The Letters
With quill and silver knife
She carved a poison pen
Wrote to her lovers wife:
Your husbands seed has fed my flesh.
As if a lepers face
That tainted letter graced
The wife with choke-stone throat
Ran to the day with tear-blind eyes.
Impaled on nails of ice
And raked with emerald fire
The wife with soul of snow
With steady hands begins to write:
Im still, I need no life
To serve on boys and men
Whats mine was yours is dead
I take my leave of mortal flesh
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Wife- better half of life
Wife is the better half of life
Give wife love affection as soul-mate
Wife is not glorified maid as said
Wife do not want money salary honorarium
Do not make hulla gulla and do not beat drum.
Mian bibi relationship should not be commercialized
Third party intervention in family relation vandalized.
Wife is not a domestic labourer
Wife is backbone of the family
The maile stone of the family
Wife is the torchlight of the family
Wife is the colorful star
Do no put any question to her.
Wife is there to give everything
Wife is not to take anything in return
Wife is the goddess.
Only mad man can say wife is a domestic servant
Make wife a wife life-partner better half
And enjoy life freely.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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I Do
Well I've gone steady with a-lots of girls
And to all of them I tried to be true
But I'm so glad I never promised them
What I promised you
And that's I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life)
Well I heard from my folks
Time and time again
To make sure that I found the right one
And every time you meet
Your heart will beat
And you'll want to say
You'll say I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Oh yes I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha ha I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha ha I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life (ah yes the rest of my life now)
Ah ha yes I do (I do, yes I do)
Take you (take you, I'll take you)
For my wife (for my, for my wife)
For the rest of my life
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If there's God why I die
‘’Is there God then why I die’’
Wife of ant says
‘’ Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why I die, filthy feminine house I will
Burn down and leave’’
God says
‘’Is there God then why my children die’’
Wife of ant says’’
‘’Why wife of ant says if there’s God
Why my children die, filthy clitorising rain giraffe, I will sow seed of hairy itching grass under her feet, will grow to waist’’
God says
Wife ant opened her head to sun
She asks
‘’ Is there anything worst on earth than
Soaking of my waist in mourning tears for years
Wuw nothing’’
God rubbed his nose, nguu….
Says ‘’I will see who’s strong
Me or wife of ant
Ninety days later
Wife of man whom God nickname as ant
Whelped puppy
Strange, horrible and unnatural
‘’O God, why my wife give to puppy’’
Man prayed
‘’ To teach your wife lesson
So tomorrow she’ll not mock me again
If she attempt, I wipe off her eyes in world
And her seed will not grow on earth
My land’’
God says
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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Ringfinger
Well youve got me working so heard lately.
Working my hands until they bleed.
If I was twice the man I could be.
Id still be half of what you need
Still you lead me and I follow
Anything you ask you know Ill do.
But this one act of consecration is what I ask of you
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
You just left me nailed here.
Hanging like jesus on the cross.
Ill be dying for your sins.
And aiding to the cause.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
Wrap my eyes in bandages.
Confessions I see through.
I get everything I want.
When I get part of you.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Devils flesh and bone
Do something for me.
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I haven't got a car or a house. I've got a wife, but I didn't pay for her! I spend all my money on my glorious wife. She's here with a knife at my throat!
quote by Mackenzie Crook
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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A Question
AND so in the death-darkened chamber they met,
The woman that once he had loved and the one he loved yet—
The wife who had warped his desire and the woman he could not forget.
They stood by the bier where between them he slept,
And the love he had lost in his wife to her swimming eyes leapt;
But the woman his life had belonged to—his paramour—spoke not nor wept.
It was only a story of sated desire—
Of a love merely sensual burnt to an ash by its fire,
And a husband who turned to a more luscious love that was his for the hire.
All had sinned. For the husband had killed by his clutch,
Rough-handed, the fruit of a love that had dropped at his touch.
One woman's great sin was not loving, his wife's was in loving too much.
And so he had died; it was over at last;
And across him the two women looked at each other aghast—
Across his cold corse, and across the cold corse of the loathsome dead Past!
Then the smouldering love of the wife leapt to flame,
And she poured forth her kisses upon him, and called on his name.
But the other said “No, he is nothing to you; soul and body I claim!”
They looked at each other awhile. Said the wife wearily,
“He is mine; for I loved him, and ever shall love him; let be!”
But the other sneered, “No, he is mine, and mine only, because he loved me!”
Then the two laid their hands on the body between;
And fought for it, wife against paramour, fiercely, unseen—
For the body diseased and polluted, as ever his spirit had been.
And this is a question for answer in Hell:
To which of the two did his spirit belong, can you tell?
Think, was it the woman he loved, or the one who had loved him too well?
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Of Moses And His Wife
This Moses was a fair and comely man,
His wife a swarthy Ethiopian;
Nor did his milk-white bosom change her sin.
