"matrimonial" poems
Are you listening to the whispers? are you feeling scandalised?
Harbouring ***** little feelings that you wanna sanitise?
Walk through the swinging doors of a catholic franchise
Ask em for that sailors knot a black-n-white man-ties
To the pairs of prying eyes his practical rebuke
Is a marital disguise and a tactical puke
Throw the garter ‘mongst the pigeons, the voluntary victims...
Whose single minds are filled with matrimonial conviction
Paired up poets pool their miseries; the price of art
Each miserable synergy - the sum of its parts
Did he swear that he’d hold you ever dear to his heart?
To love and to cherish til your knees did part?
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
There she stands on ceremony all silk and sinew
While the vow evicted from his Adam’s apple continues
To stutter as the panic builds like stifled farts
Til it splutters its devotions on her lady parts
Her eyes sentence you to sit though your neck-hairs stand
She’s the ****** ****** written in the lines on your palm
Old scores squeeze sideways through her gritted teeth
And he takes on the debt of every promise she believed
Hide the love-bites in a polo-neck, your love life in a Rolodex
When the ***** hand of happen-stance runs its evil down your keks
Cos like the indelible digits on your bathroom mirror
Love is for life until you dress it with liquor
If she wants you like her father and you want her like your mother
What the hell are you gonna do when you’re bored of one another?
We are but experiments, seven billion shades of wrong
The clever ones stay celibate, the others pass it on
That’s an easy line to settle-on in present company
Single-riders in the peloton to pick up the debris
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...
He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...
A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...
I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...
My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...
I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...
The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----
In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
This place was once God’s pious station.
Humanity is the song we sing to him.
The leaves praise him with peaceful African breeze, the breeze of our God.
The children of our mother earth were not left out of the feeling that planted oneness in the minds of the ******* Stone, that was what their minds were known for.
Life was then a simple sphere but now complicated and shapeless.
Life was then soft like unwithered breast but now a
granite. Then hearts was glaring but now, Africa and their black hearts.
See them,
They are crucifying humanity in the house of our God.
They are crucifying humanity in the court of law.
They are crucifying humanity on the matrimonial beds.
They are crucifying humanity on the aisle of power.
They are crucifying humanity for legal tenders.
They are crucifying humanity to be a god.
They are crucifying humanity in the struggle of religion.
They are crucifying humanity to calm the raging stomach.
They are crucifying humanity for thrones.
They are crucifying humanity in front of humanity.
They are crucifying humanity everywhere.
Now humanity is on the verge of death.
See them as they are whipping him.
See his skin as it swell to burst.
They are punching him, they want to punch him to
death.
Can you see those barbarian as they merry with the melody of crucifixion. Humanity is their scape goat.
Humanity is dead in theirs
but it is still alive in your heart,
It is still alive in your words.
Humanity must be alive in our home.
Let humanity live in Africa as free citizen.
If you are guilty of his death what do you gain?
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
Matrimonial stars in aisles of Auroral rainbows. Mizzling rays of twilights, arraying bays with skylines of lucent waves.
A plethora of scarlet roses reposed in florid clouds. Ashore the Giddy ocean in a gentle motion, caressing Mali garnets, mirroring effulgent lights, kissing the mountaintops before refulgent nights.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
*This is one of the racier "Memories" poems by the great Barry Hodges, my alter ego.
It might well make you come involuntarily in your ******
How happy was I once with the wind in my hair
Wandering o'er the dales with joyousness unmeasur'd,
In the sweet long passed innocent days of platonic love
When stolen gropes and kiss were to be treasured.
But all good and true things come to a sad close
And my poor first love lies in her grave so sorrowfully
Having been crushed to death by a runaway steamroller
Before I managed to go all the way quite thoroughly.
What a waste of delightful teenage flesh was that
Yet perhaps I had a narrow escape from the derangement
Which might have been mine had our trysting
Led to a semi-permanent matrimonial arrangement.
For I recall one afternoon in the old ABC cinema
In the delighful Yorkshire spa town of Harrogate,
Sitting next to my gorgeous love in the back row,
Exploring her not so very private parts on a hot date.
How I cursed the management's niggardly folly
In not showing a film with hot romantic blood
But saving pathetic pennies by putting on
Daffy ******** Duck and Elmer ******* Fudd.
But yet I perserved with my digital explorations
Unaware that the throbs my fingers felt were no dream
But darling Elsie laughing like a proverbial drain
At Daffy's hilarious anatine adventures on-screen.
