The Elopement
'A woman never agreed to it!' said my knowing friend to me.
'That one thing she'd refuse to do for Solomon's mines in fee:
No woman ever will make herself look older than she is.'
I did not answer; but I thought, 'You err there, ancient Quiz.'
It took a rare one, true, to do it; for she was surely rare -
As rare a soul at that sweet time of her life as she was fair.
And urging motives, too, were strong, for ours was a passionate case,
Yea, passionate enough to lead to freaking with that young face.
I have told no one about it, should perhaps make few believe,
But I think it over now that life looms dull and years bereave,
How blank we stood at our bright wits' end, two frail barks in distress,
How self-regard in her was slain by her large tenderness.
I said: 'The only chance for us in a crisis of this kind
Is going it thorough!' - 'Yes,' she calmly breathed. 'Well, I don't mind.'
And we blanched her dark locks ruthlessly: set wrinkles on her brow;
Ay - she was a right rare woman then, whatever she may be now.
That night we heard a coach drive up, and questions asked below.
'A gent with an elderly wife, sir,' was returned from the bureau.
And the wheels went rattling on, and free at last from public ken
We washed all off in her chamber and restored her youth again.
How many years ago it was! Some fifty can it be
Since that adventure held us, and she played old wife to me?
But in time convention won her, as it wins all women at last,
And now she is rich and respectable, and time has buried the past.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Related quotes
Southern Woman
Written by james young, raymond brandle
Lead vocals by james young
First met you in a southern town
On a warm november day
You made me smoke like a whirlwind
I knew we had nothing to say
Love me but dont try and make me stay
Southern woman
Take my soul but dont you take my life
Southern woman
Make me feel good but dont you tell my wife
[guitar solo]
Once again in the early spring
I touched your ravens crown
Your wild eyed stories of rare delight
Like to knock me down
Its getting so damn hard to put you down
Southern woman
Take my soul but dont you take my life
Southern woman
Make me feel good but dont you tell my wife
[instrumental solos]
Southern woman
Take my soul but dont you take my life
Southern woman
Make me feel good but dont you tell my wife
Southern woman
Take my soul but dont you take my life
Southern woman
Make me feel good but dont you tell my wife
Southern woman
Yeah
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rare Friend
I will be your rare friend;
Spend many hours meditating on your success.
I will be your rare friend;
Be there for you when you are not at your best.
I will be your rare friend;
One who will take you home when your legs tire.
I will be your rare friend;
And will be beside you when go through the fire.
I will be your rare friend;
When others abandon you and laugh at you.
I will be your rare friend;
Not caring the color of your skin or what you do.
I will be your rare friend;
I will be your rare friend because its true, I am you.
poem by Saint Eule
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I am that woman
I am the woman you cannot stand
I am the woman you cannot part
I am the woman who will f*** your brains up
I am the woman who will make you love
I am the woman who will make you so mad you’ll forget your name
I am the woman who your mother will love
I am the woman who will make your mates laugh
I am the woman who will make you speak all night
I am the woman who will make you go ballistic
I am the woman who will annoy you all the time
I am the woman who you’ll find irresistibly cute
I am the woman who will make you forget what you do
I am the woman who you’ll spend all day in bed with
I am the woman who will make passionate love like a beast
I am the woman who will get you out of control
I am the woman who will make you lose your soul
I am the woman who you will accept defeat to
I am the woman who will make you sad when I leave the room
I am the woman who will drive you crazy when we meet
I am the woman who you’ll want to sit all night and stare me sleep
I am the woman who you’ll hate and love
And I am the woman who you’ll never f***ing forget!
…and you know it’s all true….
poem by Evita Velvet
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Rare, Precious & Gone
Cry baby boy, not tears of joy
The one you held is no longer your toy
Shes got her new boots and her make up on
You can call her your friend
But not your lover again
Shes made it clear as air that this affair is at an end
So what are you doing holding on?
Dont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
She was soft in your hands, now shes shattered your plans
Im sympathetic but youve got to understand
You tried to squeeze her somewhere
She just dont belong
She was being sincere when she breathed in your ear
As long as there were stars in the night sky shed be near
Even angels get it wrong!
