En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Uxley Knew Nothing of Women.

Uxley understood nothing of women.
He knew nothing of women except
Some dark memory of his mother’s teats
Buried deep in his mind’s depth.
Women, his father said, are an enigma,
An unsolvable puzzle, that no man
Can understand or get to grips with
No matter how old he is or gets.
Uxley missed his father’s words,
His narrow perspective, his keen eye
For the women’s physique, his philosophy
Of the Eve dilemma, the apple in the Garden
Of Eden problem. Uxley never married,
Never had sex, never saw a woman naked,
Except a onetime quick glimpse of his mother
Passing naked through the hall one cold Fall.
Even at cafes, sitting drinking coffee with friends,
He seldom gave the passing girls a second glance,
Not like his friends with their whistles and words
And wormy wishes. He sat and looked away,
Thinking the second sex a different species,
An area best left untouched, unknown,
Best left to the suckers who drowned
In the dark beneath. He recalled his mother
Clothed in the long robes, the tall thin features,
The drawn painted lips his father kissed,
The long red nails that jabbed in his back
To push him to school or bath, and there
In that memory her dark eyes and haughty laugh.

poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Male parental hierarchy.

My parents are two, grandparents four
And great grandparents, eight and so on.

I am known by my father, his father,
And his father and so on by male side.

My mother, her mother and father, their
Mother and father and so on are ignored.

My fathers’ mother and grandfather’s
Mother and so on go to oblivion.

I am known by my father, his father
And his father and so on as a family.

All women from whom I have drawn
Their genes have been shut out.

Parental hierarchy is represented
By male, women dislodged at every stage.
25.08.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Being A Mother

MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS A WORD
MOTHER IS A PERSON
MOTHER IS A WOMEN
BUT WAT IS REALLY A MOTHER?
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS WOMEN WHO GIVES BIRTH
NO........
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO CARES OF HER BABY
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE HER LIFE FOR THEIR BABY'S
ANY WOMEN CAN HAVE A BABY
ANY WOMEN CAN GIVE BIRTH
ANY WOMEN CAN BE CALLED MOM
BUT ONLY A REAL WOMEN
ONLY A REAL MOTHER CAN TAKE OVER HER RESPOSABILITIES
ONLY A WOMEN CAN DO WHATS BEST FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! !
A MOTHER LIKE ME
A MOTHER LIKE U
A MOTHER WHO CRIES FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO PRAYS FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO GIVES HER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO STARVES TO FEED HER CHILD
A MOTHER WHO IS WILLING TO SLEEP IN THE COLD FOR THEIR CHILD,
A MOTHER WHO MAKES HER CHILDREN FEEL SAFE IN HER ARMS,
BEING THAT MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
BEING THAT MOTHER TAKES ALOT OF WOMEN N A PERSON
BEING A MOTHER........

poem by Leticia Sanchez
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Women

Women...
Some budy
Called flower...

Some budy
Called moon...
Some budy

Called Brandy...
Somebudy
Called hourse...

Some budy
Called donkey...
Some budy

Called basterd...
Some calling
Some of word's

Women with women's...
This words are
Not full fill

The women...
World wide
Women is beauty...

Women is sexy...
Thats thats...
But...

Women is what...?
Not only women
Women is your mother...

Women is your sister...
Women is your wife...
Women is doughter...

Women is your gran mother...
Women is your friend...
Not only above...

Women is a human...
Human is women...
Understand too

All women's...
With your heart...
At your humunity...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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She Sinful Or Wild

All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right

until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she

had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all

went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was

the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that

episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her

mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home

from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was

her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned

and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some

place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all

there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother

had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the

battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with

as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.

poem by Terry Collett
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How Mother Looked

You want to look how Mother looked.
Makeup she used to use lies on her
Dressing table in the room father has
Had locked up. You have secreted the
Key and unlocked and closing the door,
Are sitting facing your image in the mirror’s
Glass you’ve propped against a chair. You
Do not have your mother’s hair. You have
Her eyes, Father said, although he says it
Less now since her death, as if stealing
From the dead. You want to transform
Yourself into her; be the woman she was;
Have her beauty; have her smile; her gentle
Manner. Cancer took her like thief at night;
Reduced her to a bag of bones and hanging
Skin, pale and thin. Forget that image, Father
Chides, cast it away, lock behind the mind’s
Dark doors. You want to look how Mother
Looked before her sad demise, before cold
Cancer’s deceit and lies. Still a child, Father
Says, you have all your life to live; leave your
Grief behind, but you want to be as Mother
Was, like the coloured picture in your mind.

poem by Terry Collett
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The Day Jane Fainted

