An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Husband...
A husband should be
Loyal and honest
A husband should be
Strong and protective
A husband should be
Loving and romantic
A husband should be
Patient and understanding
A husband should know
When enough is enough
A husband should know
When to fight and when to cry
A husband should know
all your goals and dreams
A husband should know
your strengths and well as your weaknesses
A husband needs to be a true man
A husband needs to love you unconditionally
A husband needs to know your heart is forever his
poem by Sarah Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Just One Drink.
He knew that if he had
just the one drink
that he'd be back
on the wagon again
back to the shut up room
and dead head
and stinking bed
and the woman off again
and the door slamming
and her voice echoing
up the from the hall
as her footsteps faded
come on
the guys said
just the one shot
but no he had to stay strong
keep the booze away
from hand and lips
and hey Joey come on
just a drink with me huh?
one lousy drink with a pal
whose lady's left him
for some other guy
no
he said
I can't have one drink
I don't do one drinks
I got to stay strong
got to look at the big picture
so his friend said
shrew you Joey
I'll find others
who'll drink with me
and off he went
and Joey sipped his lemonade
and looked at the bottles
behind the bar
looking back him
saying silently
ha ha ha.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
U.F.O. Sighting
Woke up one morning early
noticed it had been snowing all through the night.
But over in the side yard I'd spotted
a huge circle of brown grass, not white!
I ran and woke up my husband!
to come and see what I just did!
I told him it was made from a U.F.O
and that I was really possitive!
My husband said, 'honey
you must of had to much wine to drink! '
Because that's where the lid of the septics' located
the snow melted from the septic's heat!
Well I'm really not sure he's right you know
I'm still looking for a U.F.O. sighting one day!
And maybe I'll let them take me to their planet
that will show that smarty husband!
Then what will he have to say?
poem by Linda Winchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Husband Where Are You?
Can you feel the music play? I think about you everyday, husband of mine where are you?
I see you arms around me as, your growing love surrounds me, can you feel it to, husband where are you?
There music in my heart, I don’t know just where to start, the universe has told me my love about you. Husband of mine, when we meet our eye’s won’t turn and our hearts will forever yearn, letting us know we are for each other.
I waited all so long, met the one’s that were all wrong, husband of mine I know your coming for me.
I see your eye’s! I see you smiling! When we make love it all our hearts yearning.
Husband of mine, please come for me I know it time for us to meet, I can even smell the smells around you.. We read the same books yeah, the sprit of the universe surrounds me, the sprit of the universe surrounds you.
The day we meet you will say, I waited day after day, for the softness of your beauty.
Husband of mine you finally found me, Husband of mine your love surrounds me.
poem by Ivy Saldana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evening Date.
Hi come in I've just put on
the Mahler the 3rd Ok? she says
and before you can reply she
ushers you into the lounge where
you remove your coat and hear
the Mahlerian sounds from the hifi
and the smell of her scent and two
glasses of scotch on the small table
by the sofa take a seat she says taking
your coat off to the other room and
you look at the Picasso print on the
wall and think how long before she
tries to undress you and you sit and
she's back and sits beside you and says
drink up and take in the Mahler and
guess who I saw today and she had
the cheek to ask how I was when she
knew she'd been gossiping about me
to the darn neighbours and you sip
the scotch and look at her plump face
and her deep blue eyes and the red
dress she has on and the overbearing
perfume and how her breasts try and
push their way out of the dress and you
try and get a word in something about
the 3rd symphony or how you like the
Picasso print but she talks on and over
you like a tank her words hard biting with
their Gaelic tones and then she puts her
hand on your thigh and rubs it up and down
all the time her words unfaltering stretching
through the air and I told the old crab to
go smell her husband's crotch and that was
it how was your day? she asks looking into
your eyes her hand still rubbing and your
pecker rising and you say a real downer of
a day but whatever now let's just get into
the 3rd and sip our scotch and she smiles
and makes a grab for your hidden crotch.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where It Was At Back Then
Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
Husband,
you whispered to me,
Now we are both incomplete.
Husband,
I held all four
in my arms like sons and daughters.
Husband,
I bent slowly down
and washed them in magical waters.
Husband,
I placed each one
where it belonged on you.
