Her Terms
My wedded life
Must every pleasure bring
On scale extensive!
If I'm your wife
I must have everything
That's most expensive -
A lady's-maid -
(My hair alone to do
I am not able) -
And I'm afraid
I've been accustomed to
A first-rate table.
These things one must consider when one marries -
And everything I wear must come from Paris!
Oh, think of that!
Oh, think of that!
I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!
From top to toes
Quite Frenchified I am,
If you examine.
And then - who knows? -
Perhaps some day a fam -
Perhaps a famine!
My argument's correct, if you examine,
What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!
Though in green pea
Yourself you needn't stint
In July sunny,
In Januaree
It really costs a mint -
A mint of money!
No lamb for us -
House lamb at Christmas sells
At prices handsome:
Asparagus,
In winter, parallels
A Monarch's ransom:
When purse to bread and butter barely reaches,
What is your wife to do for hot-house peaches?
Ah! tell me that!
Ah! tell me that!
What IS your wife to do for hot-house peaches?
Your heart and hand
Though at my feet you lay,
All others scorning!
As matters stand,
There's nothing now to say
Except - good morning!
Though virtue be a husband's best adorning,
That won't pay rates and taxes - so, good morning!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Related quotes
Togetherness Is Gone
My wife,
Stop cleaning the house
Please come here
To accompany me
My husband,
The house is dirty
We aren't able to pay the maid
You've already retired
My wife,
Don't cook
It's a holiday
Let us eat outside the home
My husband,
Don't eat outdoors
We need efficient
You've already retired
My wife,
Let's keep me company
Why the rush to sleep
It's still early
My husband,
I have to get up early
To clean the house
And prepare breakfast
My wife,
I have to go this morning
My friends were waiting
Long we don't meet
My husband,
Be careful on the road
Greetings for your friends
But, why not breakfast?
My wife,
You have fallen asleep last night
I see you sleeping soundly all
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I'm sorry
I don't welcome you home
But, why should sleep on the sofa?
My wife,
I have to go again
I have social activities
With my old friends
My husband,
Don't forget dinner at home
You look very dapper
Although not wear perfume
My wife,
sorry, we were very busy
I had dinner with friends
Happy dinner, dear
My husband,
I woke up too early
But you're not at home
Where are you?
My wife,
I came home at midnight
I have to go early in the morning
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I just finished washing clothes
I've found the clothes that you wear today
But, why the smell of perfume?
poem by Hasanudin Sofyan
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To All Future Husbands
No matter
How much
I educate
My daughter,
If she's not
A good cook
Nor a good
Whore to you
In bed, you
Wouldn't fancy her.
It's the age of
Equality.
If you want your
Wife to work
And bring in
Money…
Why not ask
Your mothers
To teach you
Some cooking
And cleaning
So you can
Share the
Housework.
Instead of being
Brought up
To think
That no matter,
How much
Your wife
Works…
She'll always be
Up and ready,
To do all the
Serving…
And you, the
Lord of the house,
The most deserving,
Unflurried by the fact
That - to be the lady
Of the house, being
A mother, a wife,
A daughter-in-law,
Is Oh! So! Nerve-wracking,
So very tiring, for a woman
Working…
(Theme: Message)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Broken Images
The Morning
Avalanching
Fast And Furious:
:
Temperature Rising To 45 Degree At 8 AM
The Sound And Fury Of The News Vendor On TV
The Angry Clanking Of The Utensils
At The Hand Of The House Maid
Yes, The House Maid Bashing The Utensils
Just As She Was Bashed By Her Drunken Husband Las Night;
The Mood Multiplying
With The Wife Hurriedly Packing The New Tiffin Box
Bashes The Boy For Forgetting The Old One In School
Yes, The Wife Too Forgot To Go For A Blood Pressure Check Up
Returning From Office
Or Was She Too Busy Spying Her
Husband? The Husband...After
Reading The P M's Tribute To
Kamala Das
Was Frantically Searching Her Book
'My Story ' To Grudgingly Devour It
While On Tour.
The Morning Died Down
Tired
Like The Repeated Calls Of The Beggar
For A Penny Worth Of Sanity.
Ends.
Manoj Rath
02.06.2009
poem by Manoj Rath
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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
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The Colonel
What you have heard is true. I was in his house.
His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His
daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the
night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol
on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on
its black cord over the house. On the television
was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles
were embedded in the walls around the house to
scoop the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his
hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings
like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of
lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for
calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes,
salt, a type of bread. I was asked how I enjoyed
the country. There was a brief commercial in
Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was
some talk of how difficult it had become to govern.
