Boiling Point
BOILING POINT
My beloved husband comes late in night
Knocks the door with a fouling scent
If delayed by a few more seconds
Would slap me on my face at once
He sits till nine in his office seat
In a jungle of papers all around
Not of devotion nor of fun
For men of action - bribe satisfaction
Lot of money he showers on us
A posh house, BMW, a host of vague comforts
With all the gates and windows always closed
We remain as puppets, because he suspects
Just at twenty, my father had a faulty dream
That men of high post were of worthy deals
Married for twelve years could be a real proud thing
Had I not married this scandalous swine
He carries in him all manly vices
We never dare to correct him either
In fear of his wrath and shredding tortures
We feel safe, when the beast is out to prey
In early thirties, I am still young and pretty
He sits and drinks with the girls of dirty
Shelved as ‘unused', I am rusting and thirsty
Ready to cross over the fence one day in frenzy
My face is a pager, the message I beam is bolder
For the boldest of you, I have a best barter
Give me love, kindness, affection and tender care
The frozen treasures in store are for you and YOU ALONE.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Related quotes
The Divorcee
She's been through a messy divorce case and single now she will remain
And she feels she's had it with marriage and she'll never marry again
She tried her best to save her marriage at least she gave it her best try
And from her past mistakes she has learnt like they say 'once bitten twice shy'.
She had seven years of married life and five of those years for her hell
And years from now she will remember yes she will remember too well
The beatings she received from her drunken husband as their two young children looked on
And they like their mother feel happy since out of their lives he has gone.
She married for love and love only but her feelings of love quickly soured
And years from now she will remember how beneath his cruel blows she cowered
Her children now ten and eleven feel happier without their dad
He often beat them and their mother and by him they were treated bad.
A woman in her early thirties she has only turned thirty two
And she vows she'll never re-marry that one marriage enough to go through
Her ex husband now is re-married and her sympathies are with his wife
And she hopes that he will treat her kindly and that he's learnt from his mistakes in life.
Her son and daughter soon to be teenagers are all that she worry about
That 'life isn't meant to be easy' at such a young age they found out
She raise them as a single mother and she works hard for them every day
Since her ex husband doesn't pay alimony or help them out in any way.
She vows that she'll die a divorcee and that she'll never marry again
And the sad memories of her broken marriage through her life time with her will remain
For she took the abuse and beatings when she was a callous
man's wife
Still she doesn't feel bitter towards him she merely gets on with her life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Well Run Away
We know theyre right when they say were not ready
But all we care is how we feel right now
Well go ahead just the same
Prepare to take the blame
Well run away and get married anyhow
They warned us that we cant live on love forever
But we just tell them well get by somehow
Our problems will be greater
Well worry bout them later
Well run away and get married anyhow
If other kids went through it
Then I know we can do it
If our love is that much stronger
It will last that much longer
It wasnt too long ago when our folks were
Were going through the same thing we are now
But one thing theyre forgetting
A thing theyre not regretting
They ran away and got married anyhow
(ran away and got married)
Anyhow
(ran away and got married)
They ran away and got married anyhow
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For Girls and Women
This is not for rhythem this is my poetry to myself and holds rapids under still water.
For the girls, (unmarried) today love your father and respect him not as you want him to see you but respect him always, as he see's you even when you know he does not. Do the right thing and stay true to yourself you're beautiful and your body is sacred. For this you will never have to face the horrible crisis women in America had and have to face.
For the Women, (married) tell your husband you love him today, dont question or nag for answers we already know. Do not seek the wrath today. Love them. As they are our husband they are still men.
poem by Julie Schleppegrell
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Oh.........those Teachers
OH………THOSE TEACHERS
There are several one ways
a few make road sense ‘as traffic rules'
those borrowings friends do wantonly default
and numerous outgo, we ourselves often forgot
though married, most of us love for a second phase
forbidden love never comes to the fore
so, is the case with our beloved children
of late, wanting to pair up to their own selection
The timely help that someone renders
But, we fail to re-duplicate the same kindness
somehow our selfis h soul is happy at the benefits
that we knowingly discredit by such one way practice
Patience, alms, sacrifices, tolerance and so on
are one way or other the hallmarks of good signs
like the most dedicated teacher's forty years' service
receives nothing in return…………except a small pension.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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The Morning Half-Life Blues
Girls buck the wind in the grooves toward work
in fuzzy coats promised to be warm as fur.
