Best Mistresses Poems
Old King Troll
Had a very long pole
And a very long pole had he
He called for his wife (she’s his trouble and strife)
And he called for his mistresses three
King Troll sat in the middle … his wife said you’re on the fiddle
This fact King Troll couldn’t deny
All the women took a swipe at him and gave him a black eye!
Alexis challenged me to do a parody of Old King Cole nursery rhyme
10~03~16
Categories:
mistresses, betrayal, nursery rhyme,
Form:
Rhyme
Some unmarried older men
want the same from their mistresses as their socks
~ gently used and freedom ~
Cheers for freedom
~
Be you
Be true
Do not ever be blue
15.02.2017
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Categories:
mistresses, humor, sad love,
Form:
Light Verse
"The Lacemaker’s Muse"
There in my heart
the Lacemaker spins a web
The Muse trapped
in Halls of Mirrors
turning heads
Tired Bees Buzzing
Honey for Loving
Time for sleep
Time for bed
Who is a muse?
Amuse a muse
She is in me
She is in you
A Lacemaker
spinning her web
Who is a muse?
Amuse a muse
You are there somewhere
in Horizons of Forests
a strange creature
hidden within
Mountains of Blue
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
“To be a muse is to be a wonder in someone else's eyes, flaws and all.”
L.H. Cosway, Still Life with Strings
“The loveliest Muse in the world does not feed her owner; these girls make fine mistresses but terrible wives”
Alfred de Vigny, Stello
“I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to know better.”
Frida Kahlo
“Often the inspiration to write music comes from the voices in your head. You’re not crazy. Just be thankful they are not making you rescue people in 20-degree weather at 2:30 in the morning in the forest.”
Shannon L. Alder
Categories:
mistresses, imagery, love, muse, mystery,
Form:
Romanticism
Amongst myths and legends shadow realm,
Dwells an ancient evil.
Beneath temples walls, and shattered ruins,
Beware mortals of what lies within the,
Burnt offerings wreckage.
In a hushed stilled silence, a figure lingers,
On the outer edges farthest fringes,
In the dark recess of humanity's night terror,
Lurks a demon a demonic priestess,
Called Medusa.
Reptilians fork tongue of darkness’s,
Grand design,
Listen not be deaf to her sweet melodies
Enchantment.
She slithers side by side as a rattle snake,
Moving in for its killing strike.
A hooded cobra lies behind emerald green eyes,
Laughing with sheer fiendish delights pleasure.
Deadliest of Lucifer's mistresses, she alone.
Waits for her next victim to enter,
This dead mans trap.
Frozen in that last tangible moment of existence,
Life depictions stone guardians, seemingly alive are
Poised in eerie poses.
Cement warriors with swords drawn and
Shields raised remain in battles stance.
A chilling realization is fears last expression,
Daring fools whom see death's reflection
Staring right back at them in the dark.
Fleshes accursed immortalized within
These statues of stone.
Fortune does not favor the foolhardy,
It punishes them by tortuous means.
A doubled edge blade placed in mortal,
Hands does not always yield a hero, or
Conqueror.
Step ever so lightly, keep all weapons,
Close at hand.
Heroic deeds deny you this adventurous tail.
For in the hollows depth no spirit escapes,
In her garden most evil,
Beware the wrath of Medusa.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
mistresses, halloween, holiday, imagery, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Yo,
Dis poem is in honor of manic mistresses who war against the fleeting flesh,
Yo, dis poem is honor of schizophrenic Don Quixotes, swingin' at windmills of panic
stricken consciousness,
Yo Dis poem,
Yo Dis poem is honor of maestro's chasin' the muse of the logos made flesh,
In words, the only comfort they possibly know,
Flowing in a reverie of ecstatic epiphany,
Caressing solace, defeating the alienation of solitude,
The man sat staring at the fractured scatterings of a generation that had forsaken kindness,
And the woman saw him, and outstretched her hand, but the agent of chaos grabbed her,
Purpose, he said, purpose,
And the angels wept,
Yo, genius shining through the tears of fear made real,
Reeling, peeling, away layers of miraculous fish feeding thousands,
Miraculous words, healing a generation,
Begging Christ for a moment's rest,
From the war that wages within,
Men sing songs of triumph,
But courage is when your very mind won't have you,
And your heart, mocks you with its mercurial caprice,
Genius shining through hilarious and cacophonous laughter,
Outraged and astounded,
Dumbfounded and incredulous,
At how no one can feel this,
Pain that seems so salient,
Raging seas of foaming mouths in ascetic white rooms of institutionalized slavery,
Thieves profiting on the sound of crying children,
Praying, wishing that their parents would piece together the puzzle of sanity,
And rest in the greenhouse of sanctuary,
But God won't have it.
For this suffering is but a moment's mist,
In the calculus of eternity,
And in the end, a tree of inspiration,
Emerges from the relentless voices,
And the world knows healing!
