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She married off to a village chief at age of 14,
But only after being chopped of a ******* in a Maasai
Ritual of FGM, chlitoridectomy or you name it,
For the African elders strictly marry circumcised virgins,
What a ritual so pernicious that my nerves panic with fire.
She gets into a marriage now, Male sided marriage,
Where women and distaff are seen, but not heard whatsoever,
It is her well rounded buttocks, sharply ***** *****
Tight thighs and sweet sensuous moans to be made in bed
That matters most, but not her thoughts not even human feelings.
She starts of her day by morning glory; early morning *** at 5.30,
Then she jumps of her bed, whether sexually satisfied or not,
She goes straight for her broom then begins sweeping,
And scrapping her house, the main house then the kitchen,
No brassiere under her blouse or lingerie under her skirt,
For you never can tell when the chief’s cloud will accumulate,
Into thunderous rain, ready for planting and planting,
She then prepares porridge from millet and sorghum
Or Soya beans, ground nuts and simsim for the children
To take before they leave to school, both her children,
And those sired through out-growing by her husband,
Then she goes at the cow shed to milk her native cows,
Which she milks by dodging ceaseless kicks from the angst ridden cow,
She sings and whistles hymns for the cow to calm and stand balmy,
But coincidentally her last-born baby, three months old boy,
Named after the paternal grandfather wakes up,
Starts crying and croaning for attention, suckling,
She shelves milking aside, and rushes to pick the baby up
Not because of anything but lest its crying may disturb her husband
From sweet morning sleep, it is so bad and punishable.
She picks back the baby, using a shawl as a cot,
Then comes back to the milking shed, to resume her work,
Only to come to a surprise; the calf un-knoosed itself
And has suckled its mother’s udder dry, foam frothing
At the mandibles; she picks two litres of milk to her house
To the kitchen, starts cooking for her husband, two calabashes
Of tea, over spiced with milk and Kericho tea leaves,
As the husband is called to a treat of mellifluous tea,
She jumps at washing her husband’s clothes;
Unmarried brother-in-law passes by, and runs back to his cottage,
Scoops and brings his grimed Jeans Levis Straus trouser,
Also to be washed by his in-law, as the woman belongs
To the clan, to the entire community but not singly to the man
Or the husband who married her, she washes it minus qualm,
Lunch hour knocks, she rushes to the kitchen and cooks,
For the children are about to come from school, they must eat
Eat on time, if not declare this woman a public disgrace
Who can not cook for the community, forget of the children,
Evening comes; she cooks again, her baby still on the back,
The husband complains of the food being not delicious,
Salt was not enough, she did not put in pepper; a stupid woman!
She accepts her mistake and apologizes effusively, or else fire!
She goes to mend the bed for the husband to rest, plus the baby,
She goes out behind the hut to take a bath,
The husband has not yet constructed a bathroom,
For fear that evil neighbours can plant there voodoo
It can **** the husband to forego his wives and cows,
She comes back to her bedroom, when drying herself up,
The husband goes up in libido; he forcefully shoves her to the bed
As the giggles desperately, he jumps on her bust, minus foreplay,
No single kissing, pinching, nor fondling of the breast or even kissing her
On the stunted *******, he penetrates her mechanically, like a block of stone
He introduces himself deep and deeper into her,
Then he releases warm ***** into her, before even she is aroused
He falls asleep like a log of wood, leaving her wide awake on a flame
Flaming ****** desire, burning and torturing her like an abyss.
This rhythm repeats like a circa, on a pattern of regular basis,
She endured and finishes one year without getting pregnant,
The husband gets self-suspicious and irritated, very irked,
As per why the woman on whom his cows were wasted is not receiving
His very powerful seeds, to become pregnant, to carry his son,
He beats her up, ruthless flogging and kicking, kicking her buttocks,
Insulting and lambasting in heavyweight measure, down to ash pit
She apologizes and promises to be pregnant in a fortnight,
To which the man accedes; but…but…but let it be
That you miss to be pregnant, I will chase you away,
I will repossess my cows, I squandered on you
In payment of your pride price; dowry
To marry a reproductively better wife.
(translated into Germany as below)

FRAU OHNE FREIHEIT FUR GEWISSEN

Sie ist erst vor heiraten
Zu ein Holunder im Dorf,
Gerade noch im Alter von vierzehn
Aber danach sie klitoris,
Auf traditionell rituell von Maasai
Wiel afrikanisch mann streng
Heiraten Jungfrau wer  er bescheiden,
Sie begin ihr tag am morgen
Mit verkehr bei tagesanbruch,
Dann sie sprung vor der Bett,
Und direct sie gehen fur besen,
Sie haben ein kinder auf ihr Ruckeseite,
Dann sie gehen draussen au kuhstall
Sie begin melekn die kuh ahnlich der fabric
Dann sie gehen au kuche
Zu Koch Tee fur ihr mann
Wer ist schlafend im der haus
Danach ihr mann haben tee trinken,
Sie gehen draussen fur next kempf
Sie begin wasche kleider
Von ihr mann und die schwiegereitern,
Weil afikanisch frau gehoren zu gemeinschaft
Aber nicht zu individuell mann.
Sie wasche der kleider ohne bendenken,
Dann mittagszeit klopftes
Sie gehen au der kuche zu Koch
Dann ihr mann essen ahnlich schwein,
Abend kommen fur ihr ein pause machen,
Die kinder still auf ihr Ruckseite
Sie jetzt hinstzen die kinder auf Bett,
Wo ihr mann ist still schlafend,
Wann sie beginn ausiehen sich
Ihr  mann auf Bett gehen Libido
Er stossen sie auf der Bett,
Und sprungen auf ihr Buste
Ohne kussen , er eindringen  ihr,
Tief und tief er eindringen ihr
Ahnlich ein klotz von Holz.
Ihr liebe ist ahnlich diese zeiteleute,
Fur diese frau wer haben nicht
Freiheit fur gewissen sosehr sie kempf.