The shop windows snicker
flashing them hurrying over dresses they cannot afford:
you are not pretty enough, not pretty enough.
Blown with yesterday’s papers through the boiled coffee morning
we dream of the stop on the subway without a name,
the door in the heart of the grove of skyscrapers,
that garden where we nestle to the teats of a furry world,
lie in mounds of peony eating grapes,
and need barter ourselves for nothing.
not by the hour, not by the pound, not by the skinful,
that party to which no one will give or sell us the key
though we have all thought briefly we found it
drunk or in bed.
Black girls with thin legs and high necks stalking like herons,
plump girls with blue legs and green eyelids and
strawberry breasts,
swept off to be frozen in fluorescent cubes,
the vacuum of your jobs sucks your brains dry
and fills you with the ooze of melted comics.
Living is later. This is your rented death.
You grasp at hard commodities and vague lusts
to make up, to pay for each day
which opens like a can and is empty, and then another,
afternoons like dinosaur eggs stuffed with glue.
Girls of the dirty morning, ticketed and spent,
you will be less at forty than at twenty.
Your living is a waste product of somebody’s mill.
I would fix you like buds to a city where people work
to make and do things necessary and good,
where work is real as bread and babies and trees in parks
where we would all blossom slowly and ripen to sound fruit.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Marge Piercy
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Lilian Stewart
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins,
Born in a cottage near the grist-mill,
Reared in the mansion there on the hill,
With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.
How proud my mother was of the mansion!
How proud of father's rise in the world!
And how my father loved and watched us,
And guarded our happiness.
But I believe the house was a curse,
For father's fortune was little beside it;
And when my husband found he had married
A girl who was really poor,
He taunted me with the spires,
And called the house a fraud on the world,
A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes
Of a dowry not to be had;
And a man while selling his vote
Should get enough from the people's betrayal
To wall the whole of his family in.
He vexed my life till I went back home
And lived like an old maid till I died,
Keeping house for father.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Fumes From The Silent Valley
THE FUMES FROM THE SILENT VALLEY
She is a widow with a girl child
joins our office on the grounds of compassion
at the age of 29, her dreams are only half-baked
left to fend for herself, she has to rewrite the episodes
In plain sarees with a speck and clean face
on to her job alone, allowing no room for complaints
as if a robot with no nerves or desires
she packs off daily, as a strict, self-disciplined lady
she never takes to canteen nor borrows nor chit chats
but she is the talk of our entire complex
even her departed husband would have a sigh of relief
that his wife so sails high, setting great standards
how long should she deceive or deny comforts to herself
there is nothing wrong in getting married again
or even to mix up with the people in and around
living behind an iron curtain could not be lasting solution
we wish she should come out of her shell gently
to feel the outside air of freedom and liberty
ethics, morals, customs and stigmas are fast melting entities
let her refract, re-build, recoup and redefine her priorities
- and genuinely, she is the on-line trained, most fittest, balanced spouse for any serious bridegroom, as far as I can vouch -
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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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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Mr. Facebook
Mr. Facebook,
Why do you want to see my face in your book?
For there are advantages and disadvantages on the net;
But he who is married is concern more on how to please his wife.
A tiller of the ground and a keeper of sheep,
I have got a dream on your muse;
For she who is married is concern more on how to satify her husband,
But you've been able to capture the world with your 'Facebok'.
Many can now cantact others but,
There lie the disadavantages as well;
Because it can easily expose one's identity!
And we all know what is going on, on the net of late.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Married Man
Reservist of the Line
The bachelor 'e fights for one
As joyful as can be;
But the married man don't call it fun,
Because 'e fights for three --
For 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' Two an' One make Three)
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' e' wants to go 'ome to is tea!
The bachelor pokes up 'is 'ead
To see if you are gone;
But the married man lies down instead,
An' waits till the sights come on,
For 'im an' 'Er an' a hit
(Direct or recochee)
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
The bachelor will miss you clear
To fight another day;
But the married man, 'e says "No fear!"
