Massaged boy
So of course he was addicted,
If massage was a lesson in school,
He would’ve picked it.
All his pocket money went to the local masseuse.
His mother was angry
She threw a fit like Zeus
Then she tried it and became the same.
It was her sons fault
In her eyes he was to blame.
He tried to run but she went berzerk,
She shouted “I’M NOT DOING ANY HOUSE WORK! ”
There was no food on the table and no clean clothes.
Her husband said “this marriage is full of burnt oaths.”
She went mad and her husband left her,
She saw only red
her vision was a blur
In a rage she put her son under a steam roller
he was happy he told her,
this is where he died at ease
getting his heavy final squeeze.
poem by Phillip Whiteman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Everyone happy :)
Everyone happy
Everyone happy when they can pay their bills
Everyone happy when they have money in their pocket
Everyone happy when a person tells them they love you
Everybody happy when they have food on their table
Everyone happy when they have cloths on their back
Everyone happy everything goes right in there life
Everyone happy when find them a boyfriend or girlfriend
Everyone happy when they pass a test
Everyone happy when they get a new car
What happen when you lose everything?
What happen when you don’t have anywhere to go?
Or no food on your table
Your lights about to get cut off
No money in your pocket
Bills are due no money
Can you still be happy and have a smile on your face
poem by Jovahn Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Personal Trainer
husband
didn't pay attention when she started to change her look,
after all, she'd been saying how she wanted to for a while &
it seemed to make sense,
what with her going back to the gym full time,
after a period of time away
when they first had been married-
husband just went about his days
working more hours than he knew what to do with,
business was good &
with all the business around him seeming to fail,
he'd been putting away for the life he imagined in the future,
with or without
her-
but her time spent at the gym seemed to increase &
thought her body began to get trimmer, sexier, tighter, stronger &
she seemed to walk around the house with a new zest for life
(when he was there to see her) ,
he still didn't notice that
the personal trainer had moved in-
she had said something to him,
but he was listening less & less
as he had more & more to worry about at work,
for it was all part of building his empire.
the personal trainer was a less successful man
by the standard that money can by,
but he listened to her
as he traced her curves with his fingers in the gym
with palms of his hand smoothly gliding over her muscles
making her body quiver &
it wasn't long before in the car outside the gym
they consummated the professional relationship
again &
again &
again &
again.
as she began to show less interest in sex with her husband,
he wrote it off as a side-effect of marriage &
found himself a main squeeze on the side,
a 20 something who needed money to get her through college
with a perkiness that made him feel young again &
a body that wouldn't quit-
as he grew more distant from the wife,
she grew closer to the personal trainer,
until the day when she brought him home to the house,
when she swore the husband would be gone.
husband found out the way a husband will
when husband had been no longer interested
until another shows his face, as it is only jealousy then
which kicks in, making husband suddenly care-
but personal trainer put husband on the ground
when husband came into his own bedroom
to find personal trainer banging away his bride
who now had no interest in husband-
husband sued the personal trainer for assault &
bride to be divorced husband, taking half of everything he had,
breaking his empire down to nothing
as he had been stupid enough to not require a prenup
at the beginning of it all.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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An event to recall on Mother's Day - That mother is no one other than me
Summer evening
Sun still harsh
Me, then fourteen
My mother's younger sister
Came forward to tell
A story about a mother
Mumbai, then Bombay
Highrise residential quarters
Fourth floor
Big Hall
Two big bed rooms
Two baths
Big kitchen
Grill-less windows
Free flow of air
Lot natural light
A mother in the kitchen
Preparing food
For her husband
And their three sons
The youngest about two years old
Left on the kitchen table
Mother being busy around
The child not seen now
Mother realised just then
Would have slipped
Across the open window
She was right
The child has fallen
But on the sun shade
About four feet below
Her two year old son
On an open sun shade
Not less than forty feet
Above the ground level
No time to lose
No time waiting for help
From outside
Mother too slowly
Slipped about four feet onto the
Just two feet wide sun shade
Picked up the child
Put him onto the kitchen work table
Managed to climb back to her kitchen
I was thrilled
I was to ask a number of questions
One important being
Is the mother is so courageous
My aunt finished telling
That mother is no one other than me
And that son is no one other than
My third son
Both that mother and son
Are safe, living and active
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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I Understand
She believed she was a gift to the world,
a gift from God, therefore others should
provide while she made the plans, dreamt
the dreams, cherished visions
She believed she was a holy person, a martyr
for God’s work, all money was hers to dispense
as she pleased, she dreamt for everyone in the
family but they had to provide for themselves
Possessions left in her care were quickly given to
the poor, munificent care for criminal welfare, taking
everything family earned to spend in lavish gestures
of charity, never telling who the donors has been
Using her mother’s pension and her husband’s income
under her own name, neither told her children who they
should thank for food on the table, nor told her daughter
her father provided the money mother gave so graciously
There are no mysteries, when I look at what is happening,
I understand…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Just An Ordinary Fellow
His life revolves around work his mates and football
But his wife and children he seldom does talk of at all
Each evening after work he calls to the pub
Or else to the bar-room of the Football Club.