'Twas then I began to wonder about the viscous liquid
I had hitherto imagined was Elsie's lovejuice flowing
*(dear, dear reader, cease your perusal of my tale forthwith
if you are of a nervous disposition or prone to food up-throwing)*.
It was only a careful examination of my sopping knuckles
In the dimly lit gents after old Daffy's film was done and dusted
Which revealed that my dearly beloved had leaked
Big time out of both ends, leaving my fingers well encrusted.
O to think that, but for Daffy, I might have been lumbered
With a different kind of bird for whom double incontinence
Was a way of life (thus, the fatal steamroller she encountered
The very next day was a blessing from kindly Providence).
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
In the wild
You are left to consider graffiti disasters
hatched from gypsy palates
Vanished in music through spiders
In a wilderness of orange viral light
Moths push from the lips of willow switch
Geishas who stargaze on
Matrimonial black powder
In our wilderness of birth the
Name of Fire is swallowed by moths
We are reborn in Geisha operas
Over the embers of burned invention
You sign the word for sand
In a lamplight hem
A voice skating chalk
Points over pearl
Its pitch wound in a white
Arched wax arm
Ticking the membrane
In her submerged bell
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 1:36 PM UTC
Darling,
in the event of a zombie apocalypse,
I’m gonna marry you.
I know, that romantic testimonial
isn’t quite the matrimonial proposition
you were expecting,
but I’m projecting a lovely future for us!
You see, when the dead break free,
I’ll come save you.
I’ll be your knight in shining Kevlar,
your cranium-crushing crusader,
and safe in our barricaded bungalow,
we’ll match moans for groans
with the shambling horde outside.
We’ll make love ’til death do we part,
or at least til we start
to run out of supplies,
and if we get in a pinch,
I’ve got a surprise:
see, I’ll paralyze them with poetry,
’cause if there’s anything
a zombie understands, it’s desire.
Meanwhile,
you lay down suppressive fire
and we’ll take out as many as we can.
If in the end we are overrun,
I’ll let them take me
so you can get away.
They can have my brain–
it’s my heart that beats for you.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Medical preys;
unwanted grasses
on female pasture;
yet over determined to exist.
Victims!
to pleasurable sins
Murdered!
by we who bekoned them.
To save faces
and intergrity;
To erase footprints
and outcome of our sins.
but you never cease to surface,
at any ****** call;
Never afraid of the death
warrant
nor the murderous act.
Brave unborn souls,
sacrificial lambs
of human immorality,
''cleansing off our sins''.
Yet answerable
to any ****** call
wishing it sinless
by matrimony.
Beauty of a marital love,
essence of a matrimonial
act.innocent
of all innocents,
One with God!,
Wisdom of the ancient!
The first measures
of purity.
But; where goes
the astral wisdoms
after the humanization?
where you compelled
to be born,
revoltless of the ******
of your unborn kind?
was it karmic purposed?
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 10:01 AM UTC
i.
Alleluia, I proclaim, six month's it hath been, an eternestial
Keep. None need for word's to cometh out of mine mouth and lips, none need for mine sight to peep. For now; soundly do I sleep. Slumbering in mine dulcet Jane's deepest desires and wishes.
ii.
Every fibril of mineself, shalt be tucked away in her niches, warm and cozy therein I wilt abode; I wouldst selleth all possessions, to be next to her, though I knoweth patience hath
Us on hold.
iii.
In the meanwhile, we shalt cosmogyral, ground to air, a many whilsts. Creshinta lovenairs, O' another six month's wilt cometh again. A lifetime I looketh forward to, kindred spirit, best friend.
iv.
I will not cease, from building upon thee ourn bedrock, thus the ticking hand tick's away, and the minutes betray the clock's. In heaven amour, is where we do belong, with melodious angel's singing hymn's; and saint's to play ourn song. We wilt forever be, six month's from now, six year's, six generation's, six hundred fear's, six-thousand kisses, six million glares, six billon glimpses, of thee mine wife and me all ourn lives. In matrimonial bozeere.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
Pure sweetness from natures *****
It's true taste magnified by its beauty.
A Rose among nettles
Even a sample comes from a dreamscape of perfection.
Fresh from the combs of bee's,
A honey so thick,
An aroma so beautiful
It encompasses the mind
With the likeness of heaven itself.
Sugary sweet,
Like when two tongues meet
In a matrimonial ceremony of love.
