all be dried,
For souls so bright that walk in white
Dear bliss on the other side.
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Father Spoke in Code
Father spoke in code
Mother understood.
She would cry
once he went to bed.
I never understood the code.
My sister didn't either.
As we got older, we quit
asking Mother what he said.
A feral cat claimed our yard.
It would leap the fence
when anyone appeared.
Except, of course, Father.
When he came out to walk
around the garden after supper,
the cat would sit straight up,
then rub against his leg
and look at him as if it understood
what others never could.
My sister used to say
the two of us were proof
Father and Mother
got together twice.
I told her I wasn't so certain.
I looked a lot like Mr. Brompton,
the next-door neighbor.
He used to buy us sugar cones
from the ice cream truck.
My sister, by the way, didn't look
like anyone in the family either,
but that was 40 years ago
when I last saw her.
I went away to college
and she got married.
We were never close after that.
Not even Christmas cards.
Forty years is a long time.
Now, we plan to get together
for a weekend this summer
before one of us dies.
I suggested we wait
till one of us is terminal.
What's the rush, I said.
But my wife told her
I was only kidding,
that we'll be coming
and not to make a fuss.
Burgers and hot dogs
will do just fine.
I know what Sis and I
will talk about that weekend,
the two people we'll always
have in common, no matter
how many years and miles
may lie between us.
Father and Mother have been
dead for decades now
but they're still alive in us.
I talk in code, my wife says,
and my sister cries a lot,
now that her husband's dead.
The one thing I want to know
is if my sister knows
what happened to the cat.
It knew the code,
may have had some answers.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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