In his early to mid thirties he is well liked in the town
To have kicked five goals in the local Grand Final is his one claim to renown
And though his team did not win the flag he earned his local fame
With a best on ground display on a beaten side he made for himself a name.
His wife takes care of the children a boy of four and a girl of three
She is not well known in the town few as down to earth as she
So different from her husband she's never seen at the pub
And she is not a member of any local club.
He is a well liked character and in the town well known
And the local people say of him he is one of our own
Not a bad husband and father though better than him not hard to find
Just an ordinary fellow in his own way he is kind.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just A Housewife
I am just a housewife, no mean feat
I put food on the table, for my family to eat
nourishing wholesome meals, cooked with a mother's touch,
not food like a restaurants, which you dont miss much,
I am there to comfort and listen to woes,
I have to be a refree too, and settle all the rows,
I pamper his mother and keep his folks happy,
and even keep smiling, when I am feeling snappy,
I'm house proud and neat, clean rooms are a must,
my days are spent cleaning, and keeping out the dust,
I am a nurse, too helping in healing, wounds of both kinds,
real fears of my husband and imaginary fears of young minds,
I am a hostess when required, entertaining within constraints,
I'm also a disciplanarian when children require restraints,
I manage the finances, and keep everything going
when things are not going right for me I keep them from showing
my husband earns the bread, its my job to keep him going,
I steer the boat and he does the rowing,
together we raise children, to be happy and bright
together we live our our life working morning to night
but don't forget my friends that men CAN'T multi task,
how to juggle so many tasks its a woman you have to ask.
and all this without payment, and sometimes no appreciation,
thats what women are about,
endless love, nurture and creation.
poem by Arti Chopra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Honey-Do List (This is my attempt at a Sestina)
I wrote a long honey-do list
and handed it to my husband.
With a smile he read it and with a fold
he stuffed it in his pocket.
I'll get to this as soon as I can,
but can't you hear the cry from the dogs.
Who can't hear the cry of the dogs?
Did you not read my list?
If you won't do it I can,
I said to my loving husband
I took the list from his pocket.
And opened it at the fold.
It was closed with a fold,
because I want to hunt my dogs.
Now return it to my pocket.
I will get to the list,
Said my loving husband.
I'll get to it when I can.
I'm doing the best I can,
and he creased it at the fold.
Cried out my loving husband,
you know I love my dogs.
I'll get around to this list
and returned it to his pocket.
With my fingers I tapped the pocket,
maybe you can't but I can,
dropp you from my list.
Grabbing me he did fold
me in his arms like he does his dogs.
I am your loving husband.
I promise you said my loving husband,
with a hand on his heart across his pocket
I love you more than my dogs
I'll get to you when I can
Please return me to your fold
Because you know you head my list
Thirty-two dogs and one husband
added to my list and stuffed in a pocket
Enjoy it while I can and iron out our differences at the fold.
poem by Victoria Dame
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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
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A Smile To Remember
we had goldfish and they circled around and around
in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
covering the picture window and
my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!'
and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
can
but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
understand what was attacking him from within.
my mother, poor fish,
wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, smile!
why don't you ever smile?'
and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
saddest smile I ever saw
one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
they floated on the water, on their sides, their
eyes still open,
and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
smiled
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Heavens Over Lighthouses
Sounds of your memory—what does
It mean, all of those diseases:
Thinking and thinking of Colorado
Where my mother was born outside of Denver—
In just a little slip of a vale—
In a house next to a house built by a blind man—
Against all of those busied echoes up against
The canyons:
Maybe she was in love with her brother when she
Was in her youngest years:
But she graduated high school, got married
And had children—and her husband—her husband
Is my father:
Man from
Michigan—fat as a hummingbird over the used car
Ports and junk yards—while all of the time
Around his neck a beautiful sun weighing him down like
A jewel—
He was too busied to understand,
Or to truly be in love with her: my mother—my mother—
Windmills turn in the heavens—over lighthouses
And libraries—but what is there left to say?
