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I paint things as they are. I don't comment.

quote by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
Added by Lucian Velea
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

[...] Read more

poem by Praveen Kumar
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One Little Comment

One little comment can really change your life;
It can make you feel good or cut you like a knife.
As a result, you may now want to try something new,
Or with an aspect of life, you may now be through.
You mull the comment over and take it to heart;
The speaker of the comment, unaware they’ve played a part.

The chances are that, of the comment, the speaker has forgotten,
But you are now left feeling really encouraged or really rotten.
Some comments are just throw-a-ways,
But they can easily make or break your day.
Some comments stick forever in your mind,
Whether they’re really hurtful or really kind.

Many years later, a comment you may still be able to quote;
It could be one which made you sink or one which made you float.
You will probably still be able to recall it word for word,
And even imitate the tone in which the comment was first heard.
As the result of a comment, you may feel better or worse,
And the speaker of the comment, you’ll either love or curse.

A comment can make you give up or give you the will to succeed;
Off one little comment, our further thoughts will often feed.
They can change the way that you see yourself,
And even have a good or bad effect on your health.
A bad comment can leave us feeling rather unsure,
Whereas a good comment, can leave us wanting more.

Just one comment, which may last only a few fleeting seconds,
May result in a whole new life, which suddenly now beckons.
You may leave your old life far behind,
Or a whole new life, you may now find.
So just take a moment and think before you speak;
Of the joy you may bring or the havoc you may wreak.

poem by Angela Wybrow
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Paint Me Down

Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down

song performed by Spandau Ballet
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sign-Board

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother's pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile,
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses to chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard-
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathsome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling's side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Labeled with one word-'lost,'
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Signboard

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother’s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses a chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him –
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard –
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathesome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling’s side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin
Labelled with one word – ‘Lost’
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know
But I’ll paint you a sign, rumseller,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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La Noix

Allez, allez
Comment ca va, comment ca va ?
Et vous, et vous ?
Au dbut de la saison elle est toujours de bonne humeur
Le monsieur est pauvre
Et si la lune tombe
Il va la chasse, sans classe, en face
Dans la rue
Les femmes attendent
Elles rient de lui
Parce qu'il leur offre une noix
Cette saison
Les femmes attendent
Elles rient de lui
Parce qu'il leur offre une noix
Allez, allez
Comment ca va, comment ca va ?
Et vous, et vous ?
Aprs cette aventure il va dans un bar
Triste, parce qu'il a encore une noix
Il espre le miracle
Ce soir il prend sa guitare
Il chante
Dans la rue
Les femmes attendent
Elles rient de lui
Parce qu'il leur offre une noix
Cette saison
Les femmes attendent
Elles rient de lui
Parce qu'il leur offre une noix
Allez, allez
Comment ca va, comment ca va ?
Et vous, et vous ? (2x)
Comment ca va

song performed by Guano Apes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fra Lippo Lippi

I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk!
What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds,
And here you catch me at an alley's end
Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar?
The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up,
Do—harry out, if you must show your zeal,
Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole,
And nip each softling of a wee white mouse,
Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company!
Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take
Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat,
And please to know me likewise. Who am I?
Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend
Three streets off—he's a certain...how d'ye call?
Master—a...Cosimo of the Medici,
I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best!
Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged,
How you affected such a gullet's gripe!
But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves
Pick up a manner nor discredit you:
Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets
And count fair prize what comes into this net?
He's Judas to a tittle, that man is!
Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends.
Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go
Drink out this quarter-florin to the health
Of the munificent House that harbors me
(And many more beside, lads! more beside!)
And all's come square again. I'd like his face—
His, elbowing on his comrade in the door
With the pike and lantern—for the slave that holds
John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair
With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say)
And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped!
It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk,
A wood-coal or the like? or you should see!
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so.
What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down,
You know them and they take you? like enough!
I saw the proper twinkle in your eye—
'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first.
Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch.
Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands
To roam the town and sing out carnival,
And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,
A-painting for the great man, saints and saints
And saints again. I could not paint all night—
Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Last Instructions to a Painter

After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth--
Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth--
His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.

Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Marvell
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Spots On A Paint Rag

Spots on a paint rag trying to figure out
if they're part of a larger picture.
Daubs and smudges and smears of black and red.
Topographies of dry thick ridges of blue acrylic,
peach-coloured mesas bruised
by the encroaching violets of dusk in a painted desert.
Are these the wanna-be windows of life
who failed to achieve a whole and harmonious view
of what they're doing here swiping off knives
thick with the gore of cadmium red,
cleaning off brushes that get to go out
on the field to caress and poke
stars and trees into being? Waterboys, not players.

I say the word, life, and I feel tonight like
the heaviness of a bell that's supplanted my heart.
The right root, but the wrong blossom.
Even though I'd melt that bell
back down into raucous cannon
to defend the concept to my very last breath.
But tonight I'm tunnelling under the foundations
of the cornerstones of life to bring
the walls down on top of my head,
like an avalanche of prophetic skulls
to just get a peek inside the grand paradigm,
the white light of the gessoed underpainting.
The secret garden with low-hanging fruit
on easy street with the sacred whores of Babylon.

