Best Landlady Poems
When she was born she had no father,
spent nights in the streets to feed her mother,
who was diagnose with a disease cancer,
she strolled the streets naked for suitors,
the life was worse she became a call girl.
As the sun rose she headed to her homestead,
weak frail with nothing to show but her instead,
she saw her her mother still as a log dead,
she shoved her side to side but she was dead.
She sobbed and wept for three consecutive weeks,
her relatives came and tried to comfort her weak,
her body was soul less for she was now alone,
living this life without her parent was steel hard,
As the months passed she could not pay her rent,
her landlady threw her out like a rat to pitch tent,
she lay by the side work she now call her house pent,
begging was her routine just to collect small cents
Every night she wore a half knitted dress,
ready to sell herself because she was a mess,
every suitor passed her because of her scent,
she was now devastated almost to the edge of death.
One day as she begged beside the street,
her self surrounded by dirt covered in a sheet,
a man saw her and felt pity on her soul,
he took her by her hand and told her come.
Like a good samaritan he clothed and fed her,
told her to clean up for she would be househelp,
she neither rejected nor accepted the offer,
but when evening camethe house was clean.
In years to come she became the talk of town,
The good samaritan married and left her in town,
She was now stable fit for her to bear a crown,
as she is now the director of the biggest orphanage in town
Life may seem cruel at some point in time,
but know that god has a way to change it,
we may live on the edge of of life,
but just believe and it will be alright
Fresh and flavourful organic strawberries
Ground with the berries of our hearts,
Do blend with majestic creams
To celebrate this sweat-pouring afternoon
With a nice dish which feasts tongues.
This dessert is both life-giving and life-threatening;
She strengthens our heartbeats
While touching our taste buds;
And kills our precious lives
When she reaches only our eyeballs.
She is the landlady across seas and lands
For the children of sweet minds and tides;
Everytime I curate an icy day,
I believe in the right culinary recipes of her way
To carefully craft each scoop with her gorgeous grace.
Infection Sublime
by Odin Roark
with his lone return
on this New York street
in middy’s humid heat
he did see shutters closed
behind antique glass
whose reflection reminded
he wasn’t born there
only grew up in the embrace
of a brownstone haven
the oldness
now new
restoration hipster style
closing his eyes
he remembered
battered front door
yapping terrier just inside
forever on guard for landlady safety
the nightly dash
up dark stairs to the 3rd floor
evading the heel-nipping
four-legged devil incarnate
opening his eyes
blazing sun reflected back
like a searing message
“isn’t it time to move on?”
he sensed the warning
but no one appeared
no one stared from behind
invisible lace curtains
there was no one
sidewalk bare
street deserted
not even the ubiquitous taxi horns
no
he was alone
in Manhattan’s summer heat
the kind of thermal suffocation
forcing the discomfort of false memories
the kind he didn’t need
when melancholy’s purity
would always walk beside him
such was the newly sterilized street
the occupants unaware
how sublime yesteryear’s infection
I've tried to tell you you’ve got bad halitosis
When you open your mouth folk can’t fail to notice!
The stench of your putrid dog breath I simply abhor
Just use a toothbrush before you head out the door!
I’ve dropped subtle hints but you don’t take the bait
I even left you mouthwash when you had a blind date!
Last Christmas I gave you some soap on a rope
It’s still in its box; so I’ve just given up hope!
If you use a deodorant perhaps you’d then get hired
Your personal hygiene leaves so much to be desired!
The impression you give is that you’re a total slob
It’s no wonder that employer’s won’t give you a job!
You claim that you’re happy with the ‘caveman look’
As your landlady I’m telling you to go sling your hook!
***********FICTION WRITE********************
‘*sling your hook’ means leave or go away
I wish I had the guts to say what I really felt Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
8/10/18
Mrs. Cuntley,
a widow is my landlady.
Chubby and kinda motherly
she cooks for me.
We drink on the weekends,
and the hot stuff begins.
In a see-through gown
she comes into my room and goes down.
I can’t resist
the passion in her hot kiss.
Horny and all perfumey
she rides, wildly!
We ride the powerful waves of ecstasy.
Tit for tat I like it like that, sexually.
A cougar that will not be denied
before she is satisfied.
Hot and sweaty
we rock steady.
I feel her coochie grip,
As she bites her lower lip.
She turns red
and throws back her head.
Suddenly,
we are blown out of the bed !
#Cougar
This story is from the past.
My seasoned Iroko
The Olumo rock
Of my spine
The one who climbs
Mount Kilimanjaro
With one step
I salute you
Mother,
Whose face is crisper
Than,
Bright, black stars, gold
And,
Precious diamonds of Africa
I salute you
Mother,
Who fearlessly tames fiery furnace
With bare fingers
Who kills one million lions
In a single raid
Quencher and killer of hunger
I salute you
Mother,
Whose slender arms
Are stronger than
The walls of Jericho
The fearless one
Whose Google
Makes men shrink
Between their thighs
The lone ranger
Who goes hunting
Without a gun
But,
Returns with basket
Filled with bounties
I salute you
Mother,
Kind landlady who nurtured me
For nine monthis
Without recouping rent
How can I forget
Your sugar soothing
Lullabies at bed time
And,
Your caressing, warm, tender fingers
Which,
Like the magic of baobab
Heal me from
Sickness and sadness
I salute you
Mother,
Whose dark, impenetrable wings
Immune me from
Sharp arrows of my traducers
Whose,
Angelic smile disarms
More than a billion
Straying demons
I salute you
Sweet, ebony, Mother,
The greatest of the greatest
The unproclaimed, undefeated,
Unheralded and undisputed
Champion of all heavyweights,
Killer and Quencher of hunger,
I salute you!
