"housemaid" poems
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,
And lived in a small house near a fashionable square
Cared for by servants to the number of four.
Now when she died there was silence in heaven
And silence at her end of the street.
The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet—
He was aware that this sort of thing had occurred before.
The dogs were handsomely provided for,
But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.
The Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantelpiece,
And the footman sat upon the dining-table
Holding the second housemaid on his knees—
Who had always been so careful while her mistress lived.
4.5k
I was vacant:
dust wafted off the window-sill, swirling in the afternoon sun
when you came, rapping green fists on my empty door
peering into my cloudy windows, glancing at the address
shrugging
and letting yourself in without a key.
You floated across the creaking floorboards of the foyer,
sweeping my cobwebs into a corner.
Did I forget to leave you the dustpan?
You strode through glass-pained doors into the kitchen,
scrubbing my china with the cold iron-water that poured forth from my pipes.
Did I neglect to provide you with lye?
After you lumbered up the stairs, coughing on mothballs,
I imagine that you shook your head at the tassels
hung on my fraying valence,
for soon enough you hurried your way
back down the stairs
into the kitchen
through the foyer
and out of my door.
I wonder—
Was it the dust?
Was it the dishes?
Did you ever stop to open my curtains?
Did you ever peer out the window, and into the gardens below?
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
I stared at Diana
Eyes a hue of blue
Skin white and shiny
Hair a sheen of unnatural yellow
My hand shook whenever I had to move her
Fearful of spoiling her purity
With my grubby fingers
So Diana stood alone in the corner
Bidding me goodbye
As I set out for school each morning.
One month later
She was stolen
By the housemaid
Today, I imagine Diana
Standing proud in the
Middle of the mud floor
Bringing regality
Into an impure world.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
*"The Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantelpiece
And the footman sat upon the dining-table
Holding the second housemaid on his knees--
Who had always been so careful while her mistress lived"
— From "Aunt Helen" by T.S. Eliot*
It's laugh-out-loud funny
how
one death
can change things.
If she were here
I'd blame
it
on a lifelong ill-
fascination with
Charlie McCarthy
or a hang-up
that's lingered since
the bourbon-scented Santa
invited me to sit.
At some point
you've got to
get back on the horse
though my levers
aren't so
easy to work
and, I better get
more
than a stuffed Pooh bear
out of this trip.
It's still-deep
water under the bridge
because
she's not.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
**Epitome of Victorian man
demanding to be the patriarch,
the man of the house, the father figure
law, bread and butter, wearing the pants.
( With his chair by the fire and smoking a pipe,
tweed slippers he wears, masters dog at his feet. )
Stubborn, mule headed, unyielding as ice
he glares at the young, but less deserving than they
growls at them all, when all that they do
is play ... having so much fun.
But summoning always the housemaid he needs
( in her place, she's his surrogate mum, )
and when income 'flows' in, miracles work
their home all alone she keeps.
He, early to rise, and early to work, then early back home again
five whole days of graft works he, only two of solid rest,
but by the end of the month, a 'basic' brings home
she'd wish it would last a four week.
And under the thumb, thinks he holds her
putting down always, when friends call around,
taking his share of the kitty she holds
but always wants more of whatever she gives.
He never is wrong, the obvious stating
whats been mentioned before, now his to tell her,
and she takes it all with calm and grace
I still can't believe that it's really her.
So, far stronger than steel that hold down her feet
she now wears the shackles she forged,
and the scars I see bared from imprisonment
were carved when she donned, the shroud that see wove.
And the tears from my heart, to see her so used
she's still trapped in once gilded, now rusty cage,
so better by far, freedom from *******
far worse, life squandered in thrall.**
... ... ...
