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Introspection Women Poems | Introspection Poems About Women

These Introspection Women poems are examples of Introspection poems about Women. These are the best examples of Introspection Women poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad | |

Detoured Dreams

I always thought of heaven,
as a warm, New England Fall day. 
The leaves were shining brighter
than the street post lamps at midnight. 
I’m cruising along the highway. 

Passing scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us?
Everything that was -is 
fortunately apart of today.  

And I write-
because it relieves my pain. 
I create
because it’s nice to remember how to love.
Am I therefore less worthy, 
if I one day choose to make money, 
off my lovely creations?

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
Legend has it at one time, 
that’s what he wanted out of life.

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
What if someone had embraced this passion, this skill?
He could have sipped wine, 
painted on blank canvases,
and basketed in reflection of the moon.

He could have
Made love, 
and wrote songs, 
and Praised God, 
for the fortune of being able to dream. 
 
Instead, 
He abandoned his love for creation,
His love of art, 
praised only the devil
and became crazed with hate,  
millions were slaughtered, 
millions had to pay the price.
How tragic can life be?  

But now, 
I’m Passing through scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us? 
Everything that was -is 
unfortunately apart of today.  

we never know just how much
shutting down one little, tiny, persons dream
can effect so many other people’s dreams.
and the generations to come. 

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
 would it have spared us some?


Details | Couplet | |

Happy Birthday Carol and Antoinette

April seven is joined together in two special ways
My wife and Carol Brown were each born that day

In so many ways, they remind me of each other
For each one has the heart and soul of a mother

Like a great big clown riding a little bitty bike
Antoinette and Carol are the type we naturally like

Two separate women who hold pieces of my heart
Although, each one holds a completely different part

Antoinette was able to see what no one had seen
Inside of this nightmare lived a very beautiful dream

Carol’s beautiful heart was able to help me to see
Poetry Soup was exactly the place I needed to be

Two very different women with two similar souls
Played significant roles in my reaching my goals

One helped me piece together my shattered heart
The other helped me keep it from falling back apart

I think I’m truly about as lucky as any man can be
There are so many different people care about me

Carol is just one of many I love here on the soup
I’m lucky to have landed in such a beautiful group

Carol, never doubt the truth in these words I say
This is the highest complement I could ever pay

To be written alongside a poem with my wife
Means “I Love & Respect” every drop of your life

You’re the very first to have landed in this spot
Old friend I reckon that means I love you a lot

April seventh I’ll proudly find my knee’s and pray 
You’ll have a wonderfully blessed special birthday


i wanted to write Carol a Happy Birthday poem
but I wanted to give it special meaning. Anyone
who knows how much I love, admire, and adore 
my wife; knows that for me to place someone in
a poem alongside her, is the highest complement
I could ever make. Carol thank you for the love,
friendship, support and prayers you have given me 
over the years. I'm very honored to be your friend.











Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Ballad | |

Antigone

I am the face of misery
My life, a dissonance of autumn and spring,
The years are written in the same
Lugubrious, nostalgic grey
How can it be the author to blame?
I cannot scream this all away…
Burn nor Bleed this all away…
To Death I am Ordained

Lacuna ever growing
With Velvet sheets of life flowing
Aeons apart of my "royalty"
Under the mask the cannot see...
Can you dispel this tragedy:
Antigone - Epiphany failing

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

No words of hope
No words of hate
Do I have Lenore to send to me:
The sordid child of Thebes
Caught In the longest nightmare
life - the slowest way to die

I know this is my life 
But I'm not under control
under the mask the will see
Just Another Human

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

Can you dispel my life; this tragedy?
Can you control the storm in my mind?
I'm asking you: can you rid me
Of The Curse of Antigone?


Details | Rhyme | |

I'm Not the Kind of Person God Wants Me to Be

I’m not the kind of person I need to be! There’s too many problems inside of me! I’m not the kind of person you’d want to know… I’ve too many worries and a troubled soul! I’m the kind of person who has a lot of stress! Lately, my life has been one big mess! I’m the kind of person who doesn’t have a friend. You listen to me now… But may never see me again! I’m the kind of person who’s gone through pain! I wake up some days, and don’t even know my name! I may not be the kind of person you’d want to be around. I may get discouraged, and “get you down.” I’m the kind of person who’s giving Jesus a chance… I know he loves me! Whatever the circumstance! I’m the kind of person who needs a lot of prayer! I know that God listens! And is always there! Please help me Jesus! That I may be set free! May it be your love that others will see! Thank you Jesus! For being my savior and friend! You’re someone that this person can always depend! I’m not the kind of person that Jesus wants me to be! That’s why I need more of HIM! And LESS of me! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Lyric | |

Garden Rose

Written August 21, 2013


There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed

But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red

She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone


Details | Personification | |

Birth of a Poet

The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”


Details | I do not know? | |

'Give me drink, rest, and solitude'

Give me drink, rest, and solitude--
these are all the things I long for.
Give me as well your finest food
and I'll ask of you, lass, no more!