The parrot said hello on the terrace. The colonel
told it to shut up, and pushed himself from the
table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say
nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to
bring groceries home. He spilled many human ears on
the table. They were like dried peach halves. There
is no other way to say this. He took one of them in
his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a
water glass. It came alive there. I am tired of
fooling around he said. As for the rights of anyone,
tell your people they can go f--- themselves. He
swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held
the last of his wine in the air. Something for your
poetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floor
caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on
the floor were pressed to the ground.
May 1978
poem by Carolyn Forché
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Wedding Band
Joey Wedding Band
JoAnn was the birth name of my wife
To me Joey was her name for a lot of our married life
One of the best things anyone could ask for in life
Is to have a good and loving wife
When it comes time for me to pass no matter day or night
I hope and pray that my wife will be my guiding light
I did not complement my wife as much as I could of
But with all my heart I gave her my love
My wife is in heaven watching over our family
Hoping we could be the best we could be
I am now living by myself and on my own
I have my dogs and my family but I feel alone
I never thought I knew how bad pain could ever be
Until my wife died and left me
At times my wife lets me know she is near
She turns off the picture frame to let me know she is here
On a chain around my neck I wear my wife’s wedding band
I also still wear mine on the finger of my left hand
To anyone who reads this poem do not let the time with your family go
Everything is gone before you know
poem by Michael Gelb
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Silly; Old Age; Marriage: Who Put The Vacuum Cleaner Away?
I biked to Radio Road yesterday while my wife vacuumed house.
When I got back she was at computer, .....quiet as a mouse.
I did a little chore or two outside before starting late day routine.
I read to my wife as she fixed the evening meal. I'm sure the house was clean.
Sometimes when she vacuums, I find the vacuum left in my way.
Then, if she's finished, I help..... by putting it in its place. Hey!
Yesterday I found no vacuum left about. My wife is getting better.
The progress of my feet (through our house) no vacuum cord did fetter.
So it was a minor shock to me what my wife said this morning.
[ It wasn't a world-shaking statement, but I had no real warning.]
She said 'thank you for putting vacuum cleaner away.' Something like that at least.
It was nothing I expected to hear from her....at our late morning feast.
[Our conversation then went something like this; I will paraphrase.]
He: 'no I didn't put it away sweetheart. Are you in a daze? '
She: 'no I'm not in a daze my dear. I'd not store it that way.'
He: 'wife, I'm not kidding you. If I'd done it I would say.'
She: 'I don't put it under the seat that way. I'd have left it neater.'
He: 'I'll challenge you to a senility test.' [I think that I could beat her.]
She: 'I'm really worried about you Bri. Who will care for you? '
Don't you remember putting it away? Please Bri, tell me true.
He: I'm telling you the truth dear wife. Why would I lie to you? '
Ok, sometimes I'm forgetful, but at times you are too.'
She: I did not put it away. I would not leave the lace on the seat askew.'
He: 'I love you dear wife. Maybe I did do it....., but I think you did....I do.'
poem by Bri Edwards
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Sonnet: A Man’s Life Is His Wife
How can one be unkind to one’s one wife,
The better-half who shares his joys and grief?
The woman ’hind the success in his life,
Who serves him lovingly though life is brief?
The share of toil she renders is far great;
From child rearing to cooking, loving chores;
She dons the family’s problems as her fate;
Her life gets spent like house-arrest ’hind doors.
How can a man to wife be ungrateful?
His wife’s a shadow of his own image!
No husband good can be to her hateful;
In both his eyes remains his wife’s visage!
How then can man be unkind to his wife?
The better shouldn’t be kept bitter all life.
poem by John Celes
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My wife is one of the best wimin on this Continent, altho' she isn't always gentle as a lamb with mint sauce.
quote by Charles Farrar Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whoever buys a house must examine the beams; whoever wants a wife must look at her mother.
A Glimpse of Union
A mid-40ish couple,
walking from their back yard,
a quaint, quaint house,
trellised, treed, covered with skillfully placed green.
She a straight-laced, organic woman,
with black-framed glasses, utilitarian, not fashionable,
a sweater befitting her age,
befitting her comfort with her age,
and her husband,
even more organic than she,
bearded, capped, outdoors-man jacketed, walking up behind her,
together carrying a large, white planter to the house,
a tangle of green
sprouting high above the rim of the plastic holder.
They come more and more into view
as I walk up this gray, placid street,
the perspective of the house, shifting, to reveal their moving forms.
But they don’t seem husband and wife,
or not just husband and wife.
They appear partners,
partners in life,
partners in crime,
partners in all things gardening,
one in one,
partners in love.
poem by Marc Mannheimer
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Good Morning, Good Morning
Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in
Nothing to say but what a day how's your boy been
Nothing to do it's up to you
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
Going to work don't want to go feeling low down
Heading for home you start to roam then you're in town
Everybody knows there's nothing doing
Everything is closed it's like a ruin
Everyone you see is half asleep.
And you're on your own you're in the street
Good morning, good morning...
