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Death Woman Poems | Death Poems About Woman

These Death Woman poems are examples of Death poems about Woman. These are the best examples of Death Woman poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic monologue | |

PINK LACE

**Every pace change --is the voices of poets sharing his/her Ribbon** 

"PINK LADIES"  
  
The phone rings, 
The clock dings,

I scream, scream, and scream:

I can’t grasp what is real
I can’t inhale the lives you steal
This game is like murder in the first degree,
I can barely feel the words you're expressing.
Your hand, holding on to mine as if it was the last
I crawl I hide behind these moonstone walls
There it stood and stole my Womanhood
Pink is the ointment rubbed inside my diary.
---

I crawl- I remember-
Looking for a dream, where the women wear combat boots
Women ready to kill all confrontation with nukes.
---

I was lost!
Do you know the feeling?
Once you hear, the “C” word your mind starts spinning,
You can’t see what’s going on,
Your smiles soon to be gone,
---

LOOK AT ME!
On this fright night, I bleed
Hold on tight, of the dead of this night
I’m down on my fallen knees,
A secret I can't keep, no longer need
Breaking backs when I mention the word “C.”
It is like getting struck by a freight train
Taking what belong and makes ME me! 
Forgetting the Pink October ribbons, I wore
Taking  time to weave them into the last strand of my red chemo hair.
---

Now here you are,
Standing on the chest
Heavy shoulders a violin press.
No longer needing the little black dress
Skin pink tight leather, now you caress
My eyes are full of tears
Once I discovered the beast came back without fear 
The news blew like a missile in heat
With a fire’s shooting out from the dark
Sweltering me, blazing me,
Leaving the world, all ribbon tied.
Dimples and pretty lips, I drop the world with beauty and tissues. 
Filled with  pink ivory issues 
This is the way that I feel, I am real… 
You are a killer, you are a disease! 
You sit there and shatter our lives,
With many of us, you’ll discover we do not break like glass 
Still, we walk in high heels strolling through pink valley skies.
With a charm called a Pink Ribbon; -I WORE-
---

- A heavy pink scarf now I wear like a noose, 
Remembering my days have been numbered 
---

I PLEAD FOR MY LIFE?
I have no family to lean on
Everybody’s plus my mother is gone
You are the undead: 
Leading some of us into a watery grave
You are like a jack in the box
Hiding until you are found… 
You’re silent until your jobs done...

You made us angry, you made us cry, you killed many…
However, you will never come close to a glorious ~Victory~ 
We are  “PINK LADIES,” who  continue to be strong
I will find a way to sew my chest back to its caressing view!

One day will find the cure,
And, destroy YOU "The miserable ‘Breast Cancer’ Disease" 
"ONCE AND FOR ALL!"


by; PD

Dedicated to all the females of the world. 
((And men whose life touched by this disease))


Details | Free verse | |

STILL WINTER

Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 


Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found


Details | Free verse | |

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,

I, a Red Skin dog, as some may delight to call me,
I have heard the tales of horror, from my dark skinned foes.
I have heard the tales of terror, from others who became my friends.
And I have walked with a dark skinned woman of their tribe.
We walked in the beauty of her courage, together. Tearless. 
Tearless we both were as she spoke, for tears, only gods could cry for her.
I am a Red Skin dog.
And yet we walked together and we talked – together, fearless,
I and this swaying ebony sapling, sprung from the roots of my foes tribe.
We talked of the pitiless reality of that life she left behind, of that time
That she has left, far, far behind, like a useless scar
That has toughened over. And made her stronger. 
I learned from this daughter of my foes
That true courage is never fearless, but always stronger. Victorious,
Stronger she was by far, to this Red Skin dog
Than the thousand sons who died, in her honor. So they say. Ridiculous,
But I have heard the balance of their sins.
And for all the tales I have heard from those angry young men, and their vengeful fathers
Her horror was a thousand times more sinister. A thousand times more callous.
Horror took up residence in her home but never in her heart.
But for others, I cannot speak.
“…splinters and bursting fragments…in my mind
Ai! Tearing! Memory of tearing flesh, swallowing tears and mucus, blood and bile
…bruising and ripping garments…off my body
…filthy, familiar hands tearing at my dress…
…my legs split and broken like a wild pig slaughter, my screams smashed from my lips,
With the butt of a rifle, just used to kill a Red Skin dog…
Aieee! Clean this floor mama, mop up this spew!
It cannot be mine!
This child is not mine!
It is not mine! It is the devils own creation born in hell fire!
Born in my death! 	
Aieee! I am dead, I cannot be alive. 
I am dead and the Red Skin dogs have eaten my corpse.
Those spirits in their wingless chariot flew over the land and sea, to rescue me?
Rescue me from that black devil who said he was like Jesus to me.
I thought you were my uncle-brother…
Who else could have found us here?
Hidden away from the Red Skins and their Wingless Angels.
Only you my uncle-brother
Only you could have found us
Only you could have killed us.
And now the progeny of your evil deed suckles at my breasts
As I lie dead in the home of those Red Skin dogs you fought.”