My bonnie lass, what's the matter--
why are you all sorry and alone?
Don't be sad because you're fatter
than most, lass, for love loves its own.

Sweet lass, I'll tell you a secret.
If I were a young lad again,
I'd pursue you without regret!
But as I am three-score and ten

years old, indeed, I can never
be the youthful lad you most need.
But your pain won't be for ever:
for your heart will refuse to bleed.




Details | I do not know? | |

The Nameless - for South Africans of all colours who fought for freedom


The Nameless


Slipping through the sieve of history,

the nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built.

Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled.

The nameless rest.

Their silent sacrifice,

quiet ordeal,

muted trauma,

remain interred,

amongst their remains.

The nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited.

Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed.

The nameless rest.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

in every step that we tread.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

for their spirit is not dead.


“Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal”
- inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow


Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten.


My sister’s middle name ‘Nobandla’ which is an isiXhosa name and means “she who is of the people” was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father’s ‘best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent’s wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.


Details | Rhyme | |

I'm a Muslim I'm not a Terrorist

I am a Muslim, I’m not a “terrorist”.
How can I be a terrorist
when I’m against all kinds of injustice.

I’m against every act of sin and evil.
I hate all kinds of crime and even loathe
what Adolf did to the innocent Jewish people.

I hate what God hates; He (Allah) hates oppression.
I’m against stealing, against taking away
people’s loved ones and belongings for no reason.

I’m against suicide bombings,
against racism, against ignorance,
against self-harm and even derision.

What God hates I hate and God (Allah) hates
oppression. I hate it too when people fight
for foolish nationalistic reasons.

I’m a Muslim; I follow the true religion
of mercy from Allah the Most Merciful
Who simply wants us to answer His Call
to believe in Just One -Just One God of all.

So don’t call me a “terrorist” when I clearly
don’t have a ‘mass destruction’ weapon
and my goal in life is to
be with our God (Allah) in Heaven.


Details | Haiku | |

What People Were and What People Are

People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

branded

  if we could write a scarlet letter
in a world where there is no shame
and place it on a hester prine
just to shame her name
could we find another letter
to represent the womans scorn
and place the letter on her breast
ever to be worn
what would make the woman suffer
the intended consequence
could a conscious spur a soul
into moral consciousness
could a letter change her fate
from being evil to becoming good
and with the added question
did it harm the neiborhood

are all women judged by letters
as harmfull as she
all women judged by letters
to recieve a guilty plea
and all women judged by letters
to wear this ugly blot
and never be free from the sin
that made the awful spot

hester had integrity and hester had a skill
neither man of god or judge of men
could break our hesters will
hester had determination 
and hester had her pride
she was not a rat 
and yet she never lied
throught the years friends turn into enemies
and foes become good friends
a letter became a decoration
and no longer a mark of shame
soon the world would learn the truth
and the truth can set you free
it's not about who they say you are
it's about who you'll be

when the world sends the letters
and they come to you as mail
don't ignore the letters
answer them very well
when the world sends you letters
through the whispers of friends
don't believe everything
said by so called friends
when the world sends you letters
judging your moral values
take a look at yourself and be honest
do you really have to?
and when the world sends you letters
about your lower class
i don't even have to tell ya, you know.


Details | Free verse | |

A Departing Memory

I know you.
Candles lit, incense fuming,
You like it when I bite your neck, just hard enough.
Blankets thrown about the room
So recklessly, they refold themselves.

And we roll down a hill together,
Kissing the leaves, tickling with our eyes,
Laughing with our hearts.
"You'll just leave me for the next girl you find."
"Yes," I say. Because only
Nothing
Lasts forever.
And it spills through the cracks in your hands
The moment you grasp it.
Like water from a stone.
She bites my neck
Drawing lines of ecstasy down my back with her fingernails
Spilling into me, fighting my words.
"I leave when the sun sets."




Details | Lyric | |

Bob, the Forgotten Valentine and Greedy Double Dater

My friends, this saga slowly unfurls
 a love story that went quickly awry,
 seems greedy Bob dated a pair of girls
 when with one, to the other he’d lie.
 
The homlier girl’s name was Edith
 who, nonetheless Bob was fond of,
 but, greedy Bob wanted to live out the “myth”
 and with sisters, he was sure to find love !
 
He began slyly asking about sister Kate
 for her beauty was equalled by few,
 she was young, and he believed her well worth the wait
 she had enough sex appeal for two !
 
Bob’s antics had him severely troubled
 because, he covered his tracks day and night,
 his love-making prowess had quickly doubled
 so his lovelife was going just right !
 
Well, finally Bob’s saga ended in terror
 because the girls both found out what he’d done,
 Bob had mixed their names up, in a passionate error
 and what transpired next, was not very fun !
 
