Eleven years ago,
while rambling in my car
along the bank of Iril river
at Kongpal Moirangpurel,
a serene countryside
I spied Ureirom plants growing there,
their flowers blooming.
Long ago in our agrarian society
their fruits dyed women’s clothes pink -
done indigenously in every household
by the womenfolk.
Now the old art has faded
year by year with time
and the plants, once grown
in abundance are no longer seen.
Next day, in scattering showers,
with a camera I went there
and captured photographs
of the plants long unseen,
wondering how they grew there
while absent elsewhere.
Today, after eleven years,
when I strolled there again
the ureirom plants were gone
among the riverbank’s weeds -
Once women’s favorite,
now out of fashion,
neglected, nowhere to be seen.
Mahatma Gandhi
While travelling through
Rural villages
Encountered the poverty of
Womenfolk
Having just single linen to wear
Washing one end of it
While wrapping their body
With the other
And then try wash
The other end...
Till each Indian get
Enough to cover their body
I too will restrict my clothes
Mahatma Gandhi said,
And managed with
Single dhoti and shawl,
And came to be nick-named -
Half-naked fakir...
The situation of the womenfolk
Or men-folk are same today as well
Our politicians witness it too
And wear
Costliest costumes...
21 December 2021
If you wonder why to men many
Womenfolk seldom seem born funny,
The reason’s straight forward
Based on what I’ve observed:
They need no humour to please any,
To them spade’s not just spade—
And menfolk included,
Let men give this truth not a penny.
___________________________________
Pandemic raging, many women work from home. And with domestic help either not available or not advisable, they have to look after the house, children and the kitchen.
Obviously they are hard pressed for the luxury of a lighter mood, and may give an impression that they lack a funny bone
.
Tongue-in-cheek |05.05.2021|
Being a highly self-directed person
Knowing how to speak and reason
Today’s woman is alive to the sense
Of her dignity and the importance
Of her private functions straight
And domestic domain ultimate
Her talent is superb I state
In the public domain great
Being rational in approach
She is cool with no reproach
Want to do things best possible
And in a manner commendable
Let’s emphasize woman’s role
In all fields of society I dole
Thus she has a pivotal role
In eradicating poverty whole
She can mend social fabric
If taken out of daily afflict
Let all womenfolk enjoy their
Rights and opportunities fare
Major reason is the illiteracy
All we need to change policy
Education is a weapon at large
Narrows down odds at barge
Being significant is their role
For better life in future whole
Let’s educate our girls umpteen
So as to take HDI in teem
Want to see society progress
Then enhance the women status
Let’s honour the women folk all
Stopping restrictions on the girl
Let’s stop early marriage
To gift the women much tutelage
Women’s Reservation Bill is the call
Please fight for it my comrades all..!!
We watch as the men wreck the planet.
Why can't we just tell them to can it?
Earth would be so cool
if dudes didn't rule
and only the womenfolk ran it.
Walking by the sea
Walked along the sea-shore
The breeze from the sea filled my lungs with goodness
The pavement was flat and smooth.
I walked for an hour, only stopping to inhale the air.
Alone and free of squabbling women, I felt at ease.
I feel invigorated, but I need a car to drive there.
When the womenfolk rules I find myself in the centre
Waiting as they go in and out of shops.
The sea a bit restless today smashed against rocks and
The air was filled with ozone; to my surprise there
Others had the same idea; they didn’t
Work sat their cars with windows open, and that is ok.
I saw a yellow flower among coarse grass
A hardy soul braving the wind and since I’m not
A botanist I didn’t bother to give it a name.
She had that arrogant all-knowing walk,
That warned pirates to get out of her way.
The walk that made mean women gossip,
The swagger of her womenfolk of May.
Captain, she came aboard the pirate ship,
With the swaggiest swag we had ever seen.
Nobody gave her even a bit of lip.
She grabbed our gold treasure. She was a queen.
Captain, I would not have believed it myself,
But her swagger kept us from fighting her.
Women from May island, each aided by elf,
Captain, what could we do but bow and defer?
Written 9-3-2019
Contest: Swagger
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Rose is beautiful
protected by thorns
She is beautiful too
like the rose , but alas
her beauty and chastity
laid bare unprotected,
prone to attacks of
of predators awaiting,
like hungry jackals
behind the bush to
to pounce on hapless
prey grazing grass;
Oh God the creator
how and when will you
protect the womenfolk
from those treacherous men
who remain ever so brutal
despite showered by waters
of civilization for years and years
White Lilacs
Memories rise
like the scent of lilacs in the air
simple yet fragrant filled with now forgotten cares,
once so important
nothing could contain them
as life hurried forward not seeing round the bend.
Lessons learned too late
but part of living every day
with joy, love and sorrow that slowly passed away.
Looking back now
wish I could grow young again
relive the steps foolishly made on shifting sands.
If I could slip into the paths not taken
as life flowed to the oceans unplanned
while on the shores I watch and silent stand.
Those years are gone
lost to the fleetness of time
and love passes quickly beyond our prime.
The lilacs bloom tall and graceful
blowing freely in the air
if I could go back, would I dare?
