Long Wives Poems
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He came into the barnyard and looked around
Choosing a mate, who squawked and went underground
Okay, he said. I’ll take that one, her sister.
She screeched and fluttered, not happy with this mister.
It’s a cockatrice, her cousins whispered among themselves.
They had heard of such a creature, dreaded by young elves.
He flew off with his prize, she was struggling against his wing.
Little did they know, she was secretly a willing little thing.
She had been with him before, and she knew he was gallant and brave.
They had a bunch of little Cocktrices – Danny, Dougie and Drave.
They came back to the barnyard to collect their wives among the flock.
A farmer came out to stop them. There was soon a giant deadlock.
With one look from the cocktrices, the farmer fell into a stupor quick.
He was paralyzed instantly as they gave him the eye, so thick.
Why did you paralyze him? Their mama asked, flying in to roost.
Weasel came by, and they scattered, afraid of him, if you want to know the truth.
A dream of boundless hope inspired me.
A new thought and aspiration thrilled my soul.
If men could learn to love unselfishly
Oh the renaissance this hurting world would see.
If only men would truly love their wives.
I think of women yearning for a man
Who would put her needs high above his own;
Who would take the time to truly understand
To be kind and there to lend a helping hand.
If only men would truly love their wives.
I envision countless girls and boys transformed
By seeing what it means to truly love.
Families, relationships would be reborn
And broken hearts and lives would be reformed.
If only men would truly love their wives.
I believe that inner healing would begin
The world would see new victory over
Crime, self-hate and leagues of sin.
Contentment, joy, could live again
If only men would truly love their wives.
I predict that stress, divorce, divides
Would fall if love in men would upward rise.
Healing would in every way reside
In every home where active love abides.
If only men would truly love their wives.
MY STALKER SMUGGLING DRUGS WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND OBSESSED WITH MY.LIFE I DONATED HOM TO HER I REMARRIED THE DU.MY JAMAICAN STALKERS SHOTTING AT MY HOME JEALOUS OF MY. EQ HUSBAND WHAT CREEPY DAME THIS IS SOME LIFETIME FREAK OF NATURE FATAL ATTRACTION MY GOD DUMB GIRL MY NEW HUSBAND DON'T NEED SCUM LIKE YOU SLEEPING WITH JIMS DOG WISHING YOU WERE ME WOW NO GOOD MEN IN JAMAICA OR IS IT ME YOU WANT THIS IS CREEPY YOU WANT BOTH MY HUSBANDS YOU FEEL CRAZY YET YOU REMEMBER TO STAY A CITY BLOCK AWAY FROM MY FAMILY YOU ARE A JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY FRAUD JIHAD DOMESTIC TERRORISTS HA HA HA HA THIRSTY CHICKEN FEET WEARING SCUM SHOOTING AT MY HUSBAND A POW YOU ARE SCUM MY HUSBAND WILL ALWAYS HAVE MY BACK HAND I. HAND TAKI G YOU DOWN CORRUPTION AGENTS CANNOT GIVE YOU MY IDENTITY CIRO PETER CAN'T GIVE YOU MY LIFE I KNOW YOU HAD FUN CROUCHING DOWN USING MY NAME COMMITING FRAUD UPON VETERANS AND THEIR FAMILIES YOU ARE A COCK ROACH A PALMETTO BUG HIDING THROUGH PAPER TREES PAGES LEAVES FALSIFYING DOCUMENTS BECAUSE MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND DUMPED YOU CIRO KICKED YOU OUT THE BACKSEAT PETER PUSHED YOU OUT THE SIDE DOOR EVEN YAGA WAS TORED OF SUPPORTING SHAINA ALAINA TEESA TONI TOWANDA SMUGGLING DRUGS YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED SPAT WE ARE LOCKED AND LOAD TRY US AGAIN JJJJJJJJ DUMMY DRIVING A HONDA SEARCHING FOR SOMEBODY ELSES STALKER VETERANS AND THEIR WIVES LOCKED AND LOADED SHOOT AT MY HUSBAND AGAIN WE BOTH SAW YOUR ASSAULT RIFLE POINTED AT HIS CHEST YOU ARE LAUGHABLE SCUM SPAT SPAT ON JJJJJ ROACH STALKER DISABLED VETERANS A D THIER DISABLED WIFE HA HA HA YOU CIRO PETER ARE SCUM EXTORTING MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM BACH OFF NO MORE HANDOUTS FOR JAMAICAN DEALERS ORGANIZED CRIME FRAUD AND WASTE
It’s shearing time again
My husband has to go
Back to the boards again
To make us all some dough.
