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Stumps and lumps

Testosterone is why men ogle women.
Take it away and men are stumps.
Oestragene is why women attract men.
Take it away and women are lumps.
01.04.2010

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Women Are Fuel To Men.

Some I ogle, some I devour with eyes,
Some I notice, some I voyeur,
Some I acquaint with, some I befriend,
And some I succeed to flirt with,
Beyond which there is no progress.
Yet, women are fuel I burn for energy.

09.09.2005

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To an astronomer

Upon the Professor we'll waste not a glance,
Since he has no eyes for us poor terrestrials;
With his heart can we have any possible chance,
When he gives us for rivals a host of celestials?
What cares he for eyes, whether hazel or blue,
Or for any slight charms such as we share between us, --
When, his glass in his hand, he can sit the night through,
And ogle at leisure Diana and Venus.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Snared

I watched your coy brown eyes ogle...
They lingered at the bar-
A Lady dressed to high heaven-
Was flashing her blue eyes like stars;

You were totally taken in...
As if in some sort of trance-
She had you at your first glance-
Born: 'A cakewalk to romance';

Her long legs were so inviting...
Her smile ravished your mind...
A tall drink of Scotch dressed in red-
Roped you in with ties that forever bind;

poem by Theodora Onken
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Without the face, no grace

The dimple in her elbow,
More hollowed by her flesh
Bulging on her upper arms,

The muscles on her hip,
Crippled by tight blouse,
To pinnate down below,

And the sturdy nape,
Under her thick plait of mane
Falling like the trunk of an elephant,

She showed her back
And tormented me to rush
Forward to ogle her face.

Her face was out of grace,
Those parts lost their base.
Without a face, there’s no grace.
21.10.2000

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sir Walter (Revised)

0 woman, in man's hour of ease
And plenty, how you strive to please!
To win his heart - and purse - you try
With ogle, whisper, smile, and sigh.

But when he's short of cash, you find,
You change your tactics and your mind;
And from a fellow lacking 'oof'
You deem it well to hold aloof -

Tip-tilt your nose and curve your lip,
And let the impecunious R.I.P.,
To find some other, wealthier, new man:
All this you do because - you're Woman.

poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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Larry O’Toole

You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,
Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole;
He had but one eye,
To ogle ye by—
Oh, murther, but that was a jew'l!
A fool
He made of de girls, dis O'Toole.

'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,
That tuck down pataties and mail;
He never would shrink
From any sthrong dthrink,
Was it whisky or Drogheda ale;
I'm bail
This Larry would swallow a pail.

Oh, many a night at the bowl,
With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl;
He's gone to his rest,
Where's there's dthrink of the best,

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Windows

TIME-STONE

Hallo, Metropolitan—
Ubiquitous windows staring all ways,
Red eye notching the darkness.
No use to ogle that slip of a moon.
This midnight the moon,
Playing virgin after all her encounters,
Will break another date with you.
You fuss an awful lot,
You flight of ledger books,
Overrun with multiple ant-black figures
Dancing on spindle legs
An interminable can-can.
But I'd rather… like the cats in the alley… count time
By the silver whistle of a moonbeam
Falling between my stoop-shouldered walls,
Than all your tally of the sunsets,
Metropolitan, ticking among stars.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Southwold Sunset

Sizewell`s exploded, you said
as the dying sun
grows immense in your eyes,
and gulls collide
in the bloodshot sky.

We chance our arm and walk
harbour jetties with their
treacherous-green patina,
to ogle yachts

as rigging blocks gently toll,
and masts like giant batons conduct
the three beat measure
of an incoming tide.

Autumn can still taste summer,
so we go al fresco
at the Harbour Inn,

[...] Read more

poem by Bob Dellar
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A Fragment

Nay, deem me not insensible, Cesario,
To female charms; nor think this heart of mine
Is cas'd in adamant; because, forsooth,
I cannot ogle, and hyperbolize,
And whisper tender nothings in the ear
Of ev'ry would-be beauty, holding out
The bright but treacherous flame of flattery,
To watch the she-moths of a drawing room
Sport round the beam, and burn their pretty wings,
Ere conscious of their danger: yet, believe me,
I love a maid whose untranscended form
Is yet less lovely than her spotless mind.
With modest frankness, unaffected genius,
Unchang'd good humour, beauty void of art,
And polish'd wit that seeks not to offend,
And winning smiles that seek not to betray,
She charms the sight, and fascinates the soul.
Where dwells this matchless nymph? alas, Cesario,
'Tis but a sickly creature of my fancy,
Unparallel'd in nature.

poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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