Live Life over again
without mistakes
but sadly that is not my fate.
Let the lilacs bloom
and my past be written as it was
while I cling to my memories of more youthful love.
A Folksong sung by The Womenfolk called White Lilacs - give a listen,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv85Rr3Plgk&index=14&list=PLO-UbICkLW9OEB5mwKrfL7gpsyxJq0jZA
Her voice dropped to a saucy tone
She spoke behind her fan.
She said, "Now, Red, don't get me wrong-
You are a handsome man.
"You're a drifter as we both know,
A cowboy through and through.
I need a man who's always there
We both know that ain't you.
"You've got to be where cattle go,
The world's an open range -
I wish there was another way
I know you'll never change.
"You'll be in some saloon somewhere,
In some new cattle town,
An' I'll be here just raisin' kids,
Tryin' to hold 'em down.
"So just be sweet an' let me go,
An' I'll walk out of here.
I'll find someone and so will you
An' we'll be friends, my dear."
She turned and left that dim saloon
Went through the swingin' door
She took an Eastbound train that day
Was never seen no more
Now Red turned to the bartender
An' scratched beneath his hat
"Texas is hard on womenfolk -
Just who the hell was that?"
April, 2016
© Ben Burton 2-2-2015
The left contends that terrorists are really not Islamic
They're merely masquerading, maybe Christians in disguise
A peaceful man wrote the koran, the prophet named mohammad
While Christians idolize that vicious killer, Jesus Christ
Political correctness was the means by which they cowed us
They made us feel like bullies anytime we used our brawn
Our natural inclination to placate the ones who doubt us
Has led us to this place where we embrace what once was wrong
All muslims stand for peace and they police their members sternly
They make sure all their womenfolk are yoked, except their eyes
And once sharia law has been invoked in every country
The ones who watched it happen can't say squat, no hows or whys
obama must be muzzled or our troubles will continue
Too many so-called moderates won't keep his butt in line
If Carson/ West can somehow get to be on our next menu
We'll have a plan to catch and tan some Muslim terrorist hide
Seven thousand islands grace the shore
as narra trees arise , sun -dressed
with ripples humming a native folksong--
gracious the womenfolk, caressed
by Philippine beaches ever idyllic--
and exotic garlands spill from their baskets
crowning fiestas with decorative wares.
And boatmen wave to relish town’s gaiety
the canoes sailing in May's fluvial parade;
when wavelets of joy twirls, animated
along dewy coastlines… such heritage bears
the name reflecting its grandeur, 'Pearl of the Orient.'
My dawn and night broth, this homeland
where birthmark prints…a natural wonder of the world!
(your) Country 'tis of thee' Contest
Sponsor: Brahn Bailey Edited 9/3/2018
I have walked for a mile
in her footsteps.
She
offers a cooling balm
for the heat of my frustrations.
Leaning against that solidness gives pause,
to stop and drink in
the shade of her wisdom.
And I
marvel at the juxtaposition
of her willowy to my thick;
her smooth to my rough;
my prickly attitude to her leafy logic.
How she
lends a new perspective on
an idea ripening, dropping and withering;
a heart left in a mulch pile or
a dangerous flicker of doubt to be snuffed out.
Mirth crinkles in the corners of her eyes
as she too
carries faded battle gashes
where love has loped off
a once extended branch.
Her grove collectively offers comfort
for fruit born of loins,
falling and nestling
within rolling distance.
No more soothing a sound can be heard,
than rootsy laughter of womenfolk
of trees of magashi.
Copyright © Sandra Sealy, 1999
*First published as Guest Poet @ Poet Whispers
http://poetwhispers.wordpress.com
Just like a football I am and have
been bounced around a bit,
But only by chance of fate, no man
would get away with it.
The football suffers silently
the grabs, the throws, the kicks.
I’m not one to take that from
the country boobs or the city slicks.
I come from a line of strong women
who took on varying roles.
My grandma was a marcher
for equality at the poles.
Grandma raised her family of five
after her young husband died,
by sheer strong will and hard work
with no helpmeet by her side.
My paternal grandma must have been
a strong willed woman too.
She raised a very respectful son
who gave womenfolk their due.
My mama raised four strapping sons
without needing to raise a hand,
no slaps, no harsh words and no threats
to make them understand.
She passed down to her daughter
unrelenting self respect.
Rough handling me would surely bring
more grief than you’d expect.
So I’m not much like a football
nor would I ever be
an uncomplaining plaything
kicked around so endlessly.
While men worked hard until the barn was built,
the womenfolk were gathered for a bee.
They pieced together patches for a quilt
and chatted with the new bride happily.
Upon this handmade quilt were babies laid,
and eldest daughters passed the heirloom down.
That barn became the place where children played
as houses multiplied. There grew a town.
The quilt, once shown with pride, became forgot,
and decades in an attic it was stored.
One day a fire blazed; the things not sought
stayed in the loft, while saved were things adored.
And so a bride’s first gift in ashes lay;
its glory long ago had passed away.
by Andrea Dietrich
For Nette Onclaude's Contest:
"Anything Handmade"
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