An existential sadness, deep as a death-wound,
as if I'd just been stabbed in the heart
by the hands of a clock that mistook me for an intruder,
undermines me from below, a pyramid built on quicksand.
As if all those who had drowned in life
like fish up over their gills in water
were swimming in the watershed of every tear
that almost makes it up over the top of the dam
I try to throw up like a manly front to what
I know I won't be able to hold back for long.

And there go the villages in the flooded valley
I tried to live among like a neighbourly mountain
come to Muhammad on the way up and down.
It's cold and lonely and the air is thin
at the peaks of experience, with only
a star and a cloud for company.
The hard diamond in the rough I used to be
has grown mushy over the years. Tears.
Imagine that. Warm, salt seas with undulant tides
of emotion coursing in and out,

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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I Want To Paint

I

I want to paint
2000 dead birds crucified on a background of night
Thoughts that lie too deep for tears
Thoughts that lie too deep for queers
Thoughts that move at 186,000 miles/second
The Entry of Christ into Liverpool in 1966
The installation of Roger McGough in the Chair of Poetry at Oxford
Francis Bacon making the President's Speech at the Royal Academy dinner

I want to paint
50 life-sized nudes of Marianne Faithfull
(all of them painted from life)
Welsh Maids by Welsh Waterfalls
Heather Holden as Our Lady of Haslingden
A painting as big as Piccadilly full of neon signs and buses
Christmas decorations and beautiful girls with dark blonde hair shading their faces

I want to paint
The assassination of the entire Royal Family
Enormous pictures of every pavingstone in Canning Street
The Beatles composing a new national anthem
Brian Patten writing poems with a flamethrower on disused ferry boats
A new cathedral 50 miles high made entirely of pram wheels
An empty Woodbine packet covered in kisses
I want to paint
A picture made from the tears of dirty-faced children in Chatham Street

I want to paint
I LOVE YOU across the steps of St. George's hall
I want to paint

Pictures
II

I want to paint
The Simultaneous and Historical Faces of Death
10,000 shocking pink hearts with your name on
The phantom negro postmen who bring me money in my dreams
The first plastic daffodil of spring pushing its way
Through the OMO packets in the supermarket
The portrait of every sixth-form schoolgirl in the country
A full-scale map of the world with YOU at the centre
An enormous lily-of-the-valley with every flower on a separate canvas

Life-sized jelly babies shaped like Hayley Mills
A black-and-red flag flying over Parliament
I want to paint
Every car crash on all the motorways of England

[...] Read more

poem by Adrian Henri
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Paint Dimensionality Soul In Oils

if I painted pictures
I would draw you in charcoal
wash away drama tears in watercolours
paint dimensionality of durability soul in oils
span a universe of senses touch emotions thoughts

if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes

but I travel eons far
load canvasses are too heavy
I walk journey through many phase worlds
seasons landscapes in many climates beckon bled feet
I paint mind songs in words life haunting edges spaces

swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Purple And Silver

frozen evenings
on me, they camp greetings
intruding me to the dark feelings
demolishing any happy traces
that i once discovered
teardropp cases, these faces
never seem to get em' outta my head
paint in purple, paint it silver

track a train
to the valley of midnight pain
which i once suffered
i still suffer
when we look back to the spring shower
they left us, leaving poison flowers
i extracted the pulp
she wrapped the words
we made a bomb
mark our words
paint them purple, paint them silver

bang bang now check this out
heavy storm outside
reminds me of one inside
tornado of tears
volcano of fears
but they had to hit
and hit they did
birth of a kid
off color white
put up a fight
listening to 9 crimes
i've been given too much time
he did his part
i broke mine fast
paint it silver
msg delivered
paint it purple
i start to crumble

over the top
the boat beneath the blue whale
river of lost got a new sail
they met the pain at the oceans date
cross the fence in senses
sit at the last bench
bury the drench

[...] Read more

poem by Talal Athar
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Commenting (Please Read)

This poem is dedicated to a very dear friend in Canada.
Melvina Germain.
The first person who left a heart prints on my work almost a year and a half ago. Mel, a million thanks from me.
Love and Hugs.
David xxxx

Some people read your work
and then pass on their way,
never leaving a comment
whether they liked it or not.
For any writer good or bad,
unless someone makes a comment on your work,
you feel left out in the cold.

For those who think that comments do not help,
let me tell you what comments have done for me.
For six or seven years I had given up writing,
I swore I would never lift my pen again.
Then in January 2007,
I posted a few old poems on a poetry site.
I was confused and lost at the time.
Never though for one moment
anyone would want to read my humble work.
I was wrong.
Through the comments I received,
I started writing again.