One of the sisters had taken Bob’s life
 because he’d proven he couldn’t be “true”,
 and the lesson he learned, at the end of that knife
 taught, “you can’t have your Kate…..and Edith, too !


Details | Rhyme | |

The halo effect

If there is one thing I remember
It is what life told
Just open your eyes
All that glisters may not be gold
So who is to blame and whose fault I hold
The halo effect, the one in disguise
Manifesting deception in front of thy eyes
Treat one different because of their look
Why read? Judge the cover of the book?
But you do read others because they don’t have the look
If you understand, how long has it took?
The halo effect, we magnify a trait
Condone the flaws, we magnify a trait
Attractiveness, is this what you mean?
All this talk, my perception a feign?
What I see, aint what it seem?
Huh, thanks for this, as well as that.
The halo effect, my mind was hacked. 


Details | Verse | |

America's Veterens

God bless the man
who made the stand
to keep America free
from the beginning of
America’s history

for over 200 years
our men and women have
stood in harms way
who believed in America
to keep her free

honor and sacrifice are 
just two of the qualities
that reside in the hearts
and minds of our heroes
who ask nothing in return
for them selves 

only to serve, protect and defend
the greatest country in history
where freedom rings though out the land

today is May 31, 2010
we honor all that men and women have done
and all the battles they have won

how many lives have been cut short 
and buried in graves through out the world
knowing that they would never return 
to share in the freedoms they fought for

so I say again God bless the man and woman
who have served 
alive or passed into history

God damm the liberal left traitors in America 
Who sit on their ass hiding in the tall grass
that have no intentions to serve

Dennis H. Davis


Details | Free verse | |

Freedom in Love

Keeping my head up, treading water
Cut throat surviving, struggling
Going under, death visits
Will to live, tested!
Selfishness Vs Selflessness
A Greater Love, encompasses me
God demonstrating mercy, for his children
Learning about forgiveness, cultivating, inner faith
Melody of Love, one can experience
In the darkest, waking hours, of everyday living
Self survival, learning how to live
Peace of Mind, Peace of Heart
Peaceful Spirit, Freedom in Love


Details | Haiku | |

MUSIC - HAIKU

Play The Radio Get Up And Dance All Night Long Music Heals The Soul


Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Rhyme | |

Paper Thin

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
For kicks is why I do it now.
You tell me to love but I never knew how.
Our feet hitting pavement,
We spent the day in sunny California with sun kissed skin.
I’m learning to forget and how to fade scars,
And you let me let myself down so hard.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
And now I just do it for smiles,
We’ll never see flower girls stumbling down aisles.
I’d lose my head just before that chance,
But if you want we can still have a first dance.
Cause I think I say things that I don’t mean,
Once upon a time you meant the world to me.

Your paper-thin porcelain skin,
I know how to get right under it.
But I’m trying to refrain,
To make this not all end up in vain.
Maybe I can learn to love like some people do,
And you can learn to love yourself a little too.
Or it is in all fairness to let this go?
I guess we can try but then we’ll never know. 


Details | Haiku | |

THE WOMAN WHO WAITED TOO LONG


THE WOMAN WHO WAITED TOO LONG

               Empty womb
        Springs tumble winters
              The clock ticks

            Plum blossoms
         Yearnings of passion
               Wept away


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | I do not know? | |

My mother

she was an angry woman
not much love, 
she wouldnt put up with a man
abusing her, 
the mistake women made then,
prostitution for security,
selling your heart for money,
she regretted having me,
lost freedom,
tied down,
single mom, poor,
abused by the culture,
her love was shown
in that she didnt abandon us,
even though she was tempted,
her mother wasnt that strong,
my heart didnt value that,
i wanted to be wanted, loved.

I saw the other children, 
wanted, loved, rich,
my blinders on, 
rose coloured glasses,
envy, despair, no self esteem, 
worthlessness, less than human,

not expensive enough clothes,
not nice enough car,
"drop me off a block from school"
"I am not shopping at wal-mart"

something i didnt notice then
i have always been blessed with beauty
i never even saw the girls that adored me
too afraid, to poor, to stupid, 

If my mother didnt love me, how could another?
greedy, selfish women, angry, 
years of oppression, and taking it out on me,
the male, the enemy, "no love from mommy".

Now i pay the price for my fathers oppression.
the gay guys arent as wierd as i thought,
at least they are getting laid. 

The women i meet now, 
if i love them
i am not good enough for them
if i use them or tell them how pathetic they are,
they love me, addicted, cant leave. 

On occassion i love a weaker girl,
i see their potential,
usually sexually abused as a child,
they will leave, hate me, 
for my honesty, 
too afraid of love, of closeness,
get pregnant and leave or kill themself,
one or the other, such drama,
If a child wont end their suffering 
then death will. 

What did i do to deserve this?