There is no sweetness
Like the sweetness of
Brown sugar
Sugar that has been granted from up above.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
now, I was just minding
my own business
brought up by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and graced with divine revelations;
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and so minding my own business
and vowed to matrimonial chastity in mind
never looking at another woman
and never thinking of another ever
I mean no one thought
looking at Mona Lisa
even in my younger days
was ever bad; they simply said:
Oh, Mona Lisa…what a painting!
so I went about years
chaste, pure and I think, angelic,
until these women come into art books
and now more readily in cyber-life
like Rembrandt’s Bathing Woman -
oh, how could I not look?
She, Hendrickje, more natural and
more come-here-you than
today’s airbrushed digitally enhanced beauties…
O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
entering the water
and lifting up her dress
so it won’t get wet
but O – was that really her intention?
Or perhaps to entice Rembrandt further?
Or to look at her own reflection?
and then what about us, full-blooded men of latter-days –
O Rembrandt, what have you done?
how can I not look, and look?
and come back to look again?
and under pretence of aesthetics I trace every
limb and curve of Hendrickje, O Hendrickje –
I become a Rembrandt of sorts,
just tracing lines on her image
O these cyberspace beauties
they corrupt my high ideals
And Rembrandt says across the ages:
Remember you your traditions and virtue…
And the morally upright say:
Hey! She was Rembrandt’s woman!
And I can only quip: Yeah - she was!
and leaving it at that
with O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
gazing at her own reflection
and I wondering what she sees –
well, after Hendrickje, O Hendrickje
am I safe? you think?
Then come the women of Japan –
for instance
A woman Applying Powder
while Hashiguchi Goyō sketched and mixed his paints -
and why? Oh why, Hashiguchi Goyō?
why do you release these sirens, these women
this Woman after her Bath
this Woman combing her hair -
O these mistresses of the arts
O why release them
on my sensitive and pure
and morally upright mind?
O why you do corrupt
such a one
such a noble mind
that centuries of spiritual values jousted one another
to produce? Such a delicate specimen as I am.
Or may be
all these women should be deleted from cyberspace
and only decent women with quizzical smiles like
Mona Lisa should prevail…
Sure, we don’t know what she’s smiling about
but at least Old Lisa’s not as dangerous
as youthful Hendrickje, O Hendrickje -
or
as the Woman Applying Powder
baring her shoulders and her Japanese *****
I mean, how can I not look?
and come back again to look?
O my adulterous heart!
but delete them all
or black them out
or cover them all up from head to foot
(technology can do wonders nowadays)
so
I can just be minding
my own business
brought to you by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and divine revelations
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and I’ll end up in Heaven after all my Holy Days
and for my Eternal Holidays there
I’ll be given all the virgins I’ll ever want
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
I want to starve for my art with you
until our faces have sunk in
and our shy skeletons have shown themselves
through our skin, scarred with regrets and tattoos.
I want to write with you
until we hallucinate those skeletons leaping from our bodies
and waltzing with each other while we lay
limp and high on the floor —
until we have nothing left but each other
and stacks upon stacks of 99-cent notebooks
filled with testaments of our madness
and love
like some kind of unholy matrimonial vows
that bind us together
with a silver coil.
I want to paint on the walls with you
until our ****** apartment becomes a gallery
the best gallery in New York
that no one will know about,
at least until we OD
and the stench of our frail bodies leads them here
to these walls painted with the last of our strength.
Until you know how it feels to have death
breathing on your neck
and offering to buy you a drink
and take you home
to pick your mind like a gentleman.
Let’s write our story
then jump from the bridge of sanity
that connects the pointless gap between reality
and the brick wall on the other side
that looms over humanity—
so fall with me
until you know what it's like
to be loved by a poet
who most think is dead inside.
Until you know that I am beautiful
when you step into this little world
that I’ve made up like a god
with one big bang
of imagination and lies
spiraling forever into a darkness
that no one but me
will ever comprehend.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
She is beautiful beyond measure, excellence
She is gorgeously brilliant,
Her skin reflects the heavens dark canvas.
Her essence illuminates
like the stars lighting up the skies,
journeying across the galaxies many years away.
I backstroke deep within the depths of
her ******** celestial milky ways. Wet Misty ocean spray erupts, splashing all over my body and face.
Her u ni versal magic causes all kinds of havoc.
She ferociously drags me under submerging me, deep in her underwater ballot. Keggle rip currents pulling me deeper into the depths of her dark melanin hole.
