Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Louise Labe : Sonnet VIII - I Live, I Die

Sonnet VIII - I Live, I Die

I live, I die, I burn with fire, I drown.
It matters very little what I feel;
All life is now too real, now too surreal;
Joy comes and endless boredom weighs me down,

And suddenly I laugh and then I cry;
With grief and bliss I’m weeping for the past;
Good feelings go away and yet they last,
And suddenly I bleed and then I sigh.

That’s how it goes. Strange, ever changing love
Has worn me out.  I wish I were removed
From such a star-crossed fate!  I need a truce

With Lady Luck.  Again and yet again,
Her wheel is spinning madly to produce
This wanton, wild, intense, exquisite pain.

tell us of pain : by Kahlil Gibran

by Kahlil Gibran

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though havy and hard is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

The Turkey Shot Out of the Oven

Writer: Jack Prelutsky

The turkey shot out of the oven
and rocketed into the air,
it knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.

It ricocheted into a corner
and burst with deafening boom,
then splattered all over the kitchen,
completely obscuring the room.

It stuck to the walls and the windows,
it totally coated the floor,
there was turkey attached to the ceiling,
where there'd never been turkey before.

It blanketed every appliance,
it smeared every saucer and bowl,
there wasn't a way I could stop it,
that turkey was out of control.

I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
and thought with chagrin as I mopped,
that I'd never again stuff a turkey
with popcorn that hadn't been popped.

Beauty - Charles Baudelair

I am as lovely as a dream in stone; My breast on which each finds his death in turn Inspires the poet with a love as lone As everlasting clay, and as taciturn. Swan-white of heart, as sphinx no mortal knows, My throne is in the heaven's azure deep; I hate all movement that disturbs my pose; I smile not ever, neither do I weep. Before my monumental attitudes, Taken from the proudest plastic arts, My poets pray in austere studious moods, For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts, Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies, The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes. Charles Baudelaire Special thanks  too lula for telling my about this great poet. idk how i missed him!

Traffic love poem : Me

So I'm changing lanes and there you are, my mind transcends into a plane of existence filled with butterfly kisses,and sweet nothings a few I love yous and tons of cuddling, then the light changes and reality returns back to nothing..

Tags: love

One By One by ChrisChaos

Writer: Christopher Chaos


One by one the fire ants begun, marching to the beat, of a nuclear drum, for a new clear purpose, to fear or not to fear, only one things certain, their all here to hurt us. Turn dust into dollars then hollar loud for a check, sign on the dotted line, then regret the next ten spent, be upset with the man, cause he is the reason ur stranded in the back of a caravan, brokin down in tan camies panicin, feeling like a maniquin, to scared to stand again, cause the last man with arogance, aparently won't have hair again, but god love it, we love americans, we love guns, and we love terrorist. We love being number one, cause then there is no one too compare us with,

Tags: passion