Details | Free verse | |

Scars of an Inner Child

You are not the man, you want to be
You said you were my Father, till, I discovered different
Enduring, daily beatings
Bashing the living day lights, out of a woman and a child
Repetitive, bad ass attitude, nasty streak
Mean and aggressive!
Fists, knives and guns, your weapons of chose
Out of control, abusive, devious
Relentless, over – bearing!
Breaking me, piece by piece
Confusing a child, with unhealthy love
Hand fed your bullshit, brain washed
Using me as your human, punching bag
This innocent child’s blood, staining your callas hands
My child’s curiosity, asking you one day
“Why do you hurt me and Mum?”
Your retort: “I am not your blood!”
I didn't understand, back then
Now, as an adult, I clearly understand!
Believe me, when I say
There was never a day that went past
That you didn't remind me of that!
My freedom, restrained
My sanity, tested
Caged, like a wild bird in captivity
Behind bars, looking out
 Here, I am today, free from your grip
Nursing, this inner child’s, bleeding love


Details | I do not know? | |

You and I



You and I.


You.

Your heart blazed,
with a warmth of spirit,

soothing,

alluring,

soaked in truth.



Your smile burned,
branding me permanently,

gentle,

tender,

enveloping my being.



Your love was complete,
from the depths of your soul,

unsaid,

yet fierce,

bathed in silent knowing.



Your dreams were poetic,
fluttering in the afternoon breeze,
infused with the distilled essence of rhyme.


I.

I squandered your generosity of spirit.

I vainly discarded your priceless poems.


Now I stand,

alone,

empty,

desolate,

wasting away,

rotting inside, day by day.




Details | Couplet | |

His Ass A Tale

His ass; a tale each women said.
Of one held high - he rendered it.
Like men of past to honour it.
A rogue like him - a dawn of wit.

They followed him a stern dead hem.
Each judged him; sire'd for him.
To each love they were fair and grim.
And some would say they're all a whim.

Some do bawk and claim him nay.
Most keep circles; waits and times.
Elite approach to spread their chimes.
While late provoke him for his crimes.

One man's wake that goes oblivious.
Her clueless cause for dancing.
Love together comes 'a prancing.
THE END; his soul will wait for lancing.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Bourgeois and the Spinning Wheel

In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams

Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay

The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways 
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire 
She presses her finger on the thorn 
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede


Details | Rhyme | |

What's Happening to Marriages Today

What’s Happening to Marriages Today?

I was listening to someone just the other day…
And I couldn’t believe what he had to say!

He had left his wife and children for another!
She was young enough to be his daughter!

Here they were, “in love” and holding hands!
Hoping to soon, get their “wedding bands!”

They were pretending that this was so “cool.”
Living now by their own “set of rules!”

How sick and disgusting this is getting to be!
Is this something that many can’t see?

God gave us Adam and Eve to become one.
To bear fruit through daughters and sons!

He gave us marriage as holy vows are made.
Not to march in an “adulterous parade!”

We are treading on very dangerous ground!
Faithfulness and commitment 
are scarcely found!

The very definition of marriage is changing!
As the family unit is always rearranging!

Our only hope is in Jesus!  And him alone!
Let’s promote his love! Into our hearts and home!

Let’s allow his love to be our heart’s glue!
And bring new meaning to the words; “I love you!”

May his love bind our hearts and lives together!
And remain faithful to each other forever!

By Jim Pemberton    


Details | Pantoum | |

The Twisted Kudzu Vine

Remembering America when clothesline displayed wash
The yesteryear clotheslines of our country have mostly gone
Gone with the same way of old fashioned outdated panache
Panache as when women dressed decent_men tipped hats agone

The yesteryear  clotheslines of our country have mostly gone
Disappeared from view like Johnny Cash's song "I Walk The Line"
Panache as when women dressed decent_men tipped hats agone
Morals, good principles have been twisted like Kudzu Vine

Disappeared from view like Johnny Cash's song "I Walk The Line"
Gone with the same way of old fashioned outdated panache
Morals, good principles have been twisted like Kudzu Vine
Remembering America when clothesline displayed wash


Details | Narrative | |

Mineral Baths - Saratoga Springs NY

Mineral Baths Saratoga Springs NY

She covers her private 
parts at the bath house. 
Mineral water fills a tub, 
centuries old. 
She feels cold until 
an old Women hands 
her heated sheets... 
now, her skin covered. 
Brought her clips to lift 
her auburn hair. 
The sheets cooled as the 
tub, now filled. 

A stray cat 
peers into the window... 
purrs, kissing glass. 
The old Women 
removes the sheet, takes  
the hand of a young lady 
as she carefully 
steps into aged porcelain. 
Tiny bubbles 
surround her skin. 

A soft pillow for her head... 
Now, relax. . . she tells herself,
dreaming of the 
cat kissing glass. . . 
alone, at last.

Nancy Duci Denofio


Details | I do not know? | |

My Madness, Me

My Madness, Me...


Confined by this straight-jacket,
strapped in, numb and dumbed,
a washed-out, has-been, also-ran,

body, eyes, the equilibrium of mind,
rattling like stones in an old tin-can.