Wont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Its a subtle trap
Seeding guilt in her mind
But she aint taking your crap
This time
Boy youre out on a line...
Shes a queen among women, a child among queens
The finest thing that your lovesick eyes have ever seen
Shes a rose without a thorn
Shes a peach, shes a prize
A gift in disguise
Shes graceful and colourful and when she grows
Shell be wise
But most of all my friend, shes gone
Gone, gone gone!
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Rare, precious and shes gone
Yes, shes rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Gone, gone gone...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You will surely die!
Opportunity what is that?
Is it bad or good?
Is a relationship with another
Person an opportunity to grow or to die...
As in I wish I were dead.
A woman is indeed a rare, rare opportunity
And if you ever get the chance to meet such
An opportunity...
And mistreat her, you will surely die.
A woman is the cradle of life...
She is a pandora box...
She is also a fox.
A woman is awake up smile
A mother to a child
A doctor or lawyer when she need be...
She was created for the world and me.
So an opportunity to be in the company of woman is rare.
God created such perfection there...emotional perfection.
Woman is an opportunity of good will...
Still.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Two Loves
The woman he loved, while he dreamed of her,
Danced on till the stars grew dim,
But alone with her heart, from the world apart
Sat the woman who loved him.
The woman he worshipped only smiled
When he poured out his passionate love.
But the other somewhere, kissed her treasure most rare,
A book he had touched with his glove.
The woman he loved betrayed his trust,
And he wore the scars for life;
And he cared not, nor knew, that the other was true;
But no man called her his wife.
The woman he loved trod festal halls,
While they sang his funeral hymn,
But the sad bells tolled, ere the year was old,
For the woman that loved him.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Wonder How A Man
I wonder how a man should behave towards his wife
Should he love her till he draw his last breath of life
And agree with everything that she has to say
And tell her he loves her many times a day?
Or spend far more time with his mates at the pub
Discussing the welfare of the football club
And leave his wife at home of their children to take care?
The ideal sort of husband to say the least rare.
In the company of men I have spent too much time
Played football, worked and drunk alcohol with them back in my life's prime
To females us males are of different kind
To every good man ten good women you'll find.
Respect to all women all men ought to show
But how a man should behave towards his woman I hardly would know
Since I have never been known as a ladies man
And I'm now in the Autumn years of my life's span.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Best Friend's Wife
see, my best friend's wife is like my very own breath of life,
so blessed and so curved like a jewel from the nile,
her hair so long, so soft and fresh,
flows like paradise when caressed by the wind,
her touch so gentle,
her kisses so rare,
and when in bed she's way past fair,
so wild, but so kind, she's all that in one,
no other woman can compare, she's the only one,
her husband, i don't even know what she was thinking,
but i know what goes on in his mind,
when all his children start looking like mine
poem by Lucas Miganda
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Fifty Years Of Marriage
With dye and hair colouring they cover their gray
Their fifty years of marriage they celebrate today
Through fifty years of marriage they have argued their way
In their love hate relationship one well might say.
Their better days one can say for them are long gone
And they age without grace though time is ticking on
Their children are grand-parents and the years on them show
Since they too are ageing and their fastest pace slow.
Fifty happy years together by some we are told
But others who know them well and with their words more bold
Will tell you they never did see eye to eye
But why they stay together one must wonder why.
They have stayed together for so many years
One can hardly say of them the lovely old dears
Since they both are quite quarrelsome and grumpy as well
Perhaps without quarrels life for them would be hell.
Fifty years together and the same bed they share
Yet even in public places at each other they swear
Such marriages as their's suppose never were rare
They are not the World's only dysfunctional pair.
Today their descendants will celebrate the marriage of their Pop and Gran
And applaud this wonderful woman and man
But the truth of their marriage they will never tell
How they seem to enjoy giving each other hell.
poem by Francis Duggan
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That Fifty Year Old Woman
That fifty year old woman
she is someones mother
that fifty year old woman
she is someones lover
them fifty years of her life
unseen by a cover.
Covered by the leaves
from the autumn trees is the grass
surrounded by blue tape
and nosey people who pretend to pass
a group of actors walk by
they have come from a history class
to make history new
with conversation with questions to ask.