She came out thence as black as she went in.
Now Moses was a type of Moses' law,
His wife likewise of one that never saw
Another way unto eternal life;
There's mystery, then, in Moses and his wife.
The law is very holy, just, and good,
And to it is espoused all flesh and blood;
But this its goodness it cannot bestow
On any that are wedded thereunto.
Therefore as Moses' wife came swarthy in,
And went out from him without change of skin,
So he that doth the law for life adore,
Shall yet by it be left a black-a-more.
poem by John Bunyan
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Written Afterwards
So the days of my tramping are over,
And the days of my riding are done—
I’m about as content as a rover
Will ever be under the sun;
I write, after reading your letter—
My pipe with old memories rife—
And I feel in a mood that had better
Not meet the true eyes of the wife.
You must never admit a suggestion
That old things are good to recall;
You must never consider the question:
‘Was I happier then, after all?’
You must banish the old hope and sorrow
That make the sad pleasures of life,
You must live for To-day and To-morrow
If you want to be just to the wife.
I have changed since the first day I kissed her.
Which is due—Heaven bless her!—to her;
I’m respected and trusted—I’m ‘Mister,’
Addressed by the children as ‘Sir.’
And I feel the respect without feigning—
But you’d laugh the great laugh of your life
If you only saw me entertaining
An old lady friend of the wife.
By-the-way, when you’re writing, remember
That you never went drinking with me,
And forget our last night of December,
Lest our sev’ral accounts disagree.
And, for my sake, old man, you had better
Avoid the old language of strife,
For the technical terms of your letter
May be misunderstood by the wife.
Never hint of the girls appertaining
To the past (when you’re writing again),
For they take such a lot of explaining,
And you know how I hate to explain.
There are some things, we know to our sorrow,
That cut to the heart like a knife,
And your past is To-day and To-morrow
If you want to be true to the wife.
I believe that the creed we were chums in
Was grand, but too abstract and bold,
And the knowledge of life only comes in
When you’re married and fathered and old.
And it’s well. You may travel as few men,
You may stick to a mistress for life;
But the world, as it is, born of woman
Must be seen through the eyes of the wife.
No doubt you are dreaming as I did
And going the careless old pace,
While my future grows dull and decided,
And the world narrows down to the Place.
Let it be. If my ‘treason’s’ resented,
You may do worse, old man, in your life;
Let me dream, too, that I am contented—
For the sake of a true little wife.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Seahorse
The seahorse doesn’t do divorce:
It picks a spouse for life.
The wife’s the husband and, perforce,
The husband is the wife.
A husband, feeling rightly proud
(As husbands are, of course) ,
Will say of her who’s well endowed:
‘My wife’s hung like a horse.’
poem by South Westerner
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Why
Why
By: Adam M. Snow
What have you done! ?
Another scar carved into your flesh,
The feelings of lost and betrayal haunts you,
You lay now in a pool of red,
Your life is gone, you're now dead.
What have you done! ?
Your flesh is cold,
Not a life in you,
Not a memory to hold.
What have you done! ?
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Monster Man
Return to lands his father owns,
Pursue him as my food,
He is the son that presses bones
And is to catch but chewed.
I am a lonesome monster man
That can not see the life,
It is a highness that began
With highness of my wife.
On Sunday, cool is your belief
That women managed bane,
This wife is bad and must be chief
Of misery, again.
I eat of men and bones and flesh,
The opposite of good,
But does my wife keep fresh
Her meat at home - she would?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hymn To Life
The hair falling on your forehead
suddenly lifted.
Suddenly something stirred on the ground.
The trees are whispering
in the dark.
Your bare arms will be cold.
Far off
where we can't see,
the moon must be rising.
It hasn't reached us yet,
slipping through the leaves
to light up your shoulder.
But I know
a wind comes up with the moon.
The trees are whispering.
Your bare arms will be cold.
From above,
from the branches lost in the dark,
something dropped at your feet.
You moved closer to me.
Under my hand your bare flesh is like the fuzzy skin of a fruit.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense"--
before the trees, birds, and insects,
my hand on my wife's flesh
is thinking.
Tonight my hand
can't read or write.
Neither loving nor unloving...
It's the tongue of a leopard at a spring,
a grape leaf,
a wolf's paw.
To move, breathe, eat, drink.
My hand is like a seed
splitting open underground.
Neither a song of the heart nor "common sense,"
neither loving nor unloving.
My hand thinking on my wife's flesh
is the hand of the first man.
Like a root that finds water underground,
it says to me:
"To eat, drink, cold, hot, struggle, smell, color--
not to live in order to die
but to die to live..."
And now
as red female hair blows across my face,
as something stirs on the ground,
as the trees whisper in the dark,
and as the moon rises far off
where we can't see,
my hand on my wife's flesh
before the trees, birds, and insects,
I want the right of life,
of the leopard at the spring, of the seed splitting open--
I want the right of the first man.