Still, I am, 

I am,

and I am unchained,

my dreams taking flight, soaring,
above these claustrophobic walls,
of synapses, and dungeons of stone,

swooping through green valleys,
taking a detour to savour the joys,

soaked in torrential, evergreen memories,
of a younger man, with passion in his bone.

I am.

My wings unclipped, unshackled, free,

I am, and though I am unable to see,

I am.

At long last,

me...



Details | Free verse | |

FINDING WISDOM

I look in the mirror afraid to blink
Refusing to believe the image
Staring back at me is me
Wondering if this is the only thing 
Anyone else sees
Dark brown hair
Slowly fading to shades of gray
A shell that once cradled curvy hips
Now slums and hides through elastic strips.
Vibrant eyes that once gleamed 
No longer quick
Convictions laid at rest
A tired body that can attest to
How mind boggling self image truly is
Beauty isn't the curve
Where the leg is forced to rest on
Nor is it defined by the ogling of
An overexposed chest
True beauty is the story behind 
The image; The quiet resilience 
That truth we hide and refuse to embrace
I lost my youth but found my wisdom
Because I know what matters most
Now, I am simply a woman
Each and everyone of us is beautiful in our own way


Details | Than-Bauk | |

Under Ground Cities

A man walks into a new generation gangster town,
there were guns, amoe, drugs, explosives, and allot of bad people, and that's all he found. 
He looked around the streets and saw allot of African American people running the show,
he walks into one corridor and into another city, and he welcomed the flow.

The new city, to him it wasn't any different than the one he just came out from, there were Muslims,
they wore gold chains and hiphop music was playing every where, the mostly dealt cocaine, and said fuk them.
there women were so beautiful, they would walk around in heals and panties were ever they went,
the man walked though all the gorgeous women and thought to him self, "no I can't". 

The man walks into a new city, he walked into "The Slums" it was the hardest and the baddest outlaws of the nations,
the man looked around and right away he did not like what he saw there, everything was dirty and without and patience. 
He couldn't wait to get out of there, the women were nasty and smelled like they haven't showered in years,
The man put his head down and started walking out of the slums with nothing in his eyes but tears.

The man walked into "Siberia" Everyone living there saw the man come in and they all rushed to great him,
at first the man got a little scared, but than he saw there smiles, so he smiled back at them. 
Everyone was living there was dancing to a death mettle Hip Hop music, while drinking and sniffing cocaine with a gun on there sides,
The man walks to the bar while looking at all the beautiful women that are dancing and giving him a sexy look.
Than the BOSS of the city comes up to him, pores him a drink and tells him how he is the BOSS of the whole West Coast, 
the man looked at him and smiled, he put his hand around the boss, looked at everyone around and said, "Let's Toast".


Details | Senryu | |

Profound Question

If Adam ate first
Of the Forbidden Apple
Would women rule Earth?


Details | I do not know? | |

For Mother Teresa

For Mother Teresa

to see...

the clarity of beauty between the murky folds of life

to see...

the simple truths of living
between the horror and the endless strike

to see...

the innocent smiles of the children at play
while the elder preach hate and division and continue to slay

to see...

the endless yearning for that simpler better place
away from the hollow emptiness of this ostentatious space

to see...

the open vistas of this pale blue dot
the soft reds and fruity greens as this home is all we have got

to see...

the tears of the dispossessed who have been cruelly cast aside
and while we look the other way from their tears we may never hide

to see...

the endless hunger and despair and killing and greed
in the name of God or of ideology or of some or the other creed

to see...

and to see it all

and still stand tall

to hold on to the humanity

that resides deep within us all

may be our only saving grace

and though all of this sounds quaint and saccharine sweet

I need to remember all that I've said

the next time I look into a teary-eyed desolate face

to see...

that being human is simple if we only look beyond ourselves and see

that we are all one, him and her and them and us and you and me...



Details | Narrative | |

What Do You See

I found this old poem while helping to clean out a house that was vacant. I hope you 
don't mind that I didn't write it but it was too awesome not to post. Enjoy--------
          

                                   What Do You See

What do you see, nurses? What do you see?	
What are you thinking when your looking at me? 
A crabby old women, not very wise.
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply.
When you say with your loud voice, "I do wish you'd try."
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
and forever is losing a sock or a shoe.
Who unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
When bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
Is that what your thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, your not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still.
As I drink at your bidding, as I sit at your will.
I'm a small child of 10 with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at 20. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows I primised to keep.
At 25 now I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A women of 30, my young now grow fast.
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons near grown will be gone.
But my man stays beside me to see I don't mourn.
At 50 once more babies play round my knee. 
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look to the future and shudder with dread.
For my young ones are busy rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm an old women now and nature is cruel.
It's her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart.
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and loving life over again.
I think of the years, all the few--gone to fast.
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes nurses, open and see.
Not a crabby old women, look closer,  see ME.