A fifty year old woman
in an autumn so cold
a fifty year old woman
seen dark winter unfold
them fifty years of life
it is all we are told.
The actors, they didn't get any information
they did not get pictures
nothing known about the situation
nothing at all to discuss
fifty years of age is all thats said
on the morning paper on the fifty bus
thats all thats said
a fifty year old woman, shes found dead.
That fifty year old woman
shes not someones mother
that fifty year old woman
how she had no lover
them fifty years of life
unseen by a cover.
That fifty year old woman
she was quoted in the paper today
that fifty year old woman will be gone tomorrow
the writers they will show no sorrow
because its the way things work
as people pass
she no longer lies on grass
shes covered in dirt.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Battered Doll
A red dress for blood spilt,
Torn blouse for flesh rent;
Ladders in the stockings –
A rung for every callous blow landed.
Scuffed shoes winked about the kicks –
After all, bruise-gorged eyes can’t –
Just permanently closed.
Burning tears were scant warmth
Against a chill from ugly cries.
Lipstick smudges on the chin to
Nullify all vestiges of beauty –
Those that constituted rare patches
Of purest cream skin, from
Days of feminine joy, telling once
Upon a time there was an angel…
But now, a battered doll.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman
woman woman
Woman
No more...
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Your Golden Wedding Day
It was fifty years ago Mom
That you saw that special smile.
He was handsome, tall and debonair
He was definitely your style.
She was everything you wanted, Dad
Your search came to an end.
Your asked her if she’d be your wife
So your lives could soon began.
She needed time she said, to date
But found no man to compare
So you drifted close together
Into a love so strong, so rare.
The children came eventually
There were good times, and yes, some bad
And though your marriage vows were tested
You found a love you’d never had.
You laid a strong foundation
That many kids grow up without
And I’ll take this time to thank you
Our home had love, there was no doubt.
And now it seems impossible
That fifty years have past.
You were blessed with special qualities
For a marriage that would last.
As we gather here together
We all just want to say,
A special “Congratulations”
On your Golden Wedding Day.
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Whore! ! !
Whore! ! !
Man meets woman she was working the night
Man falls in love boy she had him in her sight
Man says the Thunderbolt struck, she uses it to take all his might
Whore! ! !
Man makes so many mistakes including divorcing his wife
Man gives woman EVERYTHING his body, his soul, his life
Man leaves all that he knows behind in just two weeks with the woman, only now he feels the knife
Whore! ! !
Man provides and protects the woman taking all her cares away
Man completely changes his life thinking that God blessed him that day
Man shuts out all his friends to make more time only for her, all he wants is for her to stay
Whore! ! !
Man is stunned and shocked when the woman won't defend
Man knows this is the issue and he will no longer pretend
Man sees the woman for who she really was and knows he cannot mend
Whore! ! !
Man is torn, twisted like a knife in his throat and he can't breathe
Man knows woman has done this before but yet he still doesn't want her to leave
Man begs, pleads, bears his soul, loves her with every fiber of his being and still will believe
Whore! ! !
Man learns even more about the woman and cannot believe what he hears
Man is told woman just did it with another poor sap, now he realizes his fears
Man knows now there's no honesty or loyalty with the woman, says no more years
Whore! ! !
Man thinks this whole love thing is just a bunch of bunk
Man now knows this woman was and is a Whore! , but he's strong and refuses to be in a funk
Man is done with the Whore! , and all the girls are back on me, yeah they love doing the dunk
Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
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Adam Revised
God must be God...
For God has blessed the world...
He has given the world this rare, rare
Treasure...Woman
It's funny how I only see woman when I want...forself
I realize now how she covers my life... how she shares with me her intimacy...
Mentally, emotionally and spiritually.
There is no other person on this earth
Whom I can count on as I count on woman...
Let me be not like Adam but the man...
Adam was created to be for Eve...his queen and mate!
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Woman is in the lap of A, B, C.....