He walks out the front door
Lets out a quiet moan
And gathers up his cutters
Tool box & his wide combs.
The boss will not accept
Less than 100 sheep today
My husband knows full well
any less won’t be much pay.
He bends down as he starts
he thanks God for the back aid
these young bucks will never know
what it was like in the ol’ days.
It was 20 years ago
He won the comp for the 8 hour
For strongwool ewes & wethers
He was at the peak of his power.
The strength may not be there
For time has moved on now
But he knows the shortcuts
As the sweat drips from his brow.
He walks through the door
Puts the toolbox on the sill
Says to me so proudly
Now you can pay the bills
He may not be so perfect
But to me he is a man
I’ll get him through the next few months
Its shearing time again
Yes, I’ll get him through the next few months
Its shearing time again.
A true story about 2 shearers wives I know but written as one
Oh fair and fiery beauty,
In your gaze, the stars align,
A spirit brave and wise beyond your years,
You wear your heart, a gem divine.
In whom calm and grace abound,
Your laughter dances on the air,
A gentle strength, a soothing sound,
Your weakness is no more than love, laid bare.
If only I were a romantic,
I'd gladly be a fool in love,
For your sake, I’d be called Romanus,
In the heavens, you fit like a dove.
Graceful, as the dawn's first light,
Passionate about knowledge, a thirst unquenched,
Respectful of the world, its plight,
In your humble wisdom, I am drenched.
Your smile, both reassuring and taming,
A beacon through life's winding maze,
Your presence commands attention, ever framing
The essence of joy in each passing gaze.
Few recognize your playful, simple ways,
Yet beneath the surface, a profound soul lies,
A mindful spirit that tenderly sways,
An old soul indeed, wise beyond the skies.
You see through people, their hidden fears,
With a gentle heart, you mend the fray,
Administering our home with strength that endears,
The poise of twenty wives in your ballet.
Oh Lady Aya, my love, my muse,
In your embrace, I find my peace,
With you, my heart will never refuse,
In this life, our love shall never cease.
Even before the arrival of the first snows, so brilliantly candid,
we climbed mounts less dangerous than the Alps's;
and we proudly chalked it up to our experience.
Now the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders,
have lost their captious and so beatific image,
and quite too often we got pinched by burdock,
distracted by the robins chattering on a coarse descent;
I champed on crisp strawberries, while he challenged his strength.
My buddy never castigated me for my bizarre behavior,
and I admired him for displaying humor without repulsion,
or retort, and with chisel and hammer we engraved faces of historic men
on the smoothest rocks which were replete with their handsomeness.
Those adventurous afternoons are repealed when we look up,
and recreate them through our Male Chauvinism, cheery not dumb;
we felt like cave men making rudimentary drawings of their hunted animals,
while their women picked wild chicory for an early dinner.
Chums we were, resembling cowboys with wide hats in a chiaroscuro,
drinking in a bar filled with fashionable ladies frolicking and saying hello;
and chili con carne we ate, and plenty of beers to wash it down.
After our money was all squandered, our pockets were empty and we felt alone,
dazed...wobbling with fear, afraid to face our witless wives at home;
we were two idiots wooing empathy and some undeserving love.
And didn't they seem two witches ready for vengeance in their frown,
trying to squeeze the truth out of our silent and pretentious mouths too fulsome?
Frost will bring winter soon, and the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders will be covered,
our hair have turned almost white to match the bright color of the deep snows,
as this river is freezing up, to become a sheet of ice, where no boats or barges pass;
and we play chess, the intramural game of a confined life, without those clandestine affairs.