'E wants you out of the way
Of 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' 'is road to 'is farm or the sea),
'E wants to finish 'is little bit,
An' 'e wants to go 'ome to 'is tea.
The bachelor 'e fights 'is fight
An' streches out an' snores;
But the married man sits up all night --
For 'e don't like out-o'-doors.
'E'll strain an' listen an' peer
An' give the first alarm--
For the sake o' the breathin' 'e's used to 'ear,
An' the 'ead on the thick of 'is arm.
The bachelor may risk 'is 'ide
To 'elp you when you're downed;
But the married man will wait beside
Till the ambulance comes round.
'E'll take your 'ome address
An' all you've time to say,
Or if 'e sees there's 'ope, 'e'll press
Your art'ry 'alf the day --
For 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(An' One from Three leaves Two),
For 'e knows you wanted to finish your bit,
An' 'e knows 'oo's wantin' you.
Yes, 'Im an' 'Er an' It
(Our 'only One in Three),
We're all of us anxious to finish our bit,
An' we want to get 'ome to our tea!
Yes, It an' 'Er an' 'Im,
Which often makes me think
The married man must sink or swim
An' -- 'e can't afford to sink!
Oh, 'Im an' It an' 'Er
Since Adam an' Eve began!
So I'd rather fight with the bacheler
An' be nursed by the married man!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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I Want Action
I want action tonight
Satisfaction all night
I grab my hat and i
Grab my shoes
Tonight Im gonna hit
The streets and cruise
Down the main strip and
Check it out
With those schoolgirls
A hangin around
Now Im a sucker for a pretty face
I dont care if shes in leather or lace
Cause Im just lookin for a little kiss
Chorus:
I want action tonight
Satisfaction all night
Youve got the love I need tonight
Long legs and short skirts
These girls hit me where it hurts
I cant wait to get my hands on them
I wont give up until they give in
Now Im not lookin for a love that lasts
I need a shot and I need it fast
If I cant have her, Ill take her and make her
Chorus, solo
Hey, sweetheart, slide on in here
No, not in the front, jump in the back
Why?
Cause theres something back there I want to show ya
I want action tonight
Satisfaction all night
Ah, come on honey, I wasnt that bad!
Oh, well
Chorus out
song performed by by Poison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Of A Parent
They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.
They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.
With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now ' they had all the power'.
Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night, being drunk
They would start to fight.
She started feeling some menstruation pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.
Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.
He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.
She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.
She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you'd ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.
They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.
His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.
poem by Louis Rams
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Czechmate!
'I won't be back 'til very late, '
The note from her had read,
He poured himself another drink
And headed off to bed,
She often spent the night away
Carousing with 'the girls',
The forty-something's group of them
Out on their monthly whirls.
They'd known each other all their lives
From kindergarten on,
Had played with beads and Barbi dolls,
With lipstick on the lawn,
They'd had the odd pyjama nights
Had ogled all the males,
And giggled through their early teens
At love, and lovers tales.
And now they'd all been married off
For twenty years or more,
Their nights were spent in darkened bars
Where some had hoped to score,
With jaded lives, they gossiped there,
At every fault, the blame
Was laid right at the husband's door,
At every husband's name.
And so it was with Mary Jean
Who said that she was bored,
She said her husband Jack was tired,
He lay in bed and snored,
The days of making love had gone
She lay awake at night,
Frustrated in the marriage bed
That once had brought delight.
At home, her husband Jack, asleep
Had dreamt of other things,
Of dancing nymphs who never spoke
To him of boring things,
Who never held their hands out every
Payday for his cheque,
But fed him loving tit-bits, kissed
His feet, and pecked his neck.
Then sometime in the early hours
He heard the bedroom door
Creak open, as his wife returned
Tip-toeing on the floor,
He tried to cling to sleep, to keep
Immersed within his dream,
But then his eyes flew open as
He heard the woman scream.
She threw her handbag at him,
Hit him fair across the face,
Then started yelling something and
He heard the word 'disgrace! '
He struggled to sit up as she
Hurled insults at his head,
And then he realized that
Someone else lay in his bed.
