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It is only in the act of nursing that a woman realizes her motherhood in visible and tangible fashion; it is a joy of every moment.

quote by Honore De Balzac
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Chauvinist

I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat

Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!

Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!

I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Woman Power

Youve heard of woman nation,
Well, thats coming, baby.
What we need is the power of trust,
That its coming.
Youve heard of the law of selection,
Well, thats how were gonna do it, baby.
We allow men who wanna join us
The rest can just stay by themselves.
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
Two thousand years of male society,
Laying fear and tyranny.
Seeking grades and money,
Clinging to values vain and phony.
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
Do you know that one day you lost your way, man?
Do you know that some day you have to pay, man?
Have you anything to say, man, except
Make no mistake about it, Im the president, you hear?
I wanna make one thing clear, Im the president, you hear?
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
You dont hear them singing songs,
You dont see them living life,
cause theyve got nothing to say, but
Make no mistake about it, Im the president, you hear?
I wanna make one thing clear, Im the president, you hear?
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
You may be the president now,
You may still be a man.
But you must also be a human,
So open up and join us in living.
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
In the coming age of feminine society,
Well regain our human dignity.
Well lay some truth and clarity
And bring back natures beauty.
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
Evry woman has a song to sing,
Evry woman has a story to tell.
Make no mistake about it, brothers,
We women have the power to move mountains.
Woman power! (woman power!)
Woman power! (woman power!)
Did you have to cook the meals?
Did you have to knit?

[...] Read more

song performed by Yoko Ono
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Joy To The World (feat. Brian Mcknight)

(feat. Brian McKnight)
Joy is the gift He brings
Joy is the song we sing
Joy may cover everything
Joy, joy to the world
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.
[Brian]
Joy to the world, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.
Talking 'bout joy, joy, joy, joy
Said, joy, joy, joy, joy
Joy to the world
I'm talking 'bout joy is the gift He brings
Joy is the song we sing
Joy let the church bell ring
Joy to the world
Yeah, yeah, yeah yeah yeah bring some joy
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove, oh yeah
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, and wonders of His love.
Wonders of His love
Talking 'bout joy is the gift He brings
And joy is the song we sing
Joy may cover everything
Joy to the world, yeah
Joy joy (talkin' 'bout joy)
Joy joy (joy)
Joy joy
Joy to the world
Talking 'bout joy
Talking 'bout joy
Talking 'bout the joy
Talking 'bout that joy
Talking 'bout joy
Joy
Joy
Joy
Joy, joy, joy

song performed by Vanessa Williams
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A Strong Woman vs. A Woman Of Strength

A strong woman works out every day,
Pride in her appearance she portrays,
But a woman of strength kneels to pray,
Her soul in shape, God leading the way.

A strong woman claims she isn't afraid of anything,
Looking forward to challenges each day will bring,
Women of strength show courage in the midst of fear,
Declaring triumph through faith because God is near.

Strong women won't let anyone get the best of them,
So skilled in defenses even if they have to pretend,
Yet a woman of strength gives her best to everyone,
And even on a cloud filled day still bright as the sun.

A strong woman relies on the physical attributes making her tough,
In her search for power and money she will never have enough,
A woman of strength understands that it's not about material stuff,
Knowing that before becoming a diamond first she'll be in the rough.

A strong woman sometimes disguises her feelings shadowed by clouds,
Unhinged when challenged on her policy becoming boisterous and loud,
A woman of strength concerns herself not with judgment from others,
And will not let business interfere with commitments as a wife and mother.

A strong woman is easily impatient back and forth she will begin to pace,
Counting on her holier than thou attitude instead of depending on faith,
A woman of strength is assured trust in God will always carry her through,
And at the Creator's appointed time she'll receive all that is justly due.

A strong woman makes mistakes and avoids the same for tomorrow,
Refusing to take time looking back with reverence and Godly sorrow,
The woman of strength realizes life's mistakes no matter how slim,
While thanking God for the blessings as she capitalizes on them.

A strong woman walks head first with no doubt in her mind,
No matter what, she'll not make this mistake a second time,
But a woman of strength knows God will catch her when she falls,
So when a situation arises again, she's not afraid to answer the call.