Our darlings approve with sweet intonation, intensifying their affection so amorous;
and we embrace them with that tenderness that they have long desired...
staring at the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders that these two climbers made their own,
remembering the cold and the shivering...coming down to a valley of comfort and domain.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
If love is an adrenalin rush,
Hate oft turns to huge shove from a push.
Marriages be if saved,
A mid path must be paved…
That means: you better beat round the bush!
______________________________________
With lockdowns in place for long, and working from home becoming a norm, husbands and wives tend to see too much of them, and too much familiarity…., we know this.
Tongue-in-cheek |04.05.2021|
Poet’s note: The COVID pandemic, especially in its second avatar, has left people feeling totally helpless. They are literally at their wits end as to what to do and what not what with social media flooded with dos and don’ts. But when human writ fails to reach, wit seems to be the only clutch to hold on to. Hope, this limerick would lighten the grey mood.
A genteel couple of an era past -
there in the center of their parlor stand.
Their daughter sits nearby, eyes downward cast.
Her face displays a tinge of sadness, and
across the room, by an ornate fireplace,
a boy that I perceive to be her love
stands with uncertainty worn on his face.
To all who view the scene, the topic of
this painting seems quite clear: the household’s head
does not seem pleased. He’s glaring at the lad.
The wife is calming him from something said;
although the circumstance might be quite bad,
she softly speaks with one hand on his chest . . .
and love will triumph, for good wives know best!
For the Charles Haigh Wood Poetry Contest
My driveway is packed with the cars
of friends and family,
chips put out, and the little ones
are running joyously.
A cooler filled up with bag ice
keeps cold soda and beer,
I think half the folks I know
were able to get here.
I stand over a charcoal grill,
today it is my thing,
propane may work in a pinch,
but briquettes remain king
Coals seer some discount longhorn steaks,
bought from a friend of mine,
will turn the meat ninety degrees,
get perfect grill-mark lines.
My vegan niece sits not far off,
always looks thin and ill,
ready to tell everybody:
“It’s not okay to kill!”
As if the plants she likes to eat
didn’t go to their death,
some day she might see how it is,
but she ain’t got there yet.
The youngsters go high on the swings,
I hear metal chains squeak,
one even gets up far enough
to brush against some leaves.
Every few moments one flies off,
and lands half-stumbling,
turns back to his cousins and cries:
“That jump was amazing!”
The older kids are further back,
shagging some fly-balls down,
they mix it up with fast bouncers,
racing across the ground.
Inside men sit and watch the game,
share opinions on sports,
each convinced they know the deal,
which players to exhort.
Not a word of work goes around,
and to me that’s just fine,
Boss-man gets five days of the week,
but these two? They are mine.
Wives and sisters sit on the deck,
indulging in girl-talk,
it may be a stereotype,
but lordy, how they squawk.
Then again, maybe it’s just me,
the introverted type,
gossiping in a big circle,
not something I would like…
Take off the ones medium rare,
three more minutes—well done,
plate them up, then give a shout:
“The steak’s on, everyone!”
As I woke on Xmas morn, all was quite still,
my breath on the window, crystallized in the chill.
With the Soldiers so far away, many did feel,
the distance had made the war seem surreal.
The war they are fighting, I fear may have no end,
the fanatics that feed it, do not understand.
The Human race is meant to be free,
to make choices and have dreams, for others to see.
Their warped sense of values is not in the Qu ran,
Muhammad's (PBUH) teachings are not kill, then run.
He had many wives whom he honored quite freely,
the love he felt for them all was as Thaira (pure), as a lily.
The fight he tried to teach, this war of Jihad,
is the fight of the good, versus the bad.
Is, meant to be fought inside of each man.
Within his head, not in a desert, in a far off land.
My prayer for this Christmas for all to join hands,
No matter the religion, no matter the clans.
May the peace we all want be within our grasp,
may this fight on terror, and within be won at last.
Thank You God, Yahweh, Buddha, Allah, I say this with reverence,
Call Him Jesus or Krishna, whatever your preference.
Amen