Best Recovery From...Nice Poems
She comes here to PS in between breaks
After carefully giving her carpets the shakes
She's cooked and cleaned and gone out to shop
Chased after the kids till she's ready to drop
Worked at the office, then watched kids at play
Now it has come to the end of her day
He pats her bum, then passes out on the couch
She's fuming inside cause he’s such a slouch
Then it’s off to bed where he gives a quick hug
She's wondering if she can give him a slug
She wants him to woo her, initiate sex
“Oh, by the way,” he groans, “Did you feed Rex?”
She kicks the covers and jumps out of bed
“Turn out the light,” he yells; she just sees red.
She goes to her laptop to escape the scene
Words speak to her heart, the ones on the screen
"These men Soupers are... in love with words, too
They know how to please and be nice to you."
Their words are romantic, they seem larger than life
She continues to wonder, “Is HE nice to his wife?”
Or is this a world where nothing is real
There are no boundaries to what one can feel
Hubby’s in bed, and she shuts out his snore
But the guy on PS makes her heart soar!!
How can a man be expressive like this?
She wonders what he would be like to kiss
Such chivalry, charm, and such pure delight
Before she knows it…. she's up all the night
Got to get going, breakfast can’t be late
Her halo is slipping; no longer a saint
She wonders, "Why is hubby not into you?
The pressures of life have made him so blue."
But right before he walks out of the door
“Tonight, sugar plum, going to let out a roar!”
So she smiles and then giggles, “PS can wait..
Oh please God…don’t let hubby… come home too late!”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
“Get some rest and we’ll have a nice day,”
he said, not understanding
how trapped I feel by the cocoon of illness
I am only just beginning to emerge from.
Unaware of how freely he moves
through the world, like a butterfly
flitting and fluttering from leaf to leaf
on the breeze of a whim,
…He doesn’t see that like
the newly winged caterpillar struggling
to break through the silken shell it has woven
around itself, I too am chafing against my confines.
…He doesn’t see that before
I can trust my still fragile body,
I must inch my way out of my old skin
and slowly unfurl my wings.
He doesn’t see that even though
I am longing to be free, until
I, too, can fly on the breeze of a whim
there are no nice days.