Let me tell you a story
Many years ago I bought a puppy
Displayed at the street corner for sale
Caged alone under the sun, hungry and frail.
When the street vendor handed him to me
He licked my hands, wagged his tail happily
He ate three bananas in my basket
Poor pup unfed for long hours, I bet.
I brought him to my boarding house to stay
But my landlady didn’t like dogs- to my dismay
She asked me to keep him outside
But kids stoned him for fun, he didn’t hide.
I attended his head’s bleeding wounds
While cringing in pain with whining sounds
I put bandages then named him Saver
To be my hero at times of danger.
Saver grew up brave and smart on my lap
He knew who’d hurt him when he was a pup
He’d loved and enjoyed his weekend-bath
Tooth brush, fur-paws scrub with nails' cut.
But he was food poisoned at playground twice
He came home dying, I was vet in disguise
Giving him three spoonfuls of sugar
I'd revived him with my loving power.
He was my faithful body guard at night
He accompanied me without fright
At stores and pay-phone calls outside
He never left me…always at my side.
One day, I came home from work
And propelled to a barbeque stand at the park
I felt someone holding my shoulder from the back
Oh my! It was him standing! He rocked.
Then, time came to leave my country
I couldn’t take him, I was so sorry
I entrusted him to my friend and her family
But he died after a year waiting for me.
April 21,2022 10.10pm
Theme: pets
The true story of my dog when I worked at the city. Saver died 2008. I requested somebody to make a figurine that exactly looks like him. It’s now displayed at our living room in my birth place.
This is my 2nd poem tribute for Saver.
Form N - Narrative - New Poems
Contest Judged: 4/27/2022 1:42:00 PM
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Place: 1
Dear Tenants,
If you are not a global citizen
then you do not reside here.
Your vehicles,
and your extractive habits of siphoning and fracking my resources,
your competitive lose-lose nationalistic economy,
and your toxic egocentric culture
are prohibited by our mutually cooperative lease
on multiculturing life.
Please stop peeing and pooping in my water,
while starving my malnourished soil.
How would you like it if I took a crap in your blood-stream
and sucked dry your soul?
Please turn down the volume
and turn up some compassion.
Breach of globally contracted
mutual respect and integrity,
need I remind you?
is far more than sufficient cause to evict
your not-sorry-enough ass.
Namaste,
Landlady Gaia
back a small number of years thee diva of this domicile
exhibited an aura, charisma, enigma…devoid of any guile
boot of late turned a cold shoulder to me and I’ll
avoid denigrating, haranguing, and lambasting said dell lisle
la, whose avoidance behavior toward me – who goes a mile
out of her way to ensure our paths do not cross – noah din nile
per the above – well, perhaps a slight bit of hyperbole
viz this, mine swift tailored, harried style
per potpourri of puzzling perturbation evinced
by said olde world germane German dame we lease this duplex
treating us, as if we committed some egregious crime
subsequently forced to stand trial
viz aversion toward this convivial, frivolous and introspective chap
methinks said realtor/renter joined a coven den
where doe eyed zen of thieves
occupy teaching rubric of mean-ness while
taking appropriate and selective pages from play book of sarah palin,
which tension unlikely to cease for the next nine months till the deed
doth expire, where by this witch a taw hook cans ass (ours) will be freed
of renting a long and fostered, roach and fox infested, century21
from once salient sympathetic ear this now manifested Scrooge like greed
reminding us (essentially via cessation of any interaction),
how she once did heed
to our various and sundry travails – though neither myself nor spouse,
the latter whose vociferousness regularly exudes loathsomeness
toward key per, once a vouch saving storied angel without fail and indeed
wife tis not shy to vent where a plethora of expletives lead
rant and rave toward an impending crisis that will me send out an SOS
ever felt compelled to join Hemlock society or drown sorrows in mead
yet disappointment arises, when formerly positive dynamic now im peed
did by reasons unbeknownst to me,
who feels grateful ye chanced to read
my babbling of poetically irrational from a regular Joe,
who doth not sport Harris Tweed
nor (despite any immediate intimations)
doth newt smoke booze nor drink week.
I didn’t know the doctor.
I don’t know how I chose him.
Perhaps my landlady had recommended him
or maybe I simply picked him
from the yellow pages.
I was two thousand miles away
from my mother or any relative
or friend with whom I could
go to for advice.
It was embarrassing to open
up to this stranger,
but I needed to know.
The doctor had bad news for me.
I was not pregnant and it was
doubtful that I would ever be pregnant.
My body had betrayed me.