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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(Father Poems) ... And The Sugar Moms Have Also Cashed In On The Ever Increasing Demand For Sex With Children
I'm walking side by side
In the streets with my wife
She's gorgeous she's the greatest
Thing tha's ever happened to my wife
We walk side by side
It's marvelous Sunday afternoon
We hold hands never in the history
Of this town was a happier couple seen
I'm thinking of buying my wife a Ferrari
She must be given a palace this summer
I must thank her for all the love
She has given me and then
It happens and my dreams
Are shattered and I must
Go back to the drawing board again
And re-examine the reason for our marriage
And I must sit down and ask myself why
The woman(She was the daughter of a principal)
I wanted to marry woke up and set herself on fire
A day after I told her that I was no longer
Going to marry her
And I must ask the marriage counsellors
Why there was that painful look of
Betrayal on her unhappy to death face
And I must not forget to interrogate my
Mother she owes me an explanation and she
Must tell me why she raged and forbid me
Marry the departed lady of my choice
And threatened to excommunicate me form
The family if I did not marry the woman I
Did not want to marry of her arranged marriage
And I must watch what's going on right in front
Of my disbelieving eyes 'cause the look of terror
Has crept into my wife's eyes and boy she's like
A cornered tigress and she's trapped and the boy
Who is the same age as my son is hurling
Insults and words of abuse at her
And he accuses her and he says it's
Payback time and he demands to go to bed
With her and he threatens her with litigation
And he says she must go to bed with him as agreed
And my wife flees into unknowns of the world
And out of our marriage
And I stare at her fleeing figure
And I kneel down and I pray for
The souls of the young boys who're
Their toy boys and the sugar moms who have
Also cashed in on the ever increasing demand
For sex with children and really they're doing
Well for themselves their husbands are proud of them
The score is equal they have learned well the lesson
From their own husband's philandering ways
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Why Should I....?
You have your wife and,
I do have my wife as well;
So why should i look at the nakedness of your wife?
For this volcano is giving out its fire out of the ice! !
And the Dragon and the Dracula are now alert;
So why should i watch the nakedness of your wife?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Freedom of Love
(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti)
My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude
With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth
With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass
My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host
With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes
With the tongue of an unbelievable stone
My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing
With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest
My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof
And of steam on the panes
My wife with shoulders of champagne
And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice
My wife with wrists of matches
My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts
With fingers of mown hay
My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut
And of Midsummer Night
Of privet and of an angelfish nest
With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks
And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill
My wife with legs of flares
With the movements of clockwork and despair
My wife with calves of eldertree pith
My wife with feet of initials
With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking
My wife with a neck of unpearled barley
My wife with a throat of the valley of gold
Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent
With breasts of night
My wife with breasts of a marine molehill
My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible
With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew
My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days
With the belly of a gigantic claw
My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically
With a back of quicksilver
With a back of light
With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk
And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking
My wife with hips of a skiff
With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers
And of shafts of white peacock plumes
Of an insensible pendulum
My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos
My wife with buttocks of swans' backs
My wife with buttocks of spring
With the sex of an iris
My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus
My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat
My wife with a sex of mirror
My wife with eyes full of tears
With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle
My wife with savanna eyes
My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison
My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe
My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire
poem by Andre Breton
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Who is a wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can be a virtuous wife?
Who is a wife?
Who can stand the strife
To be a wife?
There is a woman
And there is a wife
Any one can be a woman
But not any one can be a wife
A wife will stand for her pride
A woman will always want a ride
A wife will say
“we ‘ll have a say”
A woman will say
“I ‘ld have a say”
A wife will say
“WE bought you those”
A woman will say
“Mom bought you those”
A wife would say
“We share the bills”
A woman would say
“I share the bills”
A wife cooks what “we” like
A woman cooks what “I” like.
A wife loves unconditionally
A woman loves conditionally
A wife always stands by…
A woman sometimes stands by…
A wife thinks about “us”
A woman thinks about “me”
A wife supports the plans
A woman plans the supports
A wife keeps the relationship
A woman snubs the relationship
A WIFE IS OPPOSITE OF A WOMAN
Who then is a wife?
Amidst all my strife
I‘ve found a darling wife
You too can, if you also tried.
poem by Jr. J.Lakie Kollie
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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 Cruel Falcon
Contemplation would make a good life, keep it strict, only
The eyes of a desert skull drinking the sun,
Too intense for flesh, lonely
Exultations of white bone;
Pure action would make a good life, let it be sharp-
Set between the throat and the knife.
A man who knows death by heart
Is the man for that life.
In pleasant peace and security
How suddenly the soul in a man begins to die.
He shall look up above the stalled oxen
Envying the cruel falcon,
And dig under the straw for a stone
To bruise himself on.
562
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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