He looked, quite disbelieving
At the blond head lying there,
That lay upon the pillow,
Fast asleep, without a care,
Her painted lips were parted in
A sexy, loving pout,
As if a sudden climax had
Hit home, and knocked her out.
'I've never seen...' he went to say
But Mary Jean had gone,
Was stomping down the stairway
Shouting curses at the moon,
The blond leapt up and smiled at him
And said: 'I'm sorry, Jack! '
Then as she left: 'You should have known,
You have to watch your back! '
The papers for divorce, they were
Delivered, just on noon,
Demanding half the house and all
His Super, called the tune!
He stood accused, adultery,
And in the marriage bed,
While Jack sat down and tore his hair,
He wished that he was dead!
He phoned the band of sisters, phoned
And spoke to every one,
He asked about the night before,
Just what was going on?
They wouldn't give away a thing,
Stonewalled, and left him lost,
'Til one broke down: 'So sorry Jack,
She planned it - you've been crossed! '
She told him of an agency that
Figured out these things,
An office in a little street that
Specialized in 'Stings',
He took a trip downtown and then
He hung around 'til late,
The sign above the door, it said:
'Divorces! - see Czechmate! '
At eight o'clock, a blond came tripping
Out into the street,
He recognized that pretty face,
The blond between the sheets!
He cornered her and made her spill
The beans, she looked quite scared,
It seemed that Mary Jean had paid
For her to grace his bed.
His wife had been unfaithful with
The owner of the place,
A little Czech called Pavel, so
She wanted her own space.
She thought that she could score off him
If she could tap his guilt,
But Jack had other plans now that
Her secret had been spilt.
He scribbled out a note and gave it
Folded to the blond,
And told her to deliver it
Before she could abscond.
He wrote, 'I hate to tell you this,
Your little scheme has failed!
About the money, honey -
Well, the Czech is in the Male! '
22 June 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Facing the Truth of Your Lies
Back in September of 2004 -
A couple of months after
My short stay in the hospital
For severe depression -
I tried to contact you to see
If you still missed me,
As you rudely told me
To leave you alone,
That you were married
And had moved, had your
Last name changed to
Your new husband's
And were expecting
A brand new child.
Two years later I learn
The truth through none
Other than that fake 'husband'
Of yours, who posted a message
In one of his hosting forums
Back in 2005 when he was 19
And you were 28.
And so I face the truth, that
You wanted me to face
So much - the truth that
You were always lying
To me and to others
About who you really are -
An insecure and confused
Woman with two children
Without a real father.
No, you were never married
To that geek, who's so good
With computers, who
Drives around fixing other
People's technical problems,
Putting 8-9 hours each day
And not going to school,
To support you and your
Two kids, who are not even
His in a biological or
Legal sense.
For you two were 'living in sin'
Together, as he puts it,
Being 'disowned' by the
Majority of his family
And his manipulative
Mother, who was using
Him to get back at his father.
Well, it looks like he traded
His mother for a new one,
Who's just as manipulative
And conniving.
And I wonder what you do
When he's not around?
Do you stay at home and
Play a fake 'good wife'?
Or do you explore new men
And new options?
Oh yes,
He calls you his fiancée now -
After two years of living together -
But knowing you, I wonder
If you really want to get
Married and miss a chance
That something better comes
Along?
Well, I wish you luck in
Your decision, but I
Just want to say that
I loved you even if I was
A fool to believe you.
March 30,2006
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Persona Grata
When I was just
One and twenty
I had a special urge
For the next door beauty
She was too clever,
Knowing I had gone on loose gear
Liberal showing in catchy appearances
Till, I fell clear in total madness
She roasted me daily in my bed
Since, I was then such a coward
That we had not spoken a letter even
Nor exchanged anything in mutual good sign
For long, I was a slave in chain
Before her every ‘perfect tens'
I was so shabby, rugged and unmatched
In her race, I had no merited chances
Soon after, I joined as a cashier
and had to miss her for weeks together
yet, on the weight age of my job & sundry
finally, her parents gave her as my ‘would be'
Now, we are married for 20 long years
The ‘prized beauty' is no more a thriller for me
Especially, when it comes to woman's beauty
The first few stolen looks are enough
For a cascade of calamities ………………………..