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Home On a Hill
I travel towards a house that's not a home
My home is on a hill burnt down
Burnt by the love of money and fame
Burning before we crashed
Half dead before we died
He dragged us along to leave us behind
He followed his idols of money and fame
He took us from Olympus to none
We had beaten the horizon
But he turned us away from the sun
My home on a hill was a happy home
My home till he burnt it down
I waved through the window
Said goodbye with a frown
And was told that the new house was better
These bricks and others can be what they want
Maybe the worst would be better
All he saw was a green shade of black
Enough is never the end of the track
We move on and further away
But the house on a hill was a home
Oh! My Mama, Happy Mother's Day!
Oh! My mama, happy mother’s day
You are the greatest mother I have ever had
You are my mother today
You will be my mother tomorrow
You are always my mother
You will forever be my mother
Thank you my mother for bringing me into this world
Thank you my mother for taking care of me in your womb
Thank you my mother caring for me as a toddler
Thank you my mother for feeding me since I was a baby
Thank you my mother for all the clothes you bought for me
Thank you my mother for teaching me good manners at home
Thank you my mother for sending me to school
Thank you my mother for supervising my homework
Thank you my mother for ensuring I eat before going to school
Thank you my mother for all the regular pocket money
Thank you my mother for liking my friends
Thank you my mother for all the everyday advices
My mother always remind me that fingers are not equal
As I grow up, I have seen the correlation of this analogy
To many human beings, neighbors, societies and nationalities
Oh! My mama, thank you for your words of wisdom
My mother taught me many things that I have never read in books
Thank you my mother for all your guiding philosophies
Oh! My mama, I sincerely wish everyday could be Mother’s Day
One day in a year is not enough to thank my wonderful mother
Oh! My mama, I will forever be your child
Oh! My mama, you will eternally be my mother
Thank you my mother for being my best friend
Thank you my mother for being my trusted adviser
I honestly wish you HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
poem by Julius Babarinsa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh! My Mama, Happy Mother's Day!
Oh! My mama, happy mother's day
You are the greatest mother I have ever had
You are my mother today
You will be my mother tomorrow
You are always my mother
You will forever be my mother
Thank you my mother for bringing me into this world
Thank you my mother for taking care of me in your womb
Thank you my mother caring for me as a toddler
Thank you my mother for feeding me since I was a baby
Thank you my mother for all the clothes you bought for me
Thank you my mother for teaching me good manners at home
Thank you my mother for sending me to school
Thank you my mother for supervising my homework
Thank you my mother for ensuring I eat before going to school
Thank you my mother for all the regular pocket money
Thank you my mother for liking my friends
Thank you my mother for all the everyday advices
My mother always remind me that fingers are not equal
As I grow up, I have seen the correlation of this analogy
To many human beings, neighbors, societies and nationalities
Oh! My mama, thank you for your words of wisdom
My mother taught me many things that I have never read in books
Thank you my mother for all your guiding philosophies
Oh! My mama, I sincerely wish everyday could be Mother's Day
One day in a year is not enough to thank my wonderful mother
Oh! My mama, I will forever be your child
Oh! My mama, you will eternally be my mother
Thank you my mother for being my best friend
Thank you my mother for being my trusted adviser
I honestly wish you HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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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
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Plumbing (or) The Taming Of The Spew
He called to his wife, sounding, oh so, bereft
“Water just spewed right out of the sink
I just turned the faucet a bit to the left
It’s not my fault, I really don’t think”
The wife replied, “you go to work. I’ll call the plumber”
“Which one? ”, The wife’s husband did ask
“Don’t worry”, she said, “I have his number
The plumber best fit for the task”
The husband then left, as his job did come first
And she quickly got on the phone
She called up this man, the man of her thirst
The plumber with love undertone
He’d been there before, when her pipes needed fixing
When he laid right under the sink
With a large dose of grease, he gave them a slicking
This plumber sure was in the pink
When her husband came home, the spewing had ceased
He found all the plumber’s work done
She never let on just how well she’d been greased
Or how plumbing could be so much fun
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Marriage.
A bond which is sensitive-
In which we share a lot.
Leaving our homeland-
We expect a lot.
Marriage is something-
Where we give in a lot.
At the sametime in return-
We want a lot.
Both, husband and wife-
Need to mingle a lot.
Priorites of life-
Change a lot.
Life revolves now-
Near husband a lot.
Lots of expenses-
To buy gifts a lot.
Time is short-
But dreams are lot.
Both, husband and wife-
Work a lot.
As evening arrives-
They talk a lot.
As time pass by-
Family is lot.
Even with grudges-
Love is lot.
And you see-
Marriage is loved a lot.
poem by Anju Addanki
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