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  #21  
Old 19.06.2008, 08:54
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/author.../christen.html

Sorry, i'm a bit typing challanged! but this is my favorite aussie poem
Cheers
Ps. if a mod can do better than that rather than the link, please do.
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  #22  
Old 19.06.2008, 09:31
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

This one works for me. I can't be doin with a poem that rambles on about love and wimin, or ones that must be read with that "poem voice".
@ Argus, great signature!
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"Fleas" by Ogden Nash gets my vote.

Fleas

Adam
Had'em
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  #23  
Old 19.06.2008, 09:52
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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Ok a couple more...
Eurolove

I cannot
and I will not
No, I cannot love you less
.....

Spike Milligan
Spike Milligan? *the* Spike Milligan? wow thats an eye opener

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My second favourite would be Roger Mcgough's " At Lunchtime - A story of Love"
....
Oh well if we're doing Roger McGough

The Lesson

Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the havocwreakers ignored him
his voice was lost in the din

“The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I’m going to teach you a lesson
one that you’ll never forget”

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
“First come, first severed” he declared
“fingers, feet or toes”

He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug’s pulled out

“Please may I leave the room sir?”
a trembling vandal enquired
“Of course you may” said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
“Now let that be a lesson” he said
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  #24  
Old 19.06.2008, 11:59
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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Spike Milligan? *the* Spike Milligan? wow thats an eye opener
Yes, Spike, the all round genius!



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Oh well if we're doing Roger McGough
I know.. sorry... I had just come home on the tram and was ruminating on the dour faces all staring at papers or out of the window so as not to be noticed and that is why the poem popped into my head...

I think your choice contribution was every teachers dream!
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  #25  
Old 12.07.2008, 14:30
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

From The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran

About the Children


And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of to-morrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You can strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are bows from which your childrean as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends
you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the
bow that is stable.
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  #26  
Old 14.07.2008, 14:39
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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From The Prophet - Kahlil Gibran
I love Kahlil Gibran poems. I also like Rainer Maria Rilke poems. I would paste one here, but they are in german.
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  #27  
Old 14.07.2008, 14:45
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Every dawn of our lives a heart is forged and
Linked with lore to one so similar
Born with blessed life dust
Stored beneath its soul
To bless and pass onto its children
Even though the wind may blow it all away
Don't ever worry 'cos I'm your friend.




beautiful eh ???

who'd guess that this is out of the quill of my beloved Bopping Elf
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  #28  
Old 14.07.2008, 14:52
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Mother the Wardrobe is Full of Infantrymen by Roger McGough

mother the wardrobe is full of infantrymen
i did i asked them
but they snarled saying it was a mans life

mother there is a centurian tank in the parlour
i did i asked the officer
but he laughed saying 'Queens regulations'
(piano was out of tune anyway)

mother polish your identity bracelet
there is a mushroom cloud in the backgarden
i did i tried to bring in the cat
but it simply came to pieces in my hand
i did i tried to whitewash the windows
but there weren't any
i did i tried to hide under the stairs
but i couldn't get in for the civil defence leaders
i did i tried ringing candid camera
but they crossed their hearts

i went for a policeman but they were looting the town
i went out for a fire engine but they were all upside down
i went for a priest but they were all on their knees
mother don't just lie there say something please
mother don't just lie there say something please

-------------------o0o-------------------


Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Munro

Nymph,nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?

Give them me.
No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water,
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I desire them so.
Give them me. Give them.

No.
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  #29  
Old 14.07.2008, 14:54
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Another one by Ogden Nash

I think that I shall never see
a billboard as lovely as a tree.
Indeed, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.
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  #30  
Old 14.07.2008, 19:15
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Two that I like

Code Poem by Leo Marks

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.

First Fig by Endna St Vincent Millay

MY candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends–
It gives a lovely light!
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  #31  
Old 15.07.2008, 00:36
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

I just finished reading Maya Angelou`s book, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which was excellent. Here is my favorite poem by her and probably one of my all-time favorites.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou
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  #32  
Old 15.07.2008, 10:16
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

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I love Kahlil Gibran poems. I also like Rainer Maria Rilke poems. I would paste one here, but they are in german.
Yes, aren't they beautiful (Kahlil Gibran's poems)? Even if they are in German, it would be nice if you posted a R.M.R. poem. Am sure there are enough people out there who would understand them in German.
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  #33  
Old 15.07.2008, 17:49
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