A says
Woman is attractive flower
B says
Woman is beautiful gift
C says
Woman is great source of comfort
D says
woman has a sweet dialect
E says
Eastern or western, woman is the worthy
F says
woman is central figure of family
G says
woman always glitters with the rays of her partner
H says
woman has holy spirits
I says
woman has basic institution in her lap
J says
woman is a full of joy
K says
woman is head of kisses
L says
woman is lovely thing
M says
woman is symbol of modesty
N says
nails increase the beauty of woman
O says
woman is an pretty ornament
P says
woman is princess
Q says
woman is queen
R says
woman is rare gift
S says
woman is a main source of survival the human being
T says
woman has true spirits of love
U says
woman is an peaceful umbrella
V says
woman is valley of love
W says
woman is wafer
X says
woman has sweet kisses
Y says
woman is your jewellary
z says
woman has great zeal
april 11,2008
abdul razaq
poem by Abdul Razaq
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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Prosperous
My eyes slowly showing
What her heart was knowing
Thy elan soaring
I can unselfishly share
I can care
I am no longer rare
Returning love no more a dare
A gift now in my lair
Woman the gift...not spare
Finished living on the line
Which was consuming my time
Independently of the gift divine
Impartial, woman one of a kind
May help fortify one's mind
Mutually...one half.
Sympathetic is she
I advance not with lids closed
I wish not...turn up my nose
She is more, I suppose
I am becoming whole
Loving is bold
To this woman I promise my soul
Woman is real
Woman is alive
Now I live
As to protect that of my rib
My heart was...heavy
Before this woman I plea
Cultivate your warmth of me
I may have played the fool
How I have changed my attitude
That old theorem most not prove true
Let me give thanks and shout
And pull the red carpet out
Dear woman may God
Forever bless you
Dubbed...as a
human to human contact.
A union I shall eternally respect
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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My Wife Is A Most Knowing Woman
My wife is a most knowing woman,
She always is finding me out,
She never will hear explanations
But instantly puts me to rout,
There's no use to try and deceive her,
If out with my friends night or day,
In a most inconceivable manner,
She tells where I've been right away,
She says that I'm 'mean' and 'inhuman.'
Oh! My wife is a most knowing woman.
She would've been hung up for witchcraft
If she had lived sooner, I know,
There's no hiding anything from her,
She knows what I do -- where I go;
And if I come in after midnight
And say 'I have been to the lodge,'
Oh, she says while she flies in a fury,
'Now don't think to play such a dodge!
It's all very fine, but won't do, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
Not often I go out to dinner
And come home a little 'so so,'
I try to creep up through the hall-way,
As still as a mouse, on tip-toe,
She's sure to be waiting up for me
And then comes a nice little scene,
'What, you tell me you're sober, you wretch you,
Now don't think that I am so green!
My life is quite worn out with you, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman!
She knows me much better than I do,
Her eyes are like those of a lynx,
Though how she discovers my secrets
Is a riddle would puzzle a sphynx,
On fair days, when we go out walking,
If ladies look at me askance,
In the most harmless way, I assure you,
My wife gives me, oh! such a glance,
And says 'all these insults you'll rue, man,'
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
Yes, I must give all of my friends up
If I would live happy and quiet;
One might as well be 'neath a tombstone
As live in confusion and riot.
This life we all know is a short one,
While some tongues are long, heaven knows,
And a miserable life is a husband's
Who numbers his wife with his foes;
I'll stay at home now like a true man,
Oh, my wife is a most knowing woman.
poem by Stephen C. Foster
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Lost & Found Pt.2 - Found Child
A baby born into addiction,
Fighting for his life before it began.
Held by his mother just once in his life,
Then he is taken from her hands.
Taken to be given a chance
To be healthy outside and in.
A chance to grow big and strong,
Free from his mother's sins.
The child has a family now
And a very loving home.
They took him in for what he was
And raised him as their own.
Years have passed since his birth
And he questions who he really is.
Looking at his loving parents
He knows thier features are not his.
One night with the television on,
And his family sitting around,
The news man tells a story
Of a tragedy across town.
A woman found dead at home.
In her arm was a syringe.
The woman's picture flashed on screen
And made his mother cringe.
He could feel something too;
Some sort of strange connection.
Then he heard a soft whimper
Coming from his mom's direction.
He softly asked her what was wrong.
She couldn't look him in the eye.
She said I have someting to tell you son.
Then she began to cry.
All the questions you asked of us;
If you were ours, or another's.
You see, the woman who died tonight...
She was your true mother.
poem by Joseph A. Solis
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