A strong woman wears the look of confidence on her face,
Always doing whatever it takes to finish, seeking only first place,
The woman of strength competes with an emotional sense of grace,
Understanding it's more important to run a Holy Spirit filled race.

A strong woman has faith that for the journey she'll have enough,
No matter how uneven the terrain or roads being rocky and rough,
A woman of strength knows it's in the journey she will become strong,
And the love of God is forever with her, no matter how difficult or long.

[...] Read more

poem by Luke Easter
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High Fashion

I know a sexy little girl
She's never in the low class world
This woman is all the way vogue
High Fashion is where her money goes
She dines at Le Dome up on the strip
Cheap liquor never touches her lips
Her brandy's imported every week
No problem, 7,000 easy
High Fashion is where her money goes
High Fashion - This girl is all the way vogue
She's never in the low class world
High Fashion - Stuck up little rich girl
High Fashion
High Fashion, yeah
I met her dancin' at Le Dome
I offered dinner at my home
She said no, all of her friends laughed
Funny how the laughin' stopped when I flashed all the cash I had
(I'm talkin') $1900 is 2 much cash 2 hold
One of my boys had 2 carry half, now honey U know that's bold
Wait a minute
She had the nerve 2 ask what kinda car I had
"Honey, I'm ridin' in back of a Rolls Royce limo custom-painted plaid!"
High Fashion is where my money goes
High Fashion - Honey, I'm all the way vogue
I'm never in the low class world
High Fashion - And I just love little rich girls
(High Fashion) High Fashion (High Fashion)
Hot Station - I took the child 2 my crib
Donation - Do U take or do U give?
She took one look at the swimmin' pool
I said "I'll donate" - We were 2 swimmin' fools
High Fashion is where our money goes
High Fashion - All the way vogue
We're never in the low class world
High Fashion - Don't be a little stuck up rich girl
All the way vogue {x2}
I'm all the way vogue
Yeah, yeah
(High Fashion) {repeats in BG}
Dinner at Le Dome
Little girl
Money man
I'm the money man
Money man {x2}
High Fashion {x4}
Ohhhhh
(High Fashion) {x2

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Woman In Me (feat. Destiny's Child)

Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Ohhhhh
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman that I wanna be
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman in me I see (I see)
As I look in, look in the mirror I see
Life is really here to be with me, oh
I can see myself getting stronger everyday
I'm not the same woman I used to be
So now I tell myself I am thinkin strong
I see the beauty lying within my soul
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman that I wanna be
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman in me I see (I see)
When I love myself I can do whatever I want
Doesn't matter what you do to me, do to me
Honest people, there's a possibility
To tell you my real reality
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman that I wanna be (I wanna be)
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman in me I see (woman in me baby)
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Doo doo da da da da da
Can you see the woman in me
Do you really wanna see the woman in me
Hahha, let me show you
Don't underestimate the woman I become
The woman I am
So now I tell myself that I'm thinkin I'm strong
And I see the beauty lying within my soul
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman that I wanna be (I wanna be)
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman in me I see (I see)
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman that I wanna be (I wanna be)
The face that I see it's the woman in me
It's the woman in me I see (I see)

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song performed by Jessica Simpson
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Her Bum

‘Does my bum look big in this? ’ She glared.
I gulped and stared upon the floor.
I must escape; the bedroom door
Was open. ‘Run! ’ my senses cried.
But I was numb – nerves were fried!

‘Well? ’ She scowled. I sought a subterfuge.
‘It’s absolutely huge! ’ I thought –
But how to tell her that–? A short
And blighted life she’d wreak on me.
And so to Wife, on bended knee

I prayed ‘Oh please release me from this hell! ’
She gave a yell: ‘So is it big? ’
I looked again – a mammoth rig
Was hanging down – but how to say?
An honest man would surely pay!

I stuttered ‘Err... well, yes it’s nice.’
Her voice was ice: ‘But in this? ’
I tried diversion with a kiss.
‘I love you’ also burbled out – but
I was heading for a rout.