I left his office in despair
and cried myself to sleep
in my young husband’s arms
after I had burdened him
with the doctor’s report.
I wanted to be pregnant.
I needed to be pregnant.
Most of the young brides of my age
had a baby during the first year of marriage.
It was going on two years for us
with no sign of pregnancy.
I was alone all day while
my husband worked and
my baby would be company.
We had come to this city for work,
when my husband could not
find a good paying job
near our native home in North Dakota.
I was young and lonely.
The doctor had given me a prescription
to take for the symptoms that had puzzled me.
I don’t remember the name of the medicine
but it made me very ill.
The nausea did not get better
so I returned to the doctor.
He decided to give me the rabbit test.
The test came back positive.
My husband was worried about me.
World War Two was in full swing.
He thought he would be drafted and
he didn’t want me alone in the city
so far from my family.
We left the city of Detroit and
moved out to the West Coast
where my folks now lived.
We arrived by train, just
two weeks before my baby was born.
It was March 4th, 1943 when
I first held my beautiful son.
I inspected his perfect body,
gazed at his beautiful face and
smiled at the bright red hair on his head.
It was the happiest day of my life.
For Carol Brown's Happiest Day contest won 5th place
I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver
As I boarded the bus
At Temple Meads,
And the friendly lady who told me
When we had arrived at the city centre.
I remember the little pub on King Street,
With its quiet maritime atmosphere.
I remember tramping
Along Park Street,
Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill,
My arms and hands aching from my bags,
To the little cottage where I had decided to stay
And relax between rehearsals,
Reading, writing, listening to music.
I remember my landlady, tall, timid and beautiful.
(The origins of "An Actor Arrives" lie in the barest elements of a story started but never finished in early 1980, while I was working at the Bristol Old Vic playing the minute part of Mustardseed in a much praised production of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was originally rescued in 2006 from a battered notebook in which I habitually scribbled during spare moments offstage while clad in my costume and covered in blue body make-up and silvery glitter. And while doing so, some of the glitter was transferred from the pages with which they were stained more than a quarter of a century previously onto my hands...an eerie experience indeed.)
THE BOOKWORM van gogh
l'rlesienne,book readng dame
a hobby,name linked with fame
LA FOLIE manet
from front+near,a double take
ELLEN degas
dans un cafe thinking of tonights play
CAMILLE monet
his model extra ordinaire
with muse,none could compare
NINI renoir
nini,model from Montmartre
a pose from la loge,makes his art
MARIE gaugin
his landlady in situ
at the inn la poldu
see my related
[email protected]
You are also a passerby
Even such is time that flies away with hopes of
Being mortal. Even to say you are a millionaire
The minute to call goodbye is indeed inevitably
Crafted and awaits for man is known to get weary
Having huge amounts in bank transcripts don’t
Assure mortality rather Earth was here when man
Descend and will remain for generations to come
But brethren bare it in mind that dust to dust is...
Sister call your self what you may and be content
Beauty to brag about but denote Britain once had
A queen and her legacy well known to date not that
She is no more, the elapsing day is motion towards
Brother get fat like the baobab, eat meals of the
Kings table but bare it in mind that even the baobab
Drops the earth to sneeze, She puff of the dust storm
Dust to dust too, termites awaits for your juicy flesh.
Be it your are the President today, the Queen mother
Landlady or a poor tom bare it in minds that eschatology
Knows not any discrimination boundaries, it claims all
Despite how famous your second name be, Deathbed
So fathers, mothers, grandma and grandpa let us seek
First his kingdom and pay tribute in respect of him
I mean no one else other than the Almighty for he came
That you and I be delivered off our sin and be purified
The day is never known. But it’s coming to claim a soul
Off the body and flesh to fulfil the means of eschatology
Fear not for he readily died a thousands death for your
Soul to find peace... Just make an initiative and seek him.
Robert Musiiwa Mharadze
for Gertrud Widmayer, my landlady at Heidelberg
Why in pensive ticking, silent thoughts
You wile your time away
When all around huge swelling bells
Toll the days away!
Every hour that announced may go
Your silent hands take hold
And though the ages chimed in ears
Yours they never behold.
If all the clocks the world had known
Had struck one strong big note,
They would never still your plodding tone
Nor the working hearth you alert.
Do you wonder, wonder, little clock
What makes the grandfather tick!
Or his aching belly in the depth of sorrow
Cries to the world it's sick!
Thirty million years and Pleistocene dark,
They are one split second short!
And whimpering suns that rise and flop
Have scarce stolen your tick or thought!
So, my little clock, my faithful clock
When I hear the tall town bell,
I'll shrug my shoulders, one tiny moment
And know that all is well.
© T. Wignesan, 1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
Today is Talia Shire's birthday and she's turned seventy-four.
She starred in the Rocky and Godfather movies and more.
Talia Coppola was her original name.
It's not surprising that she found fame.
The Landlady was my favorite movie that she starred in.
She also gave great performances in Prophecy and Old Boyfriends.
When it comes to Talia, there are two things that I know for sure.
She is very talented and millions of people love and admire her.
(Dedicated to Talia Shire who turned 74 today.)