Jul 9, 2011
Jul 9, 2011 at 3:50 AM UTC
The blue eagle and the demon of the steppes
in the last cab in Berlin
Legitimate defence
of lost souls
the red mill at the beggars' school
awaits the poor student
With the housemaid Know huntsmen how to hunt on pay-day
Know huntsmen how to hunt
as papa speculates
with the smile
By the dagger the dagger the dagger
the tiger of the seas dreams of happiness
Avenged
The vestal ****** of the Ganges cries out Vanity
when the flesh succumbs
Stop look and listen
the famous turkey spends a day of pleasure
turning round in an enchanted circle
with the pluck of a lion
M'sieur the major
My Paris
my uncle from America
my heart and my legs
slaves of beauty
admire the conquests of Nora
while someone asks for a typewriter
for the black pirate
It is not possible
that a woman dressed as the Merry Widow
could become the wind's prey
because the millionairess Madame Sans-Gene
leads a wild existence
in another's skin
Her son was right
Patrol-leader 129 who wears an Italian straw-hat
and is the ace of jockeys
is abandoning a little adventuress
for a woman
It is the April-Moon which chases the buffalo
to Notre-Dame of Paris
Oh what a bore the indomitable man
with clear eyes
wishes to judge him by the law of the desert
but the lovers with children's souls have gone away
Ah what a lovely voyage
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Staircase-With-A-Hundred-Steps#sthash.Ty7mN87W.dpuf
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
A pumpkin-colored limo arrives at the curb
of the black-and-white gala. Housemaid
overnight transformed to debutante
strides from the rear door to overwhelm
the party of common beauties. How
all gasp to view the delicacy of each
step in her long-gown procession to
the powerful, polished, marble floor of nobility.
There, unknown to the grand society, she twirls
and touches fingertips to those of the
ambassador, who is looking not for goodness,
but for beauty, who is believing the two
come together in one body here on earth.
The swelling, graceful energy that will
be passed on to future story-loving ears
rips apart the subdued elegance of the night.
Before the middle of the darkness, she slips
out of society’s sight, given over to a
sacred vow that only she can understand–
a transformative voice that guides her hours.
An object, much like my own body, connects
the spheres of magical and practical,
of night-time dreaminess and day-time
weariness–that sliver of land I understand.
Then a foot-hold on earth, a lost shoe, a link
to all evening romance, presides over
the public sentiment. Citizens desire
to align themselves with everlasting goodness.
Out of the cinders of hot fire gone cold
and lost, the steadfast inquiry continues,
until we arrive at the judgment that frees
us from our poverty and enslavement.
A single, white shoe may lift us
and step us toward such bliss.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
Midnight laced the sky's blue moon.
The lights in the castle shone out loud.
The lady of the house be gone.
Wrapped in cloak of night sky blue.
The verdant field met late night's lights.
With nearly morning breeze.
Then there came the turbulence.
A hurricane.
Over the drawbridge.
feeling the force.
Weather beaten and worn.
The oak door screams back.
It's fighting against its hinges.
She's led into the parlour.
Taken by the hand of her faithful lord.
The lonely lord of live alone.
A silent servant sleeps downstairs,
Privately hidden in the cellar under the house.
A tray of nuts and garlic butter mushroom nibbles presented.
Delivered with a scrumptious glass of warming scarlet wine.
Any port in a storm.
He had collected them that morn,just before the break of dawn.
Oh that the darkest time of day.
The mushrooms he'd collected.
Were very very wrong.
The housemaid entered the drawing room.
Quiet as a house mouse.
She couldn't wake them up.
Didn't dare.
They were sleeping silently, within death's cold embrace.
She paid but no attention, as she stoked the angry fireplace.
(c) Livvi
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Husbands and Boyfriends:
The reason why other women look attractive is because someone is
taking good care of them.
Grass is always green where it is watered. Instead of
drooling over the green grass on the other side of the fence, work on yours and water it regularly.
Any man can admire a beautiful woman, but it takes a true gentleman to make a woman admirable and beautiful.
Remember,
women have been through alot, **** monthly flow with pains, pregnancy and child birth, treat
them with respect,they are our helpmate not housemaid!
Distance is just a test to see how far LOVE can
travel
Some people come into our lives and quickly go.
Others stay for a while leaving footprints on our
hearts, and we are forever changed.