'A miracle,'
you said and we laughed
the laugh of the well-to-do.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Your Wedding Day
it was time for the cake and the wine
the usual ceremony
like all weddings in our place
where everyone gets invited on a grand party
and there you are on your white suit
polished hair, shiny locks, the wedding ring now in your finger
the silver knife was handed
and you slice the chocolaty wedding cake with white icing laces
and some roses and tiny leaves
you sliced a big chunk and with a plate and fork
you handed it to her mouth
she was confused how to swallow such a big chunk
but she managed just the same
to take it
she did not ask you to divide it into smaller pieces
but how she wished
you were kind enough to do it for her
then the wine
the cork was too tight and then it was opened
your again poured much
more than half the glass and your arms entwined
you hand her
and she was obliged to drink that much
she whispered
it was too sweet and she did not like it
she wanted the usual wine
sour and sweet and a little bit bitter
and then yes the doves
you were not gentle in taking them out from the cage
held them too tight
and without taking any cue from her
you released your dove ahead adn she was again confused
and even slighted
a big chunk, a very sweet wine, doves that did not fly together
it was not just me who noticed it, some people who saw
what happened did not talk about it
now, the town is making a guess
whether you marriage will last
whether the pattern in your broken family shall not be repeated
your brother, your dad, your sister
they now live separately from his wife, from your mother, from her husband
but who knows, you will be the last to stand up
the last of the mohicans, the movie that you have not watched yet
but soon you will
because from there you must take your important cue
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Food
The food is ready on the table,
I have drink as well, and pleasure.
My husband achieved the mighty house,
And why does the life be magnificent
When death takes shape over the home?
Our sprightliness is upset by the recent event,
A deadly plant from the devil.
It grew from a bulb, an exotic egg of wonder,
The animals will be fouled.
I cannot smell it on the tongue,
But the nose can never do this.
My husband is my life, and plants are for dying,
But he upsets my experience with life
By quarrelling with myself
So that life of a plant has marred into death.
The food is ready on the table,
I do not drink from him anymore.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The House Of Dust: Part 02: 08: The Box With Silver Handles
Well,—it was two days after my husband died—
Two days! And the earth still raw above him.
And I was sweeping the carpet in their hall.
In number four—the room with the red wall-paper—
Some chorus girls and men were singing that song
'They'll soon be lighting candles
Round a box with silver handles'—and hearing them sing it
I started to cry. Just then he came along
And stopped on the stairs and turned and looked at me,
And took the cigar from his mouth and sort of smiled
And said, 'Say, what's the matter?' and then came down
Where I was leaning against the wall,
And touched my shoulder, and put his arm around me . . .
And I was so sad, thinking about it,—
Thinking that it was raining, and a cold night,
With Jim so unaccustomed to being dead,—
That I was happy to have him sympathize,
To feel his arm, and leaned against him and cried.
And before I knew it, he got me into a room
Where a table was set, and no one there,
And sat me down on a sofa, and held me close,
And talked to me, telling me not to cry,
That it was all right, he'd look after me,—
But not to cry, my eyes were getting red,
Which didn't make me pretty. And he was so nice,
That when he turned my face between his hands,
And looked at me, with those blue eyes of his,
And smiled, and leaned, and kissed me—
Somehow I couldn't tell him not to do it,
Somehow I didn't mind, I let him kiss me,
And closed my eyes! . . . Well, that was how it started.
For when my heart was eased with crying, and grief
Had passed and left me quiet, somehow it seemed
As if it wasn't honest to change my mind,
To send him away, or say I hadn't meant it—
And, anyway, it seemed so hard to explain!
And so we sat and talked, not talking much,
But meaning as much in silence as in words,
There in that empty room with palms about us,
That private dining-room . . . And as we sat there
I felt my future changing, day by day,
With unknown streets opening left and right,
New streets with farther lights, new taller houses,
Doors swinging into hallways filled with light,
Half-opened luminous windows, with white curtains
Streaming out in the night, and sudden music,—
And thinking of this, and through it half remembering
A quick and horrible death, my husband's eyes,
The broken-plastered walls, my boy asleep,—
It seemed as if my brain would break in two.
My voice began to tremble . . . and when I stood,
And told him I must go, and said good-night—
I couldn't see the end. How would it end?
Would he return to-morrow? Or would he not?
And did I want him to—or would I rather
Look for another job?—He took my shoulders
Between his hands, and looked down into my eyes,
And smiled, and said good-night. If he had kissed me,
That would have—well, I don't know; but he didn't . .
And so I went downstairs, then, half elated,
Hoping to close the door before that party
In number four should sing that song again—
'They'll soon be lighting candles round a box with silver handles'—
And sure enough, I did. I faced the darkness.
And my eyes were filled with tears. And I was happy.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Husband.
Husband is someone;
You spend most of your life with.
And with him;
You are for years.
My life has become strong;
For my husband is not wrong.
My life has become independent;
For my husband never let me dependent.
My life has become pure;
For my husband had every cure.
My life has become romantic;
For my husband is very aromatic.
My life had a new beginning;
For my husband was nearing.