Since the 19th January 2007 to today the 14th June 2008
I have written 1132 poems, a 80,000 word novel,
collaborated on over 20 poems
with two young ladies half a world away from me
and published my first book of poetry.
For under a year and a half
that is not a bad record
and it happened through the encouragement in comments.

So the next time you read someone work
and there is a space for a comment,
leave one please.
Those little heart prints can change someone’s life
and encourage them on to do better things.
Your comment does not have to be lengthy,
just a word or two will do.
Remember it is good to help someone
and by leaving a comment,
that is just what you will do.
I always leave a comment on everything I read
knowing how others comments have helped me.

14 June 2008

poem by David Harris
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Paint body art beautiful

her majesty the hand
with nail graffiti polish
pain in henna red
paint in henna black
paint paint my heart

paint body art faithful
faithful to the strokes
paint in strokes divine
paint in strokes of red
paint in strokes of black
paint paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Sam Loves Joann

(tia sillers/john tirro)
Joann was is an awkward position
Very unmarried and starting to show
Joann had wanted to be a beautician
She thought it looked like a good time to go
Got on a greyhound to ride up to macon
No one is new brunswick would quite understand
She wouldnt look at the side of the highway
Where written in spray paint said sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Sams on his way to the state penitentiary
He doesnt know hes a father to be
Sam only wanted to borrow a chevy
But the state locked him up and they threw out the key
Sam hoped to take her away to get married
But he never asked her, so much for big plans
Now the prison bus takes him on down that same highway
Where written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Funny how things from the heat of the moment
Like making a baby or getting tattooed
Last a lot longer than ever expected
Feelings might fade but the facts never do
Its all the same in the small towns and big towns
The names might change but across this great land
Just take a ride along any old highway
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Joann, joann, how could you leave your man
Im yours forever in big old blue letters
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann
Its written in spray paint sam loves joann

song performed by Tiffany
Added by Lucian Velea
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As The Master Suggests

Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.

And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.

Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?
Then joke...
Sitting from a chair,
Known to be the master's favorite seat.
Overlooking the cleanup.
And sharing jokes with similar minds...
About eating fried chicken,
Watermelon.
And who commits all the crime!
Producing babies 'they' can't feed.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
Me!

Wasn't it just yesterday,
It was said...
He was too incompetent to lead.
And today they hope he succeeds,
To keep them protected...
From experiencing total economic devastation.

And yes,
The situation is a mess.
But guess who's gotta clean up...
After they have treated themselves,
Less than guests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda,
As the master suggests?

And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
Guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.
And guess who's left to paint the veranda?
As the master suggests.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Please Read And Comment On My Work, Thank You.

.please read and comment on my work, thank you.please read and comment on my work, thank you.please read and comment on my work, thank you.please read and comment on my work, thank you.please read and comment on my work, thank you.

poem by Dylan KD.
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Paint The World

It's like a chain reaction
Misunderstanding every word
It's like a train to nowhere
And everyone gets hurt
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
We never go the distance
We just [..] in the dirt
And I could say I'm sorry
But I want you to say it first
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything is stained
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Well I could learn to fake it
And you could learn to bruise
And maybe we can make it
But then it's easier to lose
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything's in pain
This is so stupid
Maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to feel it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye

song performed by Heather Nova
Added by Lucian Velea
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Woman Is The Nigger Of The World

Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is, think about it.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Think about it, do something about it.
We make her paint her face and dance,
If she wont be a slave and say that she dont love us.
If shes real, we say shes tryin to be a man,
While puttin her down we pretend that shes above us.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave of the slaves,
Oh yeah, better scream about it, yeah!
We make her bear and raise our children,
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen.
We tell her home is the only place she should be,
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend.
Oh, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Oh, woman is the slave to the slave,
Yeah, all right.
Hit it!
We insult her evry day on tv,
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence.
When shes young, we kill her will to be free,
While tellin her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb.
Oh well, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave to the slaves,
Yes, she is,
If you believe, wed better scream about it!
Uh, uh, uh, hey, hey.
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Woman Is The Nigger Of The World

Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is, think about it.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Think about it, do something about it.
We make her paint her face and dance,
If she wont be a slave and say that she dont love us.
If shes real, we say shes tryin to be a man,
While puttin her down we pretend that shes above us.
Woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave of the slaves,
Oh yeah, better scream about it, yeah!
We make her bear and raise our children,
And then we leave her flat for being a fat old mother hen.
We tell her home is the only place she should be,
Then we complain that shes too unworldly to be our friend.
Oh, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Oh, woman is the slave to the slave,
Yeah, all right.
Hit it!
We insult her evry day on tv,
And wonder why she has no guts or confidence.
When shes young, we kill her will to be free,
While tellin her not to be so smart we put her down for being so dumb.
Oh well, woman is the nigger of the world,
Yes, she is,
If you dont believe me, take a look at the one youre with.
Woman is the slave to the slaves,
Yes, she is,
If you believe, wed better scream about it!
Uh, uh, uh, hey, hey.
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance,
We make her paint her face and dance.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!