A delicate dance, a subtle sway,
Expectations woven, in a societal way.
A woman waits, with passive gaze,
For a man to lead, with financial ways.
He pays the bill, the ring, the wedding fee,
The provider role, a lifelong decree.
She expects support, for herself and her kin,
A one-way street, where love may give in.
But some women defy, these norms so grand,
Contributing equally, hand in hand.
A true test of love, a gesture so fine,
When she invests, with a loving design.
Yet, in the courts, a different tale unfolds,
Assets divided, with a legal hold.
A woman shaped, by societal might,
To contribute little, in the dark of night.
A partner, not a burden, we must seek,
Emotionally and financially, a bond unique.
Let's break the mold, and redefine love's role,
A mutual journey, with a balanced soul.
It's a ghost she screamed
Then she fainted
But no darling
It was the spirit she drank
She's so high
Hennessy to be precise
Her vision was blurry.
Now she's unconscious
Right in my bedroom
She drank to stupor
The DJ overwhelmed her
I have no clue, what to do
I've poured her water
But she wants a kiss
She said; my kisses is the water of life.
I hope she wake up
Don't wanna lose her
I keep saying to myself
Silently while I wait
Then I heard a whisper
Kiss me once more
Your kiss is so soothing and liberating
I never knew she was pretending
Just to get a hold of me.
The foxes in my garden
Arrive at night to play
They had their fill of chicken
And so decide to stay
I crouch down on my haunches
And look into her eyes
The little one so trusting
She’s like her mother wise
I see how she has taught them
To fend well for themselves
But only Little Roxy
Has me so overwhelmed
She comes to me at midnight
For honey in a bowl
As I crouch down and watch her
I know my heart she stole.
The other three just run around
They eat and scatter fast
But Roxy and her mother
Make this encounter last
Magical
Loving
Veil.
(3-2-1 syllables).
Weep Africa, weep on.
The battle with death is one we dare not to fight,
For the call from the great beyond is outside the scope of our existence.
Just as our known hero Ngugi Wa Thiong'o has fallen,
Like countless unknown heroes forgotten to time,
We shall all follow this path of no return one by one.
Fight Africa, fight on.
The foot prints left on the Sands of Time by Ngugi Wa Thiong'o are known to many.
As we follow his foot prints,
We are alive to the fact that there are other foot prints,
Though known to few,
That we must follow.
The bride ran from the unconsummated ceremony weeping.
The best man had handed her a note; the groom was not coming.
He couldn’t have told her before the guests arrived?
Before she put on her gown and veil?
Before her daddy walked her down the aisle?
A track star, she was faster than anyone else.
She ran until she could run no further.
Her faerie godmother followed her.
What can I do? What can I do?
Transmogrify me, the bride said.
Turn me into something else.
I can never face them again.
The faerie godmother waved her wand.
A gorgeous tree developed out of the bride’s essence.
The faerie godmother waited for further instructions
But a tree cannot talk.
Son of Man, pause before judgment's seat,
Lest haste consume your soul's retreat.
Do what's right, yet don't waste precious time,
For pleasing all is a futile rhyme.
In seeking validation, you may lose your way,
And those you please will mock you on your final day.
Marry with wisdom, don't borrow to impress,
For pleasing others can lead to financial distress.
You can't please all, not even those you love,
Do little things that bring joy from above.
Take care of yourself, find happiness true,
For in your joy, others will find joy anew.
Beware of three: the young, the old, the weak,
For lies can bind you, and freedom you may seek.
Heed this advice, a treasure rare and true,
Worth more than gold, and wisdom shining through.
The day the hour,
The meat the shower,
Show no oscillating octopus to an octagonal obelisk and eat a Greek tortilla upside down in a second. It is wiser to tread lightly in a miller’s abode. Round and round the turrets go those turtles so mind your footing for shells can be slippery really.
When shopping for an Aberdeen Angus bull it is wise to carry an umbrella as showers can occur from any lengths of tail thus rendering talismans useless and a fruit fly would remark that a plate of steamed rice is simply not that exciting really so now after all that information you can leapfrog over the dandelions wearing a cotton pair of anglers waders and a fish hat with or without fins.
X anthropomorphic creatures X
Light my way, O autumn skies.
Tough turbulence, roll, soul. Endeavor, smoky skies.
Wanton, golden bowl? Veer. Rapture, raptor hawk?
Gibbous frost, allure, dark moon.
Cloud castles, arrive through, vortexes. Nexus.