When serpents bargain

when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage -
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age


when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
- and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close


when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn - valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude - and march
denounces april as a saboteur



then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind (and not until)


ee cummings

When we two parted...
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
colder they kiss,
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
~Lord Byron~
These are two of my favourites but am also very partial to a little Matthew Arnolds, Tennyson and Shelley.
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  #34  
Old 18.07.2008, 15:11
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

It's hard to choose just one or two that I like, a couple of favourites would be Edward Thomas and John Donne. Thomas' "Adlestrop" "Lob" and "The Other" are all very good:

Adlestrop

Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Edward Thomas

Great thread idea!
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  #35  
Old 07.08.2008, 12:16
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

The vicars daughter, she was there, she had us all in fits,
by sliding down the banisters, and bouncing on her elbows.

I also quite like The Sex Pistols version of "Friggin in the Riggin"

and anything from Mani Matter too.
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  #36  
Old 07.08.2008, 12:21
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

and on a more serious note, anything by Rabbie Burns of course, but my favourite, The Travellers

'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest's ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
'Is there anybody there?' he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:-
'Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,' he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
-- Walter De La Mare
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  #37  
Old 07.08.2008, 12:27
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Oh, and John Cooper Clarke, "Evidently Chicken Town" http://www.cyberspike.com/clarke/chicktow.html, and "****" http://www.cyberspike.com/clarke/****.html are rather good.
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  #38  
Old 09.08.2008, 00:51
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Looking out, through the darkness
Far beyond the misty way
A time appears, no hopes, just shadows
leaving it a murkey grey
No hopes, no dreams,
No creation to make
No love, no hate,
No feelings
Its the voice of the past behind us
Slowly our memories are fading
Reach out and hold them with your tightest grip
Dont let them slip away
Our memories are the things that guide us
And keep us going day by day
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  #39  
Old 22.08.2008, 16:29
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Apologies for the length of this one, another entry from Edward Thomas - Georgian and War Poet, part of set texts I had to study at school, many moons ago. I rather like this poem, the quintessential englishness of it touches the parts other poems can't reach.

Hope you like it:

Lob


AT hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling
In search of something chance would never bring,
An old man's face, by life and weather cut
And coloured,--rough, brown, sweet as any nut,--
A land face, sea-blue-eyed,--hung in my mind
When I had left him many a mile behind.
All he said was: "Nobody can't stop 'ee. It's
A footpath, right enough. You see those bits
Of mounds--that's where they opened up the barrows
Sixty years since, while I was scaring sparrows.
They thought as there was something to find there,
But couldn't find it, by digging, anywhere."

To turn back then and seek him, where was the use?
There were three Manningfords,--Abbots, Bohun, and
Bruce:
And whether Alton, not Manningford, it was,
My memory could not decide, because
There was both Alton Barnes and Alton Priors.
All had their churches, graveyards, farms, and byres,
Lurking to one side up the paths and lanes,
Seldom well seen except by aeroplanes;
And when bells rang, or pigs squealed, or cocks crowed,
Then only heard. Ages ago the road
Approached. The people stood and looked and turned,
Nor asked it to come nearer, nor yet learned
To move out there and dwell in all men's dust.
And yet withal they shot the weathercock, just
Because 'twas he crowed out of tune, they said:
So now the copper weathercock is dead.
If they had reaped their dandelions and sold
Them fairly, they could have afforded gold.

Many years passed, and I went back again
Among those villages, and looked for men
Who might have known my ancient. He himself
Had long been dead or laid upon the shelf,
I thought. One man I asked about him roared
At my description: "'Tis old Bottlesford
He means, Bill." But another said: "Of course,
It was Jack Button up at the White Horse.
He's dead, sir, these three years." This lasted till
A girl proposed Walker of Walker's Hill,
"Old Adam Walker. Adam's Point you'll see
Marked on the maps."