Categories:
mistresses, dedicationwar, war,
Form:
Elegy
We hardly remember the truth
Victims of the Great Forgetting
We hardly recognize that history is popular culture
A screenplay of the past written by the victor
Just look at Thomas Jefferson
Author of the Declaration of Independence
With his quill scribing the words, "All men are created equal."
We hardly think of him slinking back to his slave plantation
Grabbing one of his African slave mistresses
and having his way with her
His love puppet
Of which he had a harem
My ninth grade teacher (whom had tenure)
whispered from the side of his face
The only thing Columbus discovered
Was those people he called Indians
Which we now call Native Americans
were savages in the sack
And the only thing he brought back
from the New World was syphilis
We hardly look at the big picture
which is that we are destroying ourselves
We cannot continue to keep living
the way we are living
And not expect civilization to collapse
We are so short sighted
We hardly see history repeating itself
We are Rome
And quite sadly Nixon is our Nero
Hardly a hero
It won't be long before
The clock strikes zero
By: Joseph DeMarco
Categories:
mistresses, history, philosophy, political, history,
Form:
Free verse
How many gentlemen have chased your myth?
How many captains and how many kings?
How many have heard of your legend fell?
How many poets and how many priests?
How could they resist your tender mercy?
They'll never deny the world at your feet.
How many gentle ladies dread your myth?
How many mistresses, how many maids?
How many have known your calamity?
How many nurses and how many nuns?
How could they ever dare compete with thee?
They'll never deny the world your beauty.
How many people, both women and men,
Meet the measure of The Perfect Woman?
*Michael Dom, sonnet for Nette Onclaude's Take Two contest.
**I had thought of shortenning this poem to fit in 'The Perfect Woman' competition, but I could not do that without destroying the original vision. A pity I wrote the poem before reading the competition rules! Nevermind, it's all good! mt_dom
Categories:
mistresses, men, relationship, woman, women,
Form:
Sonnet
How mysteriously mythical
And mystical you look
Magnificently minute
Maritime majestic migrants
More than marginally manic
Mesmerizing meanderers
Masterpieces
Peacefully going about
Your business
Magical make-believe
Monarchs of the sea
Upright and elegant
In your mannerly march
Moonstruck prone to
Misfortunes and misadventures
Oft mostly monologuing
In monotonous monotony
Mediocrely misconstruing
Mischievous mongrels
And misconceiving misplayed
Merciless minutiae
But merry merciful
Momentous messengers of love
Marketable motive and
Mission to mirthfully mate
You mavericks matched
To mettlesome mistresses
Masqueraded maroon
From menacing mercenaries
Marvelously masterful
Is your mimed courtship dance
Mellifluous entwining
Matrimonial love embraces
Mounting and moving
Mimicking moody miscreance
Swaying to measureless
Maudlin melancholic melodies
Monopolizing methodical
Momentum and motion
A meticulously modulated
Mellow match of merging
A most memorable metaphysical
Millennium melodrama
AP: 1st place 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 16, 2018 for contest SEAHORSES sponsored by JULIA WARD - RANKED 5TH
Categories:
mistresses, animal, beautiful, dance, life,
Form:
Alliteration
While buzzing one day around Beijing
my two faceted eyes saw something,
a man named Liu Xiabo
thrown in jail like cargo
Nobel Peace prize of no, he was hamstringed.
Fast flew I, to his fine mistresses house
and found the commies had lured his wife out
the press to waylay
on his special day
all the leadership could do was grouse!
Finding my way to Liu Xiabo’s cell,
it seems all free men here, live in hell.
He smiled with kind eyes
said “Ah, life’s the prize!
perhaps, I will arise, who can tell?"
*2010 Nobel Peace Prize Winner for his efforts
in obtaining human rights in China was jailed
by his government.
Categories:
mistresses, adventure, animals, funny, politicalpeace,
Form:
Limerick
Original nursery rhyme ~ Old King Cole
“Old King Cole was a merry old soul
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there’s none so rare, as can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three"
My original parody
Old King Troll had a very long pole
And a very long pole had he
He called for his wife (she’s his trouble and strife)
And he called for his mistresses three
King Troll sat in the middle …his wife said you’re on the fiddle
This fact King Troll couldn’t deny
All the women took a swipe at him
and gave him a black eye!
Alexis challenged me to do a parody of Old King Cole nursery rhyme
10~03~16
New Poem
Old King Troll was out of control
An Internet stalker was he
He sat at his desk (he was really grotesque)
And he made lives a misery
With computer sites he’d fiddle, (only leaving for a piddle)
He would lurk there for many hours
The cops finally caught up with him
And now he’s put behind bars!
Poem re written 10~23~16
Least Viewed Contest
Sponsored by Marugu Mo
10~23~16
Categories:
mistresses, computer, dark, internet,
Form:
Rhyme
The King and I
I have seen the king of Spain abdicating
in full uniform, but his cap was too small
this made him look jolly except for his
cane and the small steps of an old man.
Until recently he looked handsome and
had many mistresses and he was fond of
hunting elephants; he has given up both
pursuits and is faithful to the queen.