The worst feeling in the world is when you can’t
love anyone else, because your heart still belongs
to the one who broke it.
SOMETIMES, it is better to be alone than to be in
a relationship with someone who doesn't return
your love or appreciate your effort, Someone who
takes you for granted
When a relationship ends, what hurts more is not
the end of
it, but the way we have to behave as strangers
Music speaks when words can't express your
feelings.
You never know how strong you are until being
strong is the only choice you have.
Cheer up you will find True Love at the right time.
.
A lot of people don’t understand what real love is. Anyone can buy flowers, candy and jewelry.
The truly meaningful things in life are those little things you do every day to show you care, and that you’re thinking of them. It’s going out of your way to make them happy. The way you hold her hand when you know she’s scared, or you save the last piece of cake for him.
The random text or call in the middle of the day, just to say “I love you” or “I miss you”.
The way he stops to kiss you when he passes by. It’s dedicating her favorite song to her, and letting her eat your fries; telling her she’s beautiful. It’s
putting your favorite show on pause so she can tell you about her day, and laughing at his jokes, even the really lame ones. It’s slow dancing in the kitchen and kissing in the rain. Love isn't about buying, it’s about giving.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 5:33 AM UTC
1. Don’t Break Her Heart
2. Don’t Pretend You Love Her
3. Don’t Tell Her She Is Ugly
4. Don’t Compare Her To Your Ex
5. Don’t Take Her Love For
Granted
6. Don’t Shout On Her
7. Don’t Beat Her
8. Never Cheat On Her
9. Don’t Disrespect Her
10. Don’t Waste Her Time If You
Will Not Marry Her
11. Don’t Make Her Break Her
Decision Of “NO *** BEFORE
MARRIAGE”
12. Don’t Make Her Feel Unloved
13. Don’t **** Her
14. Never Fail To Say She Is
Beautiful
15. Don’t Disgrace Her In The
Public
16. Don’t impregnate Her And
Deny it
17. Don’t Expose Her Secrets To
Your Friends And Family
18. Don’t Lie To Her
19. Don’t Correct Her In The
Public
20. Don’t Hate Her Family
21. Don’t Treat Her Like Your
Housemaid
22. Don’t Make Promises You
Can’t Keep
23. Never Destroy Her
How many agree with me ?..
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Years ago we were a mere housemaid and care taker for the children.
We had no say in anything that man did not agree with.
We didn't even have the right to vote, let alone speak our peace.
We worked like slaves for our men and fell at there every need.
No more.
We are changed from the silent shy beings, into strong and elegant Woman.
We are strong!
We can fight!
We have Power to make just as much change as any man can!
We work hard we earn our keep just like a man.
Nothing can stand in our way anymore!
We are united with tranquility and honor in a sisterhood of unimaginable success and love.
We grow together.
We stand together.
Always.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
A woman's work is endlessly ongoing
She cooks washes and does all hubby's mowing
The list of her daily duties is long
She's never free from those demanding tasks
Her days are much fuller than ten pint flasks
At no time does she get to take any spells
Her every minute rings in request bells
No one assists they're off singing a song
With a scowl the housemaid grinds very tough stone
Her finger tips and knees worn to the bone
Women carry tons of bricks a real heavy freight
For not one second do they ever laze
They're all running around in a busy haze
By day's end they feel the onuses weight
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
The Lady Mary had locked the door
And called the scullery maid,
The Boots was called and the Footman,
So they thought they were being paid,
She lined them up with the Butler,
The Housemaid, skivvy and Cook,
‘You’re not to go wandering out the door,
Not even to take a look!’
She knew her word, though the very law,
Was never to go down well,
For Alice was sweet on a lawyer’s clerk,
A lockdown seemed like hell.
The Footman needed his racing mates
To place a bet on the book,
So the Lady Mary had made it plain,
‘Not even a peep or a look!’
The grumbling went with the Cook downstairs
As they stood, and waited for tea,
‘It’s all very well for the likes of her,
There’s places I have to be!’