And the most valuable gift-
My husband has given me;
Are my 2 wonderful and the best kids-
And I thank God,
For the wonderful family he has given me.
poem by Anju Addanki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Wife’s Second Husband
THE WORLD goes round, old fellow,
And still I’m in the swim,
While my wife’s second husband
Is growing old and grim.
I meet him in the city—
It all seems very tame—
He glances at me sometimes
As if I were to blame.
Oh, my wife’s second husband
Was handsome, young and true;
He had his boyish visions
(I had my visions too).
He made a model lover—
The greenest in the game—
They say, when I was married
That I was just the same.
Though I am ten years older
My hair is dark to-day,
While my wife’s second husband
Is quickly growing grey.
I drank when first he knew me,
And he drank not at all;
I see that he, through drinking,
Is going to the wall.
A sweet ill-treated woman,
A drunken brute (Good Lord!)—
Ah, well, she got her freedom,
And he got his reward.
He’ll fight it out a season,
For Fate will not be forced,
But my wife’s second husband
Shall surely be divorced.
I sympathize, and wonder
What mutual friends would think
If my wife’s second husband
And I should have a drink.
And I a mere bystander—
It almost seems absurd—
Might lay prophetically
My hand on my wife’s third.
But my wife’s second husband
His sorrows shall forget,
We’ll clasp warm hands in friendship
And clink our glasses yet.
We’ll smoke cigars together,
In pure philosophy,
While calmly contemplating
The fate of number three.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Husband
It is true:
My husband
has never
taken out
the garbage
from our little house
in the suburbs.
My husband
has never
taken our children
out for the night
to trick-or-treating
as I sit
on the porch in a witch hat.
My husband
has never
come home from
a long day
to a special meal
I have prepared
just for him.
My husband
has never
told me he loves me
beside a warm fire
on our honeymoon.
But he will.
poem by Erica Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Red Blood & Black Tears Part 4
in the darkness of her room,
calming her self,
she has been raped,
bashed,
and cut all over,
shes telling her self,
that there is no help for her now,
her lover was dead,
she had no family,
no life,
and no one to help her,
she was all alone,
then there was a knock at the door,
she ran for it,
she got there,
it was the doctor who help her love and her-self,
he said,
your husband die of a Disease,
a poison had killed him,
for one of his knifes,
he told her to stop or she might be the same,
as he walked away,
she walked back inside,
with a smile on her face,
she was pleased,
that her husband did not kill himself,
and that there was somebody who cared,
she started to think,
about was the doctor had said,
should she stay the same,
or change to a everyday person,
she was thinking,
and thinking,
the she said,
I will...
poem by Harley Morriss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Round Table
we have this round table
and we put all our hands
on it when we eat and
drink and just talk for
hours and hours and
listen. And we ask what
is happening: Karding
broke a leg and Delia
is looking for the money.
Always it is the money.
Always she is short of
the money. And there
were jewelries hanging
on her neck and arms
and fingers, and we all
ask at this round table:
what is happening?
Nothing, don't mind at
all, this is just a part of
the round table, some
wine glass that broke
and must be swept at
once. We keep away the
sound of a crying pig.
We eat pigs here at this
round table. Then we shifted
the talk about our dead
parents. We pray. We
remember we keep on
saying this. We finish eating
the pig. We drink a very
cold water. Our throats
are irritated and we step
out of the room wanting
to pull away our tongues.
when we come back the
round table is empty.
and we laugh about a
joke that we remember.
our childhood games
the river, and the boat
that father made for us.
we turn off the tv and we
begin to talk about the
beautiful flowers in mother's
old garden, the secret one.
we agree. we miss it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back When
Dont you remember the fizz in a pepper .
Penuts in a bottle at ten, two, and four.
A fried bologna sandwitch with mayo and tamata, sittin around
the table dont happen much anymore.
We gotten to complicated, its all way overrated, I like old and outdated
way of life.
Back when a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crakes what you were doing when you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said i'm down with that , well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when
I loved my records, black shiny vinyle
clikes, pops, and white noise man they sounded fine.
I had my favorite stations the ones that played them all.
country, soul, and rockin roll what happend to thouse times.
I'm reading street slang for dummies cause they put pop in my country.
I want more for my money, the way it was back then
When a hoe was hoe
Coke was a coke
And cracks what you were doing when you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said i'm down with that, well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when
Give me a flat top for strummin
I want the whole world to be hummin
Just keep it comin, the way it was back then
When a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crakes what you were doing when you were crackin jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said i'm down with that, well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
That house in Brackenfell
That house in Brackenfell
had new furniture,
a wine red Kameel lounge suite,
a solid wood dining room table,
a big queen size bed with drawers,
a brand new washing machine,
a white Kelvinator stove and refrigerator.