Crystal blue-hued gusts, blow.
Sunbeams, waterfalls, heaven's tumbleweeds.
Cluster up damp, urban life.
Troubled, vagabond?
Too late, frozen? Repent? Up!
Folly of summer, blaze high.
Strangers in a foreign land, stand.
Riddle, red. Dead? Inside? Pride!
Forever, eternally, always.
Chill month, outlander? Deeply.
Oracle, paint portraits in far stars. Read.
Blot out, eccentric mind. Oar? For? Lore...
O bleak ink ocean, splatter at will. Chill.
Weeping wolf, winter.
Nicker, mare, wicker, man, ichor. Box...
It's a promise to laugh at the good.
Be silly, spontaneous and comfortable being yourself.
It's a promise to be supportive.
Be the shoulder. Be the rock.
Be the hand to hold each other up.
It's a promise to accept.
Accept the flaws-the big and the small.
It's a promise to disagree.
To argue and get mad.
It's a promise to forgive.
To listen and understand.
It's a promise to compromise.
To make decisions together.
It's a promise to share.
Share your hopes and dreams.
Share your crazy ideas and fears.
Share your bed. Share your heart.
It's a promise to give.
Give each other attention.
A touch. A look. A smile from across a crowded room.
It's a promise to show how much you mean to each other.
A goodnight kiss. An I love you text.
But most importantly,
It's a promise to be true.
It's a promise to always be there.
It's a promise to love.
The Mistake
He had been invited for dinner in Peking by a group of business leaders who had invested much money for his venture and success, but they thought his fee was too much. I wanted to discuss the matter
He took the plane to Pekin; when he landed, it was mid-morning, but there was no one to greet him, which annoyed him
He called his secretary, who apologized that there had been a mistake. What she had meant was a Peking. The Peking Duck Cafe in Oslo
He didn’t like to meet those stuffy wealthy people with their stilted language, instead, he bought a Chinese electric car business that gave him pleasure
Those idiotic Europeans who bought a car that was made in China had intended to sack his secretary, but pleased with his business acumen, he asked her if she was a good mother material.
Katie’s ribs pressed against her skin,
the sharp angles of a body once soft.
She lifted her blouse, let me see—
the stubs, the little bumps,
two perfect incisions smooth as marble.
I swallowed.
Physically lubricious—I couldn’t do it.
Her perfume fought the chemo stench.
Coiffed mascara, a careful face,
a practiced smile, teeth too straight.
She asked if I still wrote poetry.
I said nothing.
Once, she stretched across the hood of my car,
blonde roots peeking through red box dye,
sipping melted ice from a gas station cup,
her freckles a map I traced in secret.
She could talk for hours,
a queen without a kingdom.
She whispered after the hysterectomy,
baby gravy’s got nowhere to go.
No need for rubber—
I trust you.
I left the room, shame humming in my jaw,
the sound of her voice stuck in my teeth.
Later, I cried.
How much more attractive
is
a freshly cleaned toilet
than a bride
"The Maiden's Song" or "The Bridal Morn" is an ancient Middle English poem about a young girl, a bride, on the morning after her wedding day.
The Maiden’s Song aka The Bridal Morn
anonymous Medieval lyric
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The maidens came to my mother’s bower.
I had all I would, that hour.
The bailey beareth the bell away;
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
Now silver is white, red is the gold;
The robes they lay in fold.
The bailey beareth the bell away;
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
Still through the window shines the sun.
How should I love, yet be so young?
The bailey beareth the bell away;
The lily, the rose, the rose I lay.
I take this to be a naughty, suggestive poem, but one that makes us feel sympathy for a young bride, quite possibly a child bride.
Keywords/Tags: maiden, mother, mother and daughter, bailey, beareth, bell, lily, rose, silver, gold, robes, sun, love, young, youth, girl, bower, bridal shower, wedding, woman, women,
You, my life and my girl
In these together
If we have to burn
In the embers they fan
We're dying together
I abort her never
She has to deliver
And the world of her dad
Rule over forever.
You, my life and my love
In eyes yours I see my girl
So closely knit together
That if we have to burn
The three of us
Are dying together.
The pregnancy for nine months
So well for it cared allover
That the time to deliver
It will abort never
Not in my love.
In these red embers
With scalpels of doctors
We're so knit together
That in these embers
We're burning together
Specific Types of Bridal Shower Poems
Definition | What is Bridal Shower in Poetry?