This poem was found among the effects of a patient who died at the Oxford
University Geriatric Service in England. Author is unknown.


Details | Rhyme | |

Treat them like you want to be treated Mars vs Venus

they say hell has no furry like a woman scorn
but what does it reveal when it shows a man hurt and torn
it's pretty bad to leave a woman hurt
but to leave a man just hanging on now that sounds worst,
women boast and nag  about what they have to take
 !now men are not the only humans that make mistakes
just because i'm a man does'nt mean i'm taking the men side
  cause i don't look pass the fact that women also have pride
although there men that try hard to destroy a woman's self essteam 
 when they should be treating each  one like a queens 
 for women  are the mothers of the earth
the very ones that gave you birth
now women lets get back to you 
you  have been known to cause a lot of hurt too 
and yea you are independent that we understand
 because the first thing always out of your mouth is i dont need a man 
 im not saying either one of us are right or wrong
 but we  must make some ajustments in order  to get alone
 regaurdless of what you think of the opposite sex we are both needed
so i suggest out of respect just treat them like you want to be treated


Details | Free verse | |

Bed Number 36

Lying in bed number 36
I'm here cuz I shot and missed
Took a chance a risky gamble
With my safety and security
I lost and lost big
Loan sharks are after me
Can't decide if it's time to flee
Too late to start over
Too big a chip on my shoulder
Lord I was born a ramblin man
Only women ain't sposed to ramble
Now what I think as I lay in my bed
Next to women that stink of poverty
The loan sharks are after me
Time to pay up or dead I will be
So tired of runnin
Gotta keep runnin
Don't know why I'm runnin
No use really runnin
Havin lunch with the mad hatter
Only hes the loan shark
Can't remember how much I owe
He looks mad like hes ready to blow
Or maybe that's me
I'm the mad hatter
Collecting the debts
That are owed to me
Still lying in bed number 36
Was it worth the risk?
Tryin to be tough
Only made it more rough
I'm runnin runnin runnin
But I ain't goin nowhere
Stuck on an island where
Even the coconuts wont be my friend
Alice is calling, Alice, the white girl
Calls my name, always calling me to
Do the evil deeds she can't do
I'm the mad hatter and I'm mad
Mad that I'm the mad hatter
Mad that Alice keeps calling my name
So mad the loan sharks are after me
The looking glass in front of me
Always looks greener on the other side
Only now the goats have eaten all the grass
Alice wants me to come over
Lying in bed number 36
Maybe I should succumb
I feel so numb
1 step 2 steps 3 steps 4
Guess who just walked through the door?


Details | Quatrain | |

dented and painted

dismissively lined as "dented and painted"
protesting violence and raping of women 
those self-appointed, oh holy and sainted
can we turn another cheek and forgive them?

to relate to another with an iron-bar
to relate to another with utter disdain
to relate to another without human care
is this the civility we wish to attain?

you who are better, more worthy than other
you who are truer, in eyes of your god 
you with blood bluer than natural mother
might discern that it's you, who is flawed

sticks, or bars, or clenched fists attest
that you're no better than the rest with
casting of glances from eyes that detest
superimposed superiority is but a myth

want and ignorance are alive and strong
in all nations, so in all the world today
actually, it's been that way - all along
if we wish to civilize we must go all the way

and speak for every individual that spins
on this ball of rock that we call our home
to evolve higher form we must be, in the end
and remember, what is reaped, is what is sown

© Goode Guy 2012-12-29

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/12/28/168224273/victim-of-brutal-rape-in-india-dies-in-singapore-hospital?ft=1&f=1001
http://www.npr.org/2012/12/28/168185857/india-gang-rape-update
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/12/22/167879878/unprecedented-public-rage-over-gang-rape-in-india


Details | Light Poetry | |

women

Women

I tell my friend yesterday
That I have a problem
I know a bunch of women
And I’m in love with all of them

He says boy you crazy
You will get in trouble
But when I see them
My love does double

See all women are different
No two are the same
Each add a different fuel
To keep alive a flame

Some are like eye candy
Such a sweet delight
And some like a star
Brightening up the night

So I tell me friend 
To have a clear conscience
 Trying to figure out a woman
A man don’t have a chance

A woman sees a burglar
She beat him up in side the house
Then she screaming 
When she see a little mouse

I love a woman in Trinidad
She sweet like a Pomerac
But if a dog try to bite her
She going to bite it back

I love a woman in America
She’s in the military
If she find out bout the others
I know she will beat up me

And I love one in England
I visit her every year
We go to the pub
And drink some warm beer

A woman is an amazing creature
So full of surprise
You could sweet talk her all day
But don’t tell her any lies

I love a girl in Mexico
She like she food real spicy
But she sweet like a ripe mango
So that’s alright with me

There are women all over the world
And each has their style
So you really can’t blame
Some men for going wild

I have to end this poem
Riad taking me to maracas beach
See women buying bake and shark
So I give my cell number to each

Women have to understand
They have so much beauty in them
So if a man tries to love only one
Them he will have a big problem


Details | Free verse | |

QUESTIONS BUT NO ANSWERS

Why should women go through labour pain
And even lose their lives in the process of giving birth

Why should someone be born into a certain home
Without having the right to choose the home that he/she would like to belong

Why should someone be born with autism or inherit cancer
Without giving the right to choose his/her own state of health

Why should women and children be the victims of war
Without having any idea about the cause of the war

Why should there be earthquake, tsunamis, hurricanes, drought
Why should people suffer for the imperfection of nature.