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ the Butler said,
‘We’re lucky to grace her floor,
If you want to leave in a fit of peeve
You’ll never get back in the door.’
They huddled down for a week or more
It was better than paying rent,
But a silence settled on every floor
For nobody came, or went,
The pantry shelves were emptying out
But the tradesmen never came,
‘We’re going to starve,’ was the one lament
When they ate the last of the game.
The Footman called the Scullery Maid
And they huddled up on a pew,
‘If you sneak out for an hour tonight,
Then I will cover for you,
And you can visit your lawyer’s clerk
Then place a bet on the book,
I’ll let you in when it’s nice and dark…’
‘I will, by hook or by crook!’
She slipped on out by the kitchen door
And he turned the key in the lock,
Watched the Butler heading for bed
And sat by the kitchen clock.
At ten o’clock, with a tiny tap
She had made her prescence felt,
And tumbled in as he opened the door,
Went straight to the hearth, and knelt.
He locked the door, then he heard her sob
And saw that her head was bent,
She stared so long and hard at the floor
That he thought his bet was spent.
‘What ails you Alice, now what went wrong,
Don’t give me none of your lies!’
She looked up into his face just then
And he saw blood stream from her eyes!’
‘They’re dead, all dead,’ were the words she said
As her tears had mixed with the blood,
Your racing pals and my lawyers clerk,
And the horses, down at the stud.
The Lady Mary, she should have said…’
But he cut her off right there,
Leapt up, unlocking the kitchen door
He dragged her out by her hair.
He locked the door and he scrubbed his hands
But he’d locked the beast within,
As blood then streamed from his Footman’s eyes
And he earned the wages of sin.
The Lady Mary came down the stair
To find him, dead on the floor,
And said to the Cook, with blood red eyes,
‘You’d best fling open the door!’
David Lewis Paget
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
I have a job's list longer than an arm
But none of them bring to me loads of charm
Where to start is the question that I ask
I ponder which one to give a top spot
They all implore me to get on the trot
From the kitchen dishes yell out to me
So does the floor beg for my housemaid's knee
In these gross chores I don't want to bask
Yet they require my urgent attention
The state of my digs not worth a mention
Once I have an energy burst come to me
The job's lengthy list will be whittled down
I wish to rid my house of it's grubby frown
Without further adieu I'll busy as a bee
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
Polly stands
behind George
at the window
in his room,
the nurse has left
gone to have a break
and a smoke,
George stares
out the window,
see them, Polly?
see them coming?
Polly puts her hands
on his shoulders,
yes, George,
I see them,
she says,
watching the gardener
and the young garden boy,
walking
with their tools
along
by the vegetable garden,
if I had my gun
I'd shoot them,
George says,
I know George,
but you need to rest,
let others worry
about them,
Polly whispers
in his ear,
George sighs,
pushes his fingers
through his hair,
they got Miller,
he says,
took his head
clean off,
lay in the trench
staring at me,
I know, George,
you need to rest,
Polly whispers,
he sighs,
his fingers tap
the window ledge,
his eyes staring ahead,
the gardener and boy
disappear from sight,
they've gone the cowards,
George says,
hidden from sight,
ought to have shot them
while I had the chance,
you've no gun,
George,
Polly says,
rubbing his shoulders,
wishing he was in bed with her
as he used to
before the War
and this illness,
she the housemaid,
he the masters' son,
she watches as his hands
tap his legs
getting faster and faster,
steady George my love,
calm now,
she kisses his ear,
he sighs and relaxes,
turns and looks at her,
smiles,
then suddenly cries,
around him,
he sees a room
full of dead men
and countless flies.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:02 AM UTC
Husbands and Boyfriends:
The reason why other women look attractive is because someone is
taking good care of them.
Grass is always green where it is watered. Instead of
drooling over the green grass on the other side of the fence, work on yours and water it regularly.
Any man can admire a beautiful woman, but it takes a true gentleman to make a woman admirable and beautiful.