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Wants To Get Married
(sandy knox, anthony little)
He believes in the family unit
The union of man and wife
He believes that you stand before god
For better, for worse and beyond this life
He believes that a ring on his finger
Is something to be proud of
For all of the world to witness
That he is committed to this love
He wants to get married
Hell build a house in the country
Where hell watch his children grow
And teach them the values of something
That most people never even know
He wants to get married
I never thought I would be so blessed
To know a man like this
Hes everything, everything I believe that a man should be
And when he is called to his maker
He wants to go to his grave
With his final remembrance of this earth
To be one last look at his wifes face
He wants to get married
He wants to get married
Oh, he wants to get married
But not to me
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ron
He has lost the inspiration of his life
And he must grow old without Annie his wife
They had been married for twenty two years
And memories of her still has him near to tears.
She was forty six when she passed on two years ago
And she did not live to see their grandchildren grow
Into young adults it was her wish to see
Her first great grandchild baptized but it wasn't meant to be.
Without his beloved Annie who had the 'heart of gold'
Ron in his early fifties must grow old
She was his soul mate and to him remained true
And together love and happiness they knew
Theirs was a true love that lasted till the end
She was his heroine and his dearest friend
And one as good as her he could not wish for to meet again
And the memories with him always will remain
Of the beautiful woman with brown eyes and nut brown hair
To laugh to her came easy she was always free of care
Their wedding photograph hangs on his bedroom wall
And she will remain as his greatest love of all.
Life will never again be the same for Ron
But without his beloved Annie he must carry on
She was the inspiration of his life
His lover and his soul mate and his wife
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Happy Divorcee
Such a lovely person and so nice to know
By the smile on her face she has the inner glow
The windows of her soul are open to light
She is always so cheerful and bubbly and bright.
In her early fifties her brown hair flecked with gray
Perhaps physically she has known a far better day
To her horrible ex husband she was a good wife
And without him she lives a much happier life.
Her ex husband has re-married on her he used to cheat
And when drunk he was aggressive her he used to beat
He done his best for to lower her sense of self esteem
Life for her better without him much better 'twould seem
Their only daughter in her mid twenties is married in a town far away
Her young son will be three on his birthday in May
At Christmas her daughter and grandson she will see
And life is looking good for the happy divorcee.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Old man
Old man sits on a bench
His life surrounded by a cyclone fence
Remembers times from way back when
As he sits beside his best friend Ken
Relives the old times again and again
He was married to his late wife Jen
The love of his life from back then
He says his sorrow will never mend
Pulls out a card he never did send
Tries to be tough but he can`t pretend
He says Jen was his very best friend
Was very sad when her life did end
Tells ken that you never know when
The time you have will come to an end
Send your love as soon as you can
Don`t delay for another day
Sometimes god will take her away
Here on the bench the old man stays
Day after day he sits and prays
A tear from his eyes as they start to glaze
With love in his heart that never strays
Even after they have parted ways
poem by Joseph Whelan
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House Carpenter
Well met, well met, said an old true love
Well met, well met, said he
I just returned from the salt, salt sea
And its all for the love of thee
Come in, come in, my own true love
And have a seat by me
Its been three-fourths of a long, long year
Since together we have been
I cant come in and I cant sit down
For Ive only a moments time
They say youre married to a house carpenter
And your heart will never be mine
I couldve married the kings daughter fair
And she wouldve married me
But I have forsaken, her crowns of gold
And all for the love of thee
Now will you forsake your house carpenter
And come along with me
Ill take you where, the grass grows green
On the banks of the deep blue sea
Then she picked up her darling little babe
And kisses she gave it three
Saying stay right here you darling little babe
And keep your pop company
They had not been on the ship two weeks
Im sure it was not three
Til this true love began to weep and to mourn
And she wept most bitterly
Saying are you weeping for my silver and my gold?
Saying are you weeeping for my store?
Or are you weeping, for your house carpenter
Whose face youll never see no more?
I am not weeping for your silver and your gold
I am not weeping for your store
No I am weeping, for my darling little babe
Whose face ill never see no more
They had not been on the ship three weeks
Im sure it was not four
When there came a leak, in the bottom of the ship
And sank them for to rise no more
song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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