Details | Quatrain | |

Pornography 1

Many men will hate me for shining light on this touchy subject
And women will inevitably want to throw me under a bus
But as sure as a virus is the root of a pandemic
This subject has breached our hull and is now leaking into us

Was it not inevitable this would happen to a culture?
Like roving hoards and idealogy will subjugate the weak
Our religion, arts, and cultural stories now eclipsed by flashy images
And our perceptions of who we are now come from commercial TV

I can image what it was like to be viewed as a witch on trial
And I realize I’m opening myself to the most soul-withering scrutiny
But most every man you meet has struggled with this very issue
And the long and short of this message is this is not about me

Perhaps my fear of women fuels my longing for power
And in this fantasy world nothing ever goes wrong for me
Or perhaps I should say that’s true until the show is over
Then I drown my empty feeling in the asylum of sleep

There are women I know, cherish and respect in my own way
Who I would not touch if I could, because they are my friends
But when I see these women performing these acts on video
It will make me sad because somewhere, someone cherishes them

I can imagine the judgment from those now reading this message
And the chasm of alienation caused by this impossible fantasy world
Propaganda so sophisticated even the Nazis would be jealous
Incinerating the innocence of so many boys and girls

With every view, these women are banished further away from me
But is it possible that all along that was my very goal?
I don’t understand them, and they don’t understand me
And sometimes I have to wonder if I hate their very souls

Then I think of women that inspire me like Shakespeare
Who I would without hesitation give my life to save theirs
Then I wonder if their man has his own hidden porno stash
And is imprisoning their ‘lady’ in a cell of hopeless fears

I do not wish to plant a seed of doubt in the minds of women
For many men say they do not find pornography appealing
In many cases I guess these guy’s brains are wired differently
And regarding this widespread religion, I think many are not even lying


Details | Light Poetry | |

Amplified Loudness

Women don't like to be boisterous or create attention to themselves,
However, when the male population try to stunt their growth
or treat them as if they are jokes,
The soft feminine ways are cast aside,
so that women can rejuvenate their dignity and pride,
It is the way of the world to treat some women as if they
are third class citizens or air headed vixens,
So, if their voices seem amplified they are just enunciating their
cause,
Our male dominated world doesn't mind belittling them causing 
them moments of awkward pauses and revolt,
Yet, when they try to stand up for themselves,
their agressors get shocked and jolted,
exclaiming they are insulted,
It doesn't matter that they try to reduce women
to shrinking violets, so they can maximize their control
as if they were submissive pets.


Details | Free verse | |

Clocks

what strange wonderful clocks women are,
                        biological clocks,for they nest in time;
these gentle,smiling ones,
                         who own the good secret;
for what man,like wman,
                         lies down in darkness,
                                            and then gets up with child;
women,they make the flesh that holds fast,
                          and then binds eternity;
they live inside the gift,
                           they know the power,
                                              they accept it, and need not mention it;
for why speak of time,
                           when you are time,
                                               and can shape those moments into warmth, and action;
how often men envy them,
                           and, sometimes even hate them, these warm clocks;
for they know that they will live forever,
                            men know this too,but,does he really believe it;
for he has carried no burden,and felt no pain,
                             but,the woman,she knows it.


Details | I do not know? | |

Men are no longer from Mars

We live in a constant state of confusion
‘Men are from Mars’ more like from Pluto, when it comes to understanding women.
We are relegated to a planet no longer in our own solar system that’s how far our understanding of women has progressed “not bloody far”.
Our little minds are bombarded by rhetoric of past mistreatment of women.
When it comes to women we are as clueless like our cave dwelling brothers of the past.
A female period last a brief time in their adolescent lives, a man’s period manifest once we our lives are intertwined with women and it last a very long time, it is like being kicked in the groin but that pain last forever.
Why isn’t logic and commonsense able to punch a hole in the mysterious vale that is women?
We have too many questions but not enough answers.
Every time we try and understand women we come out of it more confused then we went in.
Our search for answers leaves us doubting our own sanity, intelligence and at times our virility.
This is not intended to berate women kind or find ways to subjugate women under men’s oppressive will, but to better understand our counterparts and not constantly feel like my man parts have been ripped out and serve to me on a platter.
The confusion is a pandemic amongst men, like zombies walking aimlessly without a bloody clue, and reacting only on instinct without plan or purpose.
So what do we do?
Do we build space ships and get the hell out of dodge, I like communing with my fellow man but as a heterosexual my communing extends so far.