*****Vergnugen******
Went for a cruise on the maiden ship Titanic,

A wonderful ship everyone said would be epic

I was not scared because it was unsinkable

To be in fear would for me be unthinkable

Wanted to sail far away to another land

Where my life, I think could be quite grand

Unpacking my suitcase in a luxurious liner

This is the one yacht that could not be finer.  

Passengers enjoyed dinner, dancing, and other entertainments.

All the days of the trip they would enjoy the embellishments

I heard that people like Astor, Guggenheim Straus, Thayer and Gordon

Would be on this ship including Stead, Fulrelle, Gibson and Morgan

On April 14, 1912 I was that evening returning to my room

Walking down the corridor I heard a deafening boom

Went to find an RMS crew member

When I was told on deck to assemble

He handed me a life jacket just in case

And to get in the lifeboat because there was space

Passengers were lowered down by the crew

The first little boat had just a few

A man started quickly paddling our tiny boat

Once far away he stopped and we would just float

Everyone watched as we heard screaming, crying and yelling

Amongst the chaos we heard music and saw the flares flying

  In the early hours of April 15, the ship’s lights flickered out and then went straight up vertical

We all heard the moans of the iron and watched it break in half and it sank uncontrollable

From quite a distance I saw an ocean of people

Out in the middle of the sea, no one felt hopeful

Soon there was no sound

As we all looked around

Shivering crying and wondering

If we are going to live or die pondering






Copyright 2013

All Rights Reserved
Maggie Emmett Sep 2016
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

From The Complete Poems 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop, published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc. Copyright © 1979, 1983 by Alice Helen Methfessel.
I find this poem so wonderful despite never having mastered its art!
Mark W Meehan Jan 2017
My Old Flame

My old flame, my wife!
Remember our lists of birds?
One morning last summer, I drove
by our house in Maine. It was still
on top of its hill -

Now a red ear of Indian maize
was splashed on the door.
Old Glory with thirteen stripes 
hung on a pole. The clapboard
was old-red schoolhouse red.

Inside, a new landlord,
a new wife, a new broom!
Atlantic seaboard antique shop
pewter and plunder
shone in each room.

A new frontier!
No running next door
now to phone the sheriff
for his taxi to Bath
and the State Liquor Store!

No one saw your ghostly 
imaginary lover
stare through the window
and tighten
the scarf at his throat.

Health to the new people,
health to their flag, to their old
restored house on the hill!
Everything had been swept bare,
furnished, garnished and aired.

Everything's changed for the best -
how quivering and fierce we were,
there snowbound together,
simmering like wasps
in our tent of books!

Poor ghost, old love, speak
with your old voice
of flaming insight
that kept us awake all night.
In one bed and apart,

we heard the plow
groaning up hill -
a red light, then a blue,
as it tossed off the snow
to the side of the road. 

Lowell Robert (1964). “My Old Flame” (p. 5). For the Union Dead. Farrar, Straus & Giroux, NY.
Have you every "discovered" a poet and wondered how you had lived so long without them? That's been my experience with Robert Lowell.
Steven Bowman Aug 2018
It was the nightfall of summer,
A man wanted to buy a house.
Just he knew it is a real comer,
Puts it in his own name Straus.

Mr. Straus wanted it to be quick,
He wrote down the rent pricing.
Hope its low, or he won’t buy it,
I want it low, it’s all to my liking.

He needs this to become his own,
What do I need for an experience?
Just I wanted to call this my home,
For a house, needing a cleanliness.

He’s happy to buy his first house,
Just couldn’t wait to check inside.
He lives far away from his spouse,
Living here so if he needs to hide.
The Titanic
A ship unsinkable
The aftermath unthinkable
A ship with all the avion’ and majesty
The voyage from Southampton in British waters
There was a couple, IDA AND ISIDOR STRAUS of particular interest
They were connected to MACY’S DEPARTMENT STORE as CO-OWNERS
Their love was always united in sophistication and splendor
Devastation would take a certain turn
The Titanic just hit an iceberg and was now being to sink
The Ship’s Captain and his mates ordered the woman and children into the lifeboats
IDA STRAUS refused to depart from her husband, ISIDOR
She quoted these words, “I will not be separated from my Husband as we have lived so shall we die together”
As the Titanic sank ever so close to the bottom of the seas, they were on deck together holding arm in arm being forever love will always live on in the Heavenly skies
Love being the lookout and uplifted
The many passengers that departed with the wounds taken with them with life extended into a new life
A Solomon quote, “Many waters cannot quench love, but neither can the floods drown it”
Titanic mission fulfilled but not complete.
The kids are screaming from the rooftops,
pop's going around the bend,
mum's in the kitchen with sherry
who appears to be an old family friend.

two brothers are sat playing Ludo
two others watch but haven't a clue
though
the game seems simple enough,
sister's looking older, dressed up as the
chocolate soldier,

to me,
it all looks a bit, Straus,

my childhood in our house.

— The End —