After a while you start to smile now you feel cool.
Then you decide to take a walk by the old school.
Nothing has changed it's still the same
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
People running round it's five o'clock.
Everywhere in town is getting dark.
Everyone you see is full of life.
It's time for tea and meet the wife.
Somebody needs to know the time, glad that i'm here.
Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you're in gear.
Go to a show you hope she goes.
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Olde, Olde, very Olde Man; or The Age and Long Life of Thomas Parr
Good wholesome labour was his exercise,
Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise:
In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day,
And to his team he whistled time away:
The cock his night-clock, and till day was done,
His watch and chief sun-dial was the sun.
He was of old Pythagoras' opinion,
That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion;
Coarse meslin bread, and for his daily swig,
Milk, butter-milk, and water, whey and whig:
Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy,
He sometimes sipped a cup of ale most nappy,
Cycler or perry, when he did repair
T' Whitson ale, wake, wedding, or a fair;
Or when in Christmas-time he was a guest
At his good landlord's house amongst the rest:
Else he had little leisure-time to waste,
Or at the ale-house huff-cap ale to taste;
His physic was good butter, which the soil
Of Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil;
And garlick he esteemed above the rate
Of Venice treacle, or best mithridate.
He entertained no gout, no ache he felt,
The air was good and temperate where he dwelt;
While mavisses and sweet-tongued nightingales
Did chant him roundelays and madrigals.
Thus living within bounds of nature's laws,
Of his long-lasting life may be some cause.
poem by John Taylor
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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
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A Baby In The House
I knew that a baby was hid in that house,
Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry;
But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a mouse,
And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;
And there was a look on the face of the mother,
That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other.
The mother, I said to myself, for I knew
That the woman before me was certainly that;
And there lay in a corner a tiny cloth shoe,
And I saw on a stand such a wee little hat;
And the beard of the husband said, plain as could be,
'Two fat chubby hands have been tugging at me.'
And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book,
And a dog that could bark, if you pulled on a string;
And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look;
And I said to myself, 'There is no other thing
But a babe that could bring about all this, and so
That one thing is in hiding somewhere, I know.'
I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more,
And heard not a sound, yet I know I was right;
What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor,
The book and the toy, and the faces so bright;
And what made the husband as still as a mouse?
I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Nasty Life
My friend
Married newely...
Fight to fight
Every his wife...
Wife did not
Interest in sex...?
Sex is not
Impreess wife
With husband...
So...
Fights going...
One day crying...
One day lough...
One day sad...
Life move boor
With boor...
My friend wife
Run for mohter's house...
My friend woory...
Pray for god...
Temple to temple...
The family problem is
Not sable...
Months are going...
Years are going...
My friend wife did
Not come...
Move the life...
Husband one side...
Wife one side...
It is life...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Family life
At home
Husband
And wife...
Some time fighting...
Word's to words...
With bad words...
Sometime hit
The husband wife
Mistakes...
Wife was crying...
Husband was woory...
Wife also
Lovingely hit...
Husband also take easy...
At night husband
Wanted wife
For sex...
Wife will say
Backpain acting
Going for
Hear with life
Every day
At familylife...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Kwamena
That man and his house,
That woman and her house,
That man and his wife,
That woman and her husband,
That man and his car,
That woman and her car,
But, your lover is afar off! !
However, i am Kwamena in the land of your muse;
And, i am ever ready to help you solve your problems.
A whirlwind! !
And, you actually heard it;
For, it was like a vision.
Your table, your food and your house!
Bring in the wealth to help the poor people around;
And like the muse of love in the land of peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Oh We Are Very Happy This Christmas (a Poem For The Childless Couple)
oh you ask?
we are very happy this Christmas
the house is crowded
with lots of food and desserts and drinks
all laid on the table
on an ambiance of mistletoe
and candle lights
we are many here
in this big house: Liza, my wife
myself, our five dogs
and three newly acquired
dalmatian puppies.
you see, this all family.
merry Christmas!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Black Rose Flowers
In front of my house I have a little land
Not a wide land, just half meter and six meter widest
I had build it for put or take the flower pot
There is three flower pots
This bought my wife from flower tree salesmen
In the morning, when my wife cleaned away the land from garbage, grass
I told her I want to build the flower garden in my village
My wife angry
You have to arrange this house before build the garden far away from here
I told her, just dreaming
I haven’t money anymore
It just a plan, if I have a lot of money
My wife keep silent
She continue to clean away the land
Clean away the land from grass and garbage
And give her read, yellow, white
blossom
In front of my house
But I never saw
the violet and black colors
If I have the rose black color
of course my wife will be glad
But I never saw
the violet
and black color
and spread their aromatic
Could I smell
Among their thorny
Prasetya Utama, Ciluar, Bogor 07/04/06 13: 10: 01
poem by Prasetya Utama
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