Behold I can feel her heartbeat.
Exhale, with asthmatic like breathing as we engaged together, unified harmoniously simutainulously. I can feel the vibrations of her eccentric, electric current flow.
I plugged into her slow, submerging into her soul. Surging to converged as one, Matrimonial we shall dance forever from dawn to dust until death do us part.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC
I don’t wanna listen!
it was nice and all that
but my heart broke along the way and
three of its chambers are flooded.
no handy man can fix it now.
me and you.. IT don’ work!
it’s not an oxymoron, nor an enigma ! no!
the fact that I’m an ox, a ***** a pretentious ***** and you, an enigma..
that don’t change anything!
we are unable to begin again.
we made it once. we should be happy and look back in hunger.
we were on the first page of newspapers but,
somehow,
we ended up in
the matrimonial section – the place where
poetry ends.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:40 AM UTC
the wind's whisper was
a romance of sound
satin sheets
shifting
softly
sliding
between her legs
with each gentle tug of his
her marble skin was the rapture
of his innocence
and the oarsmen
of his temptations
rowing him along
toward her
between her nubile legs
and he felt
for once
not like an invader
a Viking
a barbarian
trudging over the mountains
with lust arming his flesh
for the takings to
come
no
he felt
like a father
dutiful
yet also
like a son
respectful - obedient
yet truly, he was
her lover
who had mastered her platonic whims,
sacrifices, and conditions;
earned her trust
earned her surrender
and her, his
and her, his undying, unabashed love
devotion
humility
honor
reciprocal instincts
romantic intuitions
senses of guardianship and homage
faith...
for, he felt stronger
bedding her this day
than any woman before her
stronger
than any promise of affection
any kiss
any trust
for, she had conquered him
passionately
patiently
enduringly, with love
convincing him - resoundingly
that her heart was solely HIS
for that day,
with her inviting him into her womb
that was the start of their honeymoon
the firmament
the consummation
of their oath to love
and eternity
humanity
with no remorse for their matrimonial union...
no fear
no sorrow
no misery
no end
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 1:18 AM UTC
Yes, it was a hot day for a black wedding,
I swapped my life for a golden ring,
I did not check those sinister omens,
As I volunteered to change my cognomen,
All our families, garbed in black,
Once hitched, there was no turning back,
A fateful dark matrimonial,
Indeed, a disastrous ceremonial.
'Twas already a dim bleak wedlock,
Nuptials in black was a shock,
So much for my late spouse,
Yelling at me to clean his house,
Is biology destiny? I used to ask,
Is housework only a woman's task?
Once, I swapped my soul for a golden ring,
Yes, it was a hot day for black wedding.
(Tough!).
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
now, I was just minding
my own business
brought up by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and graced with divine revelations;
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and so minding my own business
and vowed to matrimonial chastity in mind
never looking at another woman
and never thinking of another ever
I mean no one thought
looking at Mona Lisa
even in my younger days
was ever bad; they simply said:
Oh, Mona Lisa…what a painting!
so I went about years
chaste, pure and I think, angelic,
until these women come into art books
and now more readily in cyber-life
like Rembrandt’s Bathing Woman -
oh, how could I not look?
She, Hendrickje, more natural and
more come-here-you than
today’s airbrushed digitally enhanced beauties…
O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
entering the water
and lifting up her dress
so it won’t get wet
but O – was that really her intention?
Or perhaps to entice Rembrandt further?
Or to look at her own reflection?
and then what about us, full-blooded men of latter-days –
O Rembrandt, what have you done?
how can I not look, and look?
and come back to look again?
and under pretence of aesthetics I trace every
limb and curve of Hendrickje, O Hendrickje –
I become a Rembrandt of sorts,
just tracing lines on her image
O these cyberspace beauties
they corrupt my high ideals
And Rembrandt says across the ages:
“Remember you your traditions and virtue…”
And the morally upright say:
“Hey! She was Rembrandt’s woman!”
And I can only quip: “Yeah - she was!”
and leaving it at that
with O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
gazing at her own reflection
and I wondering what she sees –
well, after Hendrickje, O Hendrickje
am I safe? you think?
Then come the women of Japan –
for instance
A woman Applying Powder
while Hashiguchi Goyō sketched and mixed his paints -
and why? Oh why, Hashiguchi Goyō?
why do you release these sirens, these women
this Woman after her Bath
this Woman combing her hair -
O these mistresses of the arts
O why release them
on my sensitive and pure
and morally upright mind?