Remember,
women have been through alot, **** monthly flow with pains, pregnancy and child birth, treat
them with respect,they are our helpmate not housemaid!
LADIES AM I ON POINT?
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
Night crawls like lizards
with tongues of opalescent horror
Sleep is a blanket on someone else's bed
and I jolt and gasp like she had
connected by that plastic tube
to a life finally withdrawn
Sleep is torn from my lungs which choke on fears that close around me as coal dust
and all I see in the dark are the
worst things she suffered
from cancer's tongues of horror
Then radiance reaches from your woken soul and you recite Quran over me
like a Southern faith healer
with laying on of hands
They slither away from the light you've conjured and I sleep oh I sleep
Daylight memories appear as camera flashes
petty poltergeists easily banished
Yet darkness always follows day as an anxious housemaid
Memories slip their skins and crawl from discarded scales again where they shouldn't
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 1:02 AM UTC
my mother taught me to be the artist, not the art piece
to be not the inspiration, but the inspired, and i lived my life according to this law
believing wholeheartedly that i would be taken seriously and noticed for my talents and not cast aside, labeled "silly girl" and left to gather dust
i was raised to be the sculptor not the sculpture
to be the water drip drip dripping down the concrete infrastructure, causing calamity over quiet and shaping the world of men and mice
i was raised in hopes of change and singing songs of strength and rage
mind over matter, or so i was told
i was raised and taught, so clearly and so bravely that i was not made of porcelain and glass waiting for a man to pick me up off of the shelf and dust me off and fit me for an equally delicate life as a housemaid and as a wife
but as a beast of earth and bone and blood
as a force of wind and fire
i was to be the winds of change for the brave new world that we could live in and be happy in
the poster child for intellectuals and politicians, for scientists and mathematicians, for white and male dominated career-holders to stop and stare at and say "that's the girl who isn't content to sit at home" "that's the future"
and here is what i say to them
most girls aren't content to sit at home, most want to explore, most are searching and scavenging for books and dreams and wishing that someday they can find the land of opportunity and liberty for all
but most girls are dragged into the kitchen and home, kicking and screaming, biting and crying, and forced to work until the iron that they were once made of rusts and falls apart, cracking like the dams they could've destroyed with their might
most girls are told they are worth less than their male counterparts, and this escalates from them seeing themselves as "worth less" to "worthless" and rotting them from the inside out
most girls are taught to be the muse and not the artist and i am sick and tired of being taught i am "better" than most girls because i was taught vice versa
do not praise me, instead fix society, and that will be thanks enough
teach these girls their worth lies, not in the price of their pearls and not even in the secret philosophies they have in their minds, but in their hearts
teach these girls that they are the children of witches and mystics and that they are not simply dolls and toys
teach these girls that space is vast and full of black holes and dark matter just like their minds and their hearts are, and just as their souls are too
teach these girls what infinity is and what finity is, and let them decide which mathematical law the universe is bound to
because the only muse i'd like to be is the muse of their liberty
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
Because
With me, I walk blindly forward as my mess is overturned behind me as I sulken dream. To turn round eventually I find all that’s been done, with me left to tidy - to replenish and erase the mess that has already ******* spread rapidly into every corner of my insides. The lights go off when it burns off and the ashes tend to tell of time wasted of thirst and sense of waiting for his return.
I’m then diving into the spiral of aftermath that leaves itself to solve without answers. Heart stretches further and further away from its halves to avoid being engulfed by incoming wave which floods of knowing I would never have you.
And now
the pen I resist from daggering into my wrist so it’s ink can bleed into my insides with mellow wordly turmoil.
- See though, alone I thought I was safe. But those words that dropped out her mouth so unimpeachably illustrated you breaking into me. At that very moment. And unleashing the demons from their cage. I think I feel them gnawing now.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
What if I told you
I wanted you
to taste my wiener?
What if I said
you could be
my **** housemaid, cleaner?
What if I intoned
in no uncertain terms
vices, all, just misdemeanors?
What if we
just played a **** game
and met, in Pasdena?
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:57 PM UTC