I drew a breath. ‘Be a man! ’ I growled
Inside this howling, quaking head.
‘Well actually love, ’ and now I’m dead,
‘It’s colossal – a real whopper... ’
The bedroom shook; I couldn’t stop her.

I daren’t publish anymore…

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

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poem by Praveen Kumar
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Growth of Love

1
They that in play can do the thing they would,
Having an instinct throned in reason's place,
--And every perfect action hath the grace
Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood--
These are the best: yet be there workmen good
Who lose in earnestness control of face,
Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base
Reach to their end by steps well understood.
Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains
Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve,
--Even as a painter breathlessly who stains
His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve--
Behold me, now that I have cast my chains,
Master of the art which for thy sake I serve.

2
For thou art mine: and now I am ashamed
To have uséd means to win so pure acquist,
And of my trembling fear that might have misst
Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd;
And am as happy but to hear thee named,
As are those gentle souls by angels kisst
In pictures seen leaving their marble cist
To go before the throne of grace unblamed.
Nor surer am I water hath the skill
To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed
In delicate ordination as I will,
Than that to be myself is all I need
For thee to be most mine: so I stand still,
And save to taste my joy no more take heed.

3
The whole world now is but the minister
Of thee to me: I see no other scheme
But universal love, from timeless dream
Waking to thee his joy's interpreter.
I walk around and in the fields confer
Of love at large with tree and flower and stream,
And list the lark descant upon my theme,
Heaven's musical accepted worshipper.
Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud
'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce;
And nature now dearly with thee endued
No more in shame ponders her old excuse,
But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude,
So kindly hath she grown to her new use.

4

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poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

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poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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10:10 A.M.

10: 10 AM

by Inro Lavil

09-13-12

Woman, Woman
This may be respectful but you held me an extra month
Three blood gushed out before I was beamed by
Sunlight and you were not in a right time to deliver
Woman, why did you love me?

Woman, Woman
I might be adamant but you molded me too early
I might be the biggest fool on this world
And I hated it when you made me intelligent like them
Woman, why did you love me?

Woman, Woman
I might be so selfish but you still treated me normal
I'm not normal since I am an extra month held by you
And everyone looks at me with piercing eyes
Woman, why did you love me?

Woman, Woman
I did my best but you angrily pushed me to be more of me
I wanted to do this and that but your eyes always watched me
Like you're some kind of omniscient being in clouds
Woman, why did you love me?

Woman, Woman
I was not prepared but why did you leave me abruptly?
All these tupperwares around me hid to me your stains
The name of the pain that you have also hidden to me
Woman, why did you betray me?

Woman, Woman
Your loss gave me no Merry Christmas since you left me
I had two graduations you failed to attend and now
The third is coming, when will I hear you're proud of me?
Woman, why did you leave me?

Woman, Woman
I am free to choose my path but yours is still the one
The one I still chose since you're not here, I will
Run the steps you have walked and try to surpass them
Woman, why did you love me?

Woman, Woman
I was waiting for you on the gate every afternoon you came

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poem by Inro Lavil
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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Fashion

Theres a brand new dance but I dont know its name
That people from bad homes do again and again
Its big and its bland full of tension and fear
They do it over there but we dont do it here
Fashion! turn to the left
Fashion! turn to the right
Oooh, fashion!
We are the goon squad and were coming to town
Beep-beep
Beep-beep
Listen to me - dont listen to me
Talk to me - dont talk to me
Dance with me - dont dance with me, no
Beep-beep
Theres a brand new talk, but its not very clear
Oh bop
That people from good homes are talking this year
Oh bop, fashion
Its loud and tasteless and Ive heard it before
Oh bop
You shout it while youre dancing on the ole dance
Floor
Oh bop, fashion
Fashion! turn to the left
Fashion! right
Fashion!
We are the goon squad and were coming to town
Beep-beep
Beep-beep
Listen to me - dont listen to me
Talk to me - dont talk to me
Dance with me - dont dance with me, no
Beep-beep
Beep-beep
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
La-la la la la la la-la
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
La-la la la la la la-la
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do
Fa-fa-fa-fa-fashion
La-la la la la la la-la
Oh, bop, do do do do do do do do

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song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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