O why you do corrupt
such a one
such a noble mind
that centuries of spiritual values jousted one another
to produce? Such a delicate specimen as I am.
Or may be
all these women should be deleted from cyberspace
and only decent women with quizzical smiles like
Mona Lisa should prevail…
Sure, we don’t know what she’s smiling about
but at least Old Lisa’s not as dangerous
as youthful Hendrickje, O Hendrickje -
or
as the Woman Applying Powder
baring her shoulders and her Japanese *****
I mean, how can I not look?
and come back again to look?
O my adulterous heart!
but delete them all
or black them out
or cover them all up from head to foot
(technology can do wonders nowadays)
so
I can just be minding
my own business
brought to you by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and divine revelations
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and I’ll end up in Heaven after all my Holy Days
and for my Eternal Holidays there
I’ll be given all the virgins I’ll ever want
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 4:38 AM UTC
i.
With thee I shan't
Never leaveth;
O' Jane I shan't
Leave.
ii.
With thee I agreeith
In matrimonial
Ceremony;
iii.
I leaveth a key
Outside thine abode;
The key shalt fit inside
Mine aura, thou hast
Unlocked mine soul.
iii.
Entereth in, I'll keepeth
Thou cozy, as thou shalt
Touch mine lip's, and peck
Mine cheek's Rosy.
iv.
A dawn anew,
Spiritual growing;
Pound's art few, ourn
Spirit's art light as feather's,
In the surreal, utopian together.
v.
Foreordained, stains made
White as wool, ivory garb's,
Sweet savour; a distinct flavor,
Wild Asian, unearthly station,
I'm a European patient, as thou
Art an angel, of ourn Lord and Savior.
vi.
The sky open wide
Chocolate pupil's,
Baby blue eyes;
Together a ride of
Chariot mind's, blendid
In fashion's of eternal
Afterlife;
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
hold me tight,
with your lips
take me to your paradise.
let's sing this hymn
in unity, with one voice,
on a well-designed podium.
lift me up, sing to my ears songs
with the sweetness in a baby's voice,
call me to order.
like a police officer, parade me
into your crime world -
you the protagonist
$ I, the antagonist.
let's fight this war together -
i'll be the sword $ you'll be the shield
and we'll win the battles as warriors.
Asake,
let's create a story
on this matrimonial platform
that would be stained by your red kiss.
let me voyage through your homeland,
visit your kinsmen
with my mightiness.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
They say blood is thicker than water.
They say family matters the most.
I am the child of matrimonial diplomacy,
A ritual to bind the two ends of human nature,
I am a child of brutal union.
One of flesh, not of minds and hearts.
Yet now, as I am a relic of shattered times,
The world around me heals.
I am a painful reminder of the time I was ravaged.
I am a stranger to houses with warm hearths.
They say family gives you roots.
But what us the fruit of the plant whose roots have found no place?
Always misunderstood.
Never sad, unknown to joy.
I am a stranger to those who have lent me their blood and name.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:52 AM UTC
more and more couples are opting
to wed in unconventional places
they're not into those old fashioned
churches or registry office spaces
just to-day an American pair
did exchange their nuptial vows
inside an airport terminal
near the baggage area's trows
these types of wedding ceremonies
are gaining a greater supporter root
for they've added a new dimension
to the whole matrimonial hoot
we can expect to see weddings being
performed in a different location
so don't surprised if one happens
outside the international space station
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
I was born in 1990,
Only 8 days shy of 1991.
Still, I am Generation Y.
She was born in 2000,
Nearly 6 weeks into it.
She's Generation Z.
Still, she responded to me,
Actually her mother did.
The matrimonial ad.
My parents had flashed it,
In a timely manner, they hoped,
That I can be married.
So, I went to their home,
I liked her for her youth.
And of course her eyes.
She was truthful and frank too.
She told me what she wanted,
She wanted a mature man.
When I told her that I was an artist,
She loved my poetry,
And commended my creations.
Soon that 'misunderstanding' happened,
And the Miss felt she was standing under,
To equate herself with me, she berated me.
Oh, I do want to marry her still,
Because in her I see a lot of potential,
But she'll have to change her behaviour.
And as she can't change,
Things she will have to realise.
I don't think that she can apologise.
There's a generation gap between us,
And the next generation can't say sorry,
Or just accept their mistake with humility.
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 3:49 AM UTC