"That was her roguery,"
The next man said. He was a squire's son
Who loved wild bird and beast, and dog and gun
For killing them. He had loved them from his birth,
One with another, as he loved the earth.
"The man may be like Button, or Walker, or
Like Bottlesford, that you want, but far more
He sounds like one I saw when I was a child.
I could almost swear to him. The man was wild
And wandered. His home was where he was free.
Everybody has met one such man as he.
Does he keep clear old paths that no one uses
But once a life-time when he loves or muses?
He is English as this gate, these flowers, this mire.
And when at eight years old Lob-lie-by-the-fire
Came in my books, this was the man I saw.
He has been in England as long as dove and daw,
Calling the wild cherry tree the merry tree,
The rose campion Bridget-in-her-bravery;
And in a tender mood he, as I guess,
Christened one flower Love-in-idleness,
And while he walked from Exeter to Leeds
One April called all cuckoo-flowers Milkmaids.
From him old herbal Gerard learnt, as a boy,
To name wild clematis the Traveller's-joy.
Our blackbirds sang no English till his ear
Told him they called his Jan Toy 'Pretty dear.'
(She was Jan Toy the Lucky, who, having lost
A shilling, and found a penny loaf, rejoiced.)
For reasons of his own to him the wren
Is Jenny Pooter. Before all other men
'Twas he first called the Hog's Back the Hog's Back.
That Mother Dunch's Buttocks should not lack
Their name was his care. He too could explain
Totteridge and Totterdown and Juggler's Lane:
He knows, if anyone. Why Tumbling Bay,
Inland in Kent, is called so, he might say.

"But little he says compared with what he does.
If ever a sage troubles him he will buzz
Like a beehive to conclude the tedious fray:
And the sage, who knows all languages, runs away.
Yet Lob has thirteen hundred names for a fool,
And though he never could spare time for school
To unteach what the fox so well expressed,
On biting the cock's head off,--Quietness is best,--
He can talk quite as well as anyone
After his thinking is forgot and done.
He first of all told someone else's wife,
For a farthing she'd skin a flint and spoil a knife
Worth sixpence skinning it. She heard him speak:
'She had a face as long as a wet week'
Said he, telling the tale in after years.
With blue smock and with gold rings in his ears,
Sometimes he is a pedlar, not too poor
To keep his wit. This is tall Tom that bore
The logs in, and with Shakespeare in the hall
Once talked, when icicles hung by the wall.
As Herne the Hunter he has known hard times.
On sleepless nights he made up weather rhymes
Which others spoilt. And, Hob being then his name,
He kept the hog that thought the butcher came
To bring his breakfast 'You thought wrong,' said Hob.
When there were kings in Kent this very Lob,
Whose sheep grew fat and he himself grew merry,
Wedded the king's daughter of Canterbury;
For he alone, unlike squire, lord, and king,
Watched a night by her without slumbering;
He kept both waking. When he was but a lad
He won a rich man's heiress, deaf, dumb, and sad,
By rousing her to laugh at him. He carried
His donkey on his back. So they were married.
And while he was a little cobbler's boy
He tricked the giant coming to destroy
Shrewsbury by flood. 'And how far is it yet?'
The giant asked in passing. 'I forget;
But see these shoes I've worn out on the road
And we're not there yet.' He emptied out his load
Of shoes for mending. The giant let fall from his spade
The earth for damming Severn, and thus made
The Wrekin hill; and little Ercall hill
Rose where the giant scraped his boots. While still
So young, our Jack was chief of Gotham's sages.
But long before he could have been wise, ages
Earlier than this, while he grew thick and strong
And ate his bacon, or, at times, sang a song
And merely smelt it, as Jack the giant-killer
He made a name. He too ground up the miller,
The Yorkshireman who ground men's bones for flour.

"Do you believe Jack dead before his hour?
Or that his name is Walker, or Bottlesford,
Or Button, a mere clown, or squire, or lord?
The man you saw,--Lob-lie-by-the-fire, Jack Cade,
Jack Smith, Jack Moon, poor Jack of every trade,
Young Jack, or old Jack, or Jack What-d'ye-call,
Jack-in-the-hedge, or Robin-run-by-the-wall,
Robin Hood, Ragged Robin, lazy Bob,
One of the lords of No Man's Land, good Lob,--
Although he was seen dying at Waterloo,
Hastings, Agincourt, and Sedgemoor too,--
Lives yet. He never will admit he is dead
Till millers cease to grind men's bones for bread,
Not till our weathercock crows once again
And I remove my house out of the lane
On to the road." With this he disappeared
In hazel and thorn tangled with old-man's-beard.
But one glimpse of his back, as there he stood,
Choosing his way, proved him of old Jack's blood
Young Jack perhaps, and now a Wiltshireman
As he has oft been since his days began.

Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
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Old 22.08.2008, 22:29
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Re: Your Favourite Poems

Some really beautiful and interesting poems posted. One of my favourites has to be Maya Angelou's Phenomenal Woman.


PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion 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 steps
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 of 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 for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me
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