I worked on an old display case there
stripping varnish, rubbing it
with sandpaper and gluing
it together again
into which your mother
put some mirrors at the back
and we gave it to her.
I planted flowers and shrubs
in that small garden
and watered them
and we lived there
in our first dwelling
for just a few months
driving to work
at Tygerberg hospital and back.
Your folks went away on holiday
and we had to look after
the Pomeranian
and you twisted
that orange-brown Wollie’s member
when he lifted his leg
against the lounge suite
and the poor thing
had to go to the vet
to get over its shock.
Everything went really swell
till one night
that you used the bath
and were naked in it
with all the taps closed
when the walls
started to knock
with a sturdy sound
expected on the front door.
At first you didn’t understand
what was happening
but when you realized
you gave a great scream,
and went to the bedroom
to dress.
Later I found out
that students had played
glass-glass with an ouija board
in that house
and had invited some spirits in.
When the lights
started to go on and off
and doors opened and closed
on their own
you had it with the witchery
and with that house
and moved to your parents
huge villa a little way off.
I at first stayed and prayed
and opened the bible
and told the spirits to be gone
and so they did
but you didn’t believe it
and never set your foot
in that place again.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
for Juvy...
Juvy is a thirsty woman
she is thirty, a widow for three years now
her husband died on a car accident
leaving her with
a daughter
tonight she cannot sleep
her breasts are making fire
she goes out of the house
and finds the brook nearby outside the fence
of her house
when she gets there
it is cold and dark but her breasts are glowing like cinders
she undresses herself
and goes into the water
her breasts are playful on the ripples of the water
she goes deeper
and dives
opens her eyes looking for happiness
she opens her mouth
drinks the fresh water of the brook
she is thirsty and wants to drink
everything
satisfied for now
she goes out of the water
dresses herself again
under the moon
she goes home
opens the door of her room
and with her hair still wait
she lays in bed and begins to sleep
the picture of her husband
is no longer
on top of the table
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Haggis
A haggis found itself in a butcher’s window
and had a feeling that it shouldn’t be there.
He had visions of being on a Scottish hillside
amongst the heather and free without a care.
He didn’t feel right being next to a chicken,
pork sausages, and various other things.
He realised that his beautiful tail had gone,
as well as his legs, head, and wings.
The butcher then wrapped him up in paper
and gave him to Mrs Macnee
who took him home for dinner
for her husband and family of three.
She unwrapped him and left him on the table
while she went to answer the door.
The Haggis was feeling nervous and unsteady,
and rolled from the table to the floor.
It gathered pace and rolled out of the kitchen,
past Mrs Macnee, and out of the door.
He’s never be seen since and for all we know
he’s back in the heather once more.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
for Juvy...(a little correction)
Juvy is a thirsty woman
she is thirty, a widow for three years now
her husband died on a car accident
leaving her with
a daughter
tonight she cannot sleep
her breasts are making fire
she goes out of the house
and finds the brook nearby outside the fence
when she gets there
it is cold and dark but her breasts are glowing like cinders
she undresses herself
and goes into the water
her breasts are playful on the ripples of the water
she goes deeper
and dives
opens her eyes looking for happiness
she opens her mouth
drinks the fresh water of the brook
she is thirsty and wants to drink
everything
satisfied for now
she goes out of the water
dresses herself again
under the moon
she goes home
opens the door of her room
and with her hair still wet
she lays in bed and begins to sleep
the picture of her husband
is no longer
on top of the table
her decision is to empty
her past and free it from dusts.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Are You a Good Husband?
All married men want to be called a good husband
A good husband is a decent husband
Mr. Husband what you done to deserve this decency?
Has your wife ever referred to you as her good husband?
It is known that the eyes cannot see itself
Unless by reflection. Have you ever asked
Your wife for a performance appraisal
Honey, how did I perform last year?
On a scale of one to ten, one for very poor
Ten for excellent, how did I perform?
Your wife may think you are now on new drugs
If you receive less than six, you need to
Start fence mending before it is too late
A good husband sees his wife as his friend
A nice husband treats his wife as his lover
A decent husband regards his wife as a soul-mate
You should anticipate what your wife
Will need before she makes any request
By the way, have you ever bought a gift
For your wife without an occasion?
Do you have to wait for her birthday?
To inform her that she is very special to you?
Do you have to wait for your wedding anniversary?
To tell her that she is the best thing in your life
When last did you talk to your wife in-laws?
When last did you visit your wife in-laws?
What have you done to be called a good husband?
Ask for performance appraisal on a regular basis
Remember, if you make your wife happy
You will get happiness in return
poem by Julius Babarinsa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!