Jane fainted in the town
by the coach
on Saturday morning
and her mother

and other women
were around her
and you stood
a little way away

wondering what
had happened to her
I think it must be
that time of the month

you heard one woman say
maybe
her mother said
but she's not usually

like this
she added
will she be all right?
you asked

bending down
next to one
of the women
who had gathered

her mother looked at you
and said
yes it happens
at certain times

of the month
oh right
you said
none the wiser

gazing at Jane
at her dark hair
her eyes closed
her features

white and sweaty
best give her some air
her mother said
and you all stood up

and her mother
fanned her
with her hat
then after a minute or so

Jane opened her eyes
and said
what happened?
I went all funny

and everything went white
you fainted
her mother said
waving the hat

in front of Jane's face
I want to get up
Jane said
and so you

and her mother
helped her
to her feet
and she leaned

against the wall
of the bank
and looked around
she'll be all right now

a woman said
it happens
another said
after a few minutes

they went off
to the shops
leaving you
and your mother

and Jane
and her mother
standing by the coach
I'll be all right now

Jane said
ok
her mother said
and you all walked

along the street
to the shops
Jane walking behind
with you

her hand stealthily
reaching down
for yours and giving it
a little squeeze

then releasing it again
looking up at the sky
which had become dark
threatening rain.

poem by Terry Collett
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Going To Hell...by Talile Ali

I have always loved
looking at women.
My earliest memories are of how
beautiful girls looked naked.

As a kid,
occasionally
I would get a glimpse of the girls
taking a bath.

As I viewed their beautiful nakedness
indulging so freely and happily in the water
I was launched into a sort of
nymph like world of wonder.

Deep forest greens
and weeping willows.
Pools of water
reflecting the suns own light
and refracting all of it's colors

The feeling I was filled with
at that moment were
and still are
religious

I was taught in so many direct
and in direct ways that
looking at naked women
was porn

That any one who liked
looking at naked women
was going to
hell,

well
I most definitely am going to hell

poem by Talile Ali
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Two Women

Two women in my life,
Left impressions deep on me.
These two women did for others,
Unselfishly...
And did good deeds.

The work they did was hard,
But they never gave up!
No matter what was on their path,
I never heard them fuss or cuss.

And Clara,
And Edna...
Still have me awestruck!

My grandma,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!

The work they did was hard,
But they never gave up!
No matter what was on their path,
I never heard them fuss or cuss.

And Clara,
And Edna...
Still have me awestruck!

My grandmama,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!

Two women in my life...
Left impressions deep on me.
These two women did for others,
Unselfishly...
And did good deeds.

Clara and Edna,
Still have me awestruck!

My grandmama,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!

Dedicated:
In Loving Memory
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar,
My father's mother.
And...
Edna Pearl Roberts Prudhomme Pertillar,
My mother.

'Thank you! '
~LP, Jr.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Random things about my Mother

My mother whose eyes were strained
By a sadness that stained her eyes
With grey and blue hue

My mother who never blew
Out candles on a birthday cake

My mother who never knew
The thrills of flying in an airplane

My mother who forever threw
Her pearls to swine

My mother who knew
No contentment in living

My who mother never lived
To be even seventy two

My mother who it is true
Stopped living long before she died

My mother from whose mouth flew
Words of disappointment and fury

My mother whose lips
Tasted bitter tears

My mother sat impatiently
In sorrow through her years

My mother who like Kunta Kinte
Was tamed by Diabets

My mother who was tamed
By my father

My mother who was captured by my father

My mother who fought with my father
The two them struggling false teeth piercing each others flesh

My mother who my father told to go and cook the mint

My mother who would beat us and cause wounds and bruises to our skin

My mother who love to walk about

My mother who gave a toe
A day away

My mother who kiked with her stump of a leg after she lost her foot

My mother who was a great dresser

My mother who could sing
Sang on the church choir

My mother who would be at the front of the church earliest every Saturday
My mother who insisted I be baptized and save by the holy ghost

My mother had beautiful handwriting
My mother who had nine children for five different men

My mother who tried to settle down with my father

My mother who could never swim

My mother who loved to sing

My mother who would tie us up on leashes and take us for long walks through the town

My mother who sought out hand me-downs – for our clothing

My mother who was active in the Welfare Society at church so she could cream the crop for her family

My mother who instigated many a conflicts with her numerous friend was left with only a few in the end.

My mother whom I so wanted to help evolve

My mother who I helped to live

My mother who I had to let die

My mother who lives in me

poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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I Hate Women Drivers!

I hate women drivers!
Why, can they not park?
Near the kerb?
Not anywhere
With no regards!