Old age sometimes arrive suddenly, there
you are walking about feeling in tune with
the world, for next waking up in a hospital
being lifted by strong arms from a trolley to
a bed and have your shrunken ***** cleaned
by a brisk nurse. The king and I are identical.
Categories:
mistresses, courage, humor,
Form:
Sonnet
Part Two
To have written is to leave but a mark
nothing stands for the proud rhyming syllables
more than his acquired business acumen
a Vaishya karmic hope
Now we stand aghast before this edifying monument
and verily wonder at some man
who may have in gusting wind and blasting brine
clung to his loincloth on the scaffolding
his knotted hair thick with the chimes of the Colamandala tide
the bells from Mahabalipuram to Chidamparam tolling in his veins
his sinewy rhyming muscles pulsing to the chiselling of reliefs
in memory of Kannaki and Matavi
and the liana apsara Manimekalai
in her forbidding expunging of her caste courtesan rôle
the lethal unmaking of an infatuated prince
Tied then to the creaking wooden framework
left by Ilango Adigal's epic-making epic
his stomach heaving
the low burning wicker lamp stinging his nostrils
in the stilled small hours
his eyes hardly following the olai leaf of his beaten memory
night after sleepless night
his merchant's paunch and eyes sagging
wife and mistresses in unrequited rut
while in tryst forlorn
one thought lingering under the tree in Bodhgaya
lamenting for the disciple's offering of trichinosis
he lets the dawn creep into his ears
with the kuyil's ironically teasing call
the fingertips charred with lampblack
till loaded cartwheels grind on the gravel of his spent dreams
It is easy for us now to quibble over him
and make much of when he may have conceived his poem
for at least in so doing he comes alive
only to be killed
revived
chided
praised
drowned in words
more than he has bequeathed us
© T. Wignesan- April 7, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: Words for a lost sub-continent). Pub. in T. Wignesan. Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature & Tamil Culture. Chennai: Institute of Asian Studies, 2006.
Categories:
mistresses, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
WOMEN CAN’T BE COMPASSIONATE
Women can’t be compassionate, or their reputation’s dead
Can’t comfort the lost tourist, he’s the surrogate lover
As he sits on the theatre steps, wearing loud red
Checks and braces, bewildered when the play is over.
Women must be professional and never huddle
In doorways after rain, like an angel in a stupor
With life’s rejects, looking for a cuddle
Sad casualities of money, or of having worn Lee Cooper*.
Women can’t be friends with male novelists, or film-makers
Or poets, who want to define mistresses, and wives,
Leaving creativity to the movers and the shakers,
Taking dignitas and money out of women’s lives.
This narrows the field to the tycoon, or the bore –
Feminists – choose death first! Webster’s honest whore.
*Apologies to Lee Cooper – I couldn’t resist the rhyme, in fact their jeans are as good as anyone else’s – at one time they were very cool indeed.
from IN MEMORY OF HER, 2004, 2008
Categories:
mistresses, allegory, freedom, moving on,
Form:
Sonnet
TWO CURIOUS MINDS
1
TWO CURIOUS minds entwined with the
mind of God
Einstein and Bohr
The debate was difficult
and more
tipsy from decades of argument
their friendship soared
2
determinism an evil force if
to be believed by?
refutes all claims of an
eternal spirit that decides
external scapegoats lay blame
says those without souls
3
and through the window of a
prestigious institute
a wildly white-haired man
peered across the campus
and noted a beautiful
garden next door
4
it belonged to those who had lost
their mind in ways similar to
all those who -- like him tried.
the lunatic asylum could be
his home if not more
5
back to the blackboard with weapon
in hand, the equation for his madness;
unified field theory
fleeing all sensible manner it hid
as a wolf in his den
6
not a weak heart so his bold heart
worked and labored
shredding chalk and sweating drops
of intuition
variables came and left as Mistresses
in his mind
7
the gravity of this situation was to
marry such forces
his ill-born child, not just his own--
cried in his arms
papa Einstein fed his baby but would
never put it to bed.
:: ~ ::
Categories:
mistresses, angst, anxiety, poems, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Summer times; and winter season:
Lovely time and everything happening,
Blue skies and warm mornings,
Beautiful trees and green grasses
Frozen lakes and dim appearances:
Nothing but fogs and mirages
Last month went fishing with my nephew
Last week went sailing with a few,
I guess nobody likes the oceans
Runner aways and out casts,
What a blue season:
Rainy forecast and mixed up emotions
Took days to settle;
And i was assisted by natives.
From wannabe to being sting by bees
Honeycombs and bee traps:
Sisters with beautiful garments but dreadful spirits,
No sweetness; no wine
Just dreamless-dreams,
O what happened to the mistresses!
Boys growing up
From summer to autumn:
The trees that once had its leaves;
Now how they departed,
Early growth but premature death
World war: man throwing tantrums!
Categories:
mistresses, age, blue, deep, image,
Form:
Personification