Details | Rhyme | |

Music and Women

'Music and Women'


 Music is furniture

 A subtle presence to detain silence's torture

 The best piece being the understated overture.


 Women begin to inflict me

 Prick at me with clawing felinity

 Hurting me, murdering me slowly.


 My mind is unkempt

 Desires and whims are thus left

 Ne'er to be sated, adding to acute discontent.


 Bereft and spiritually in debt

 I'm trapped in penning many a tedious triplet

 One after the other, minute by minute.


 Their sole purposes to decorate time

 Embellish space, fill a line

 But nothing more, nothing else to consign.

 
 Ringing in unison to a bell's chime.


Details | Quatrain | |

Wine, Women, and Song

Wine, women and song-
delirious impressions
both over- and understated.
Nonsense to the uninitiated.

This is how my daydream began:
gyrating  on stage with long hair
like and adolescent shaman-
visions of a young Jim Morrison.

Wine, women and song-
punk, funk, southern boogie drunk
battle ax guitars, pounding drums
blacken and brutal beer soaked bars.

This is the dream come true:
an insidious reality
that suddenly struck rude.
Nonsense to the uninitiated. 

Now, it is still the wine
women and song that I long for. 
Indelible impressions
both over-and understated. 


Details | Free verse | |

Men And Women

Men are men,
no doubt about that,
then,
women are women,
is there any doubt about that too,
men have been given jobs,
so have been women,
but what happens when you do vice versa,
not my worry,
I am not a world's job describer,
But some things I can say for sure,
there would be time of immense confusion,
quite difficult to endure,
some jobs can be done by strong,
weak are at best for such jobs wrong,
whether women are weak,
or the men strong,
I know not,
but the exchange scheme,
is going to raise such cases,
and the world is gonna repeatedly ask,
for those days,
when they used to say,
men are men,
and women are women,
now the question would be,
for how long?


Details | Free verse | |

Getting Alone

Why can't our women be a good sport
Instead of selling themselves short?
And why can't our women just get along
And leave each other's men alone?
It's not that hard, it's easy to do
Remember waht you do will definitely 
come back on you
Because one day when things seem 
to be going just right
Your man might just end up creeping
on you in the middle of the night
And no matter how much you think
that he is under your control
He is still a man and he might 
go out on the stroll
I know you might think that he really loves you
Then why is he out doing the same thing to you?
If you're wondering what went wrong
Just remember, It was 'Carma' that messed up your home


Details | I do not know? | |

Caged Women

Caged Women, treated like cave women,
 not by our men like long ago.
Caged women, treated like crazed women, 
a power struggle only few women know.
Dominated to the fullness
Not a chance in hell to win
Degraded beyond comprehension
all faith and hope running thin.

Caged women, Screws try their best to keep you down
Crazed women, always walk with their eyes to the ground
"The chains" clankety clank clank, 
Not  just on our feet on our hearts
"The chains" Clankety clank clank
linking the human to human parts
"The chains" Clankety clank clank
Sounding out into empty space and time
Heavy on our waist, even heavier on our minds
"Dammed Chains!"

Caged women, can't take much more of this
Crazed women wondering why we take this --it
Caged women, thinking time for revolution
Crazed women, fighting back is the only solution
"The sticks" Bipperty bam bam
crash down upon your head
"The sticks" Bipperty bam bam
beat you till damm near dead
"The sticks" Bipperty bam bam 
back into the dorms we flock
"The Sticks" Bipperty bipperty bang
will someone send for the Doc?
"Dammed Sticks!!!"


Details | Light Poetry | |

shopping

Shopping


Will see in every shopping mall
Men waiting out side clothing store
Because their wife or girl friend
Goes in to shop some more

Women will try on every pair of shoes
Before they find the right one
And when they come outside
They still say they didn’t get none

 A man wants to get out the mall
As soon as he gets in
He will just pick up his items
You bet everyone will be fitting

A woman have to call she friends
Because a blouse is on half price
And have Hannah come to the mall
Because the colors looking nice

Home after a shopping expedition
Now her heels starts burning
But she don’t like nothing she buys
The next day it will be returning

When it comes to shopping
A woman has super powers
She will buy out the whole mall
And still wants her bf to give her flowers

Women all over the world
Are the same where ever you go
You should see how Amanda smiles
When she shopping in San Fernando

And don’t talk about Suzy
Well now the shopping start 
She will spend whole day in store
and only leave when it gets dark

And to buy a post card
women Will read a hundred times
Then walk away and come back
Before they make up their mind

A man will pick up a post card
While in seven eleven
And when she reads it
She thinks he’s from heaven

Women likes to wear make up
For some it gives confidence
Then some just like to wear it
To get a lot of compliments

But that’s what makes women beautiful
And we don’t want them to stop
So to all you women we say
Go and shop till you drop