I hate women drivers!
Especially in the dark
They put on their blinkers
Because, they can not see.
The problem, is neither can we!

I hate women drivers!
How they love to drive fast
Only for school runs
Then they cruise all day long

I hate women drivers!
Do they believe?
That the traffic lights are stops
To make phone calls
For their daily needs

I hate women drivers!
Can they see there are lines in the road?
They signify lanes
You should only drive in one
Not in all 3!

I hate women drivers!
They stop at zebra crossings
Because they feel this is the time
To speak to their friends and catch up
What feels like an hour long!

I hate women drivers
Oh, I wish men
Will stop shouting
THIS AT ME!

poem by Sarwah OseiTutu
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In The Mind Of A Woman

In the mind of a woman a mother you'll find
For women are loving and caring and kind
The mothering instincts to women belong
Than men less aggressive and more mentally strong,
The men celebrate when the battle is won
But the mother is left for to grieve for her son
She did not raise her son for to be sent afar
For to fight and to die in another man's war
In patriarchal societies deprived of renown
By arrogant males women are still kept down
The mother, the lover, the devoted wife
Without women there would not be human life
The males do compete for the chief of the clan
But it does take a woman for to raise the man.

poem by Francis Duggan
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A Small Elegy

My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
she basks in its heat. Mother. My diminutive mom.
She sits quietly, hands folded, and thinks about
my father, who died years ago.
And then she is skinning fruit for me. I am
in the room. Sitting right next to her. You've got to see us,
God, you bully, who took so much. How
dark it is outside! What was I going to say?
Oh, yes, now I remember. Because
of all those hours I slept soundly, through calm
nights, because of all those loved ones who are deep
in dreams---Now, when everything's running short,
I can't stand being here by myself. The lamplight's too strong.
I am sowing grain on the headland.
I will not live long.

poem by Jirí Orten
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A women

Women is

Mother...

Women is

sister...

Women is

Gran maa...

women is

Friend....

Women is

Family...

Women is

Nation...

Women is

World....

Women is

Power of univers...

Univers Also

Power of women...

Women is not only

Women...

A women is

Homeable gods...

A women is

Loveable goodes...

With goodness...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Henry and Woman Servicing

You don't want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry's mother said.
What kind of woman

is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their

husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining

her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger

forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother's dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red

painted lips. But isn't
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking

to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.

Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that's not
service, Henry that's sin.

S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused

as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard

smooching or some such
word. Henry's mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,

Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,

I'll tell Duncan next time
he's in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he's sinning, Henry turned

away, he didn't want his
mother to see him grinning.

poem by Terry Collett
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Women

Women behind bars, women in fast cars, women in distress, women with no dress
Women in airplanes, women who play games
Women in uniform, see that woman with her clothes gone
Women who satisfy, women you cant buy
Like women in magazines, and women in a limousine
Women who sip champagne, women who feel no pain
Women in a disco, and women who dont wanna know, no no
Oh, women wanting sympathy, women feeling extacy
Women who live in fantasies, bringing man to his knees
Women who boil to love, women who need a shove
Women who cant be beat, get that woman in the back seat, yeah yeah
Women in the usa, those women steal your heart away
Women into rock n roll, women who steal the show, go go go
Women that you write songs about, women that turn around and kick you out
Women you dream about all your life
Women that stab you in the back with a switchblade knife
Oh women, oohoo, talking bout women, all round the world
Yeah women, all the naughty girls, talking bout women, come on baby

song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like No Other...Mother

Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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Hands & Knees

You see me walking away
What more could I say than sorry
I failed by all your complaints
You pushed a life change but its not me
And filthy hands lay apon my chest
Lay upon my sin, but I do it for green
And in your mind you are blind
And your back turn so fine
Where were you when I needed you most
So mother so father
Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
My self-indulgence to blame
For all of the shame in the family
You dont know what its like
How I feel how I cry
How I hate the way I hate my life
So mother so father Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
Pues madre, y padre
Esta vida no quiero vivir
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me

song performed by by Unloco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother...This ones' For You...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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Rednecks unite!

My father is my brother
My sister, with three ears,
Is his significant other.

My sister is my mother
And somehow, also my brother
My father's father am I
The vile thought makes me shudder.

Grandma was a mule,
Grandfather's sperm, she used as fuel
A french aristrocrat,
Made love to my mother, for he prefered his women fat

A letter written for my eyes
Containing news of demine
Said my true mother was some other
And my father, not her brother.

Jubilant and joyous,
My wife is what used to by my sister.. Or brother?

poem by Thy Mother
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