Details | Rhyme | |

Revive the Breakage

High upon the highest heights I see the most tremulous sight A small girl, fair and tranquil Smiling strangely, sitting still Beneath a sobbing willow tree She recites a verse upon her knee She sings a rhythmic hymn Not of death, nothing grim But prays that life will return Even for those who are doomed to burn The girl is a woman now Beneath the tree and upon the cloud She whispers, “I am watching you” Why then are you so blue? A single tear of sadness and joy Rejuvenate the quirky earthly boy Who sits down beneath the blooming tree Listening to her silent voice attentively She reminds him she was once young too That she also was a misty shade of blue But when the boy grows into man He has come to ignore the fair woman Who watches him still from above Burning and swelling with disdainful love The ways of the world have sweltered his heart And time has torn his soul apart Thus he has lost all innocence and light Battling his sinful lust—an endless plight! I watch as he feeds on others’ pains and fears Reducing the vigilant woman to tears The prayer of the innocent has been ignored Life has died and hellfire stored Into the hearts of the impotent In blue, fires of haze their heart is sent Toiling in misery and lament Savaged and severed by our regret The heavenly woman grows old and frail And the man still treads the sinful trail As the rotting tree withers into dust Can I revive it? –I must! Low as low can possibly be I watch myself condescendingly A tombstone, gray and hell-bent Frowning knowingly in bewilderment Above the dust that once was a tree She cries out a verse anxiously Faintly she whispers the undying hymn Not of happiness, nothing of whim And prays that life will come to end For those that break instead of bend


Details | Free verse | |

The Old Woman

Shawled against 
the damp night chill,
she waits
slumped low, 
crumbled
in her favorite chair.
Old and tired 
she waits.
Eyes, once bright, 
cast a milky stare 
blind to all 
but distant memories 
and moments carved 
treasured wooden dolls 
faces and form 
now whittled away
unrecognizable.
Lines and furrows etch 
the frail countenance
struggling in vain to see
a fast approaching 
destiny.
Daylight dims as twilight fades,
and lurking in the corner there,
A Dark Shadow
smiles. . . . .
as the old woman waits 
Alone.


Details | Free verse | |

Shock and Awe, Coming Back Home

My friends come home draped in flags 
I pause at the edge of the airplane door
Facing a tunnel leading me to a muffled joy
Strangers tell me I am related to them...
I deny a woman with three kids... her kiss
My friends are slipping in trucks with flags
They are loaded and back doors explode shut...
..............................................................

I wake up in a trench of blood and clean pillows
The same woman from the airport next to me
 Peacefully breathing...and I thought she was dead...
I think I am finally home, fans are not propellers
Camouflage doesn't bear swing sets in backyards
My friends' helmets, guns and boots line up in my head
Patrolling with weapons made of aluminum foil
-------------------------------------------------

There is too much silence for a dead soldier walking...
I think I FEEL the kiss of the woman with three kids ...








Details | Rhyme | |

The tree of life

A lonely tree stands in a field
Branches entwined in one
And as those branches come to life
They reach up to the sun

This tree with all it's energy
just like a woman so it be
It's branches swaying in the breeze
just like a mother's offspring, these

And so the lonely tree does age
The human kind out living
But we all end up just the same
Our flesh to earth be giving

And thus our lives all end the same
No matter what we be
Some have long lives, some much less
In life's sweet mystery


Details | Romanticism | |

The Blue Poet

I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.


Details | Quatrain | |

A Dark Tale

I laugh as I think of it now, the dire warnings of hell
Nothing could scare me it didn’t matter, on this teaching I never did dwell.
I wondered why one dark night, again begging for sleep.
No fear of death of dying no foolish promises to keep.

It was then I found the answer as I slipped down through the floor
Could this be a dream or am I now no more.
Has death come upon me, I feel the air exude from my chest
Through eons of time yet seconds, maybe days or years at best.

Before me an evil thing but there are no brimstone and flames
“Now we will see this hell you mocked and you will know my name.
You never flinched about the hell threat but you are now here
Not only that I am your father and now you will know real fear.”

He breathed in deep; my skin scorched, it left my body in one piece
The agonies, I must be dead my skin floating in front just like a fleece
My muscles sinews and skeleton were all that I now had
“I thought you were my father I screamed you can’t treat me this bad.”

A thousand legions of devils all came round mocking me
Each breath they turned my way seemed to rip parts off of me
“You will learn to master them but until then you have to pay
You start at the bottom in this work.” then the hounds of hell did bay.

“To inflict the tortures required to give me the satisfaction
You must first suffer them all, that is my attraction.
When you have suffered them all you will know what to do
My work will be in your hands this is my legacy to you.”

“But how can you be my father?” I screamed as the hell hounds tore at me
“My mother was the sweetest woman on earth and all around could see.”
“Ha! I am the devil why would I want a whore,
 They are already down here; it was sweetness I searched for.”

“Your mother scorned me, she did not believe in all the hellish games I play
So I showed her my powers and you are with me from this day.
You should have listened to the teachers teaching of my home called hell.”
He waved his finger at me and the screams I could not quell.

Now I wish I had listened and taken an earthly fear
It could have made a difference, I may not now be here.
I take delight in dismembering and gouging out the eyes
Flaying the skin off the ungodly, yet I do it for a prize.

One day I will rule this place then my turn will come
I’ll leave this underworld one day and do what my father has done
I’ll take a woman for my wife the sweetest there ever walked
And pass on my inheritance to the offspring that hell balked.
©~GG~23/07/2012

 


Details | ekphrasis | |

Tod Und Frau 1910 (Death and the Woman)

As death creeps out of the darkness,
  A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
  And stares death in the eye with abhor.

The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
  Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
  Fighting with the will to not be apart.

The hooks of death on weary knees,
  Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
  The mother rests with peace and tranquility.

A child left to battle life’s groans,
  Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
  And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.) 






__________________________________________________________
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest

Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.

http://www.mmoca.org/mmocacollects/artwork_page.php?id=31


Details | Epic | |

The Foes WOMAN

 There she comes
           Way from the Galaxy, she covered her face 
  She never talked, nor Feels
yet, in ever jolt of her presence, pronounce the name of death.
    She is unknown, and will never be known, but her 
            days will ever be disliked.
  She is very slow to anger and realy smile
        and she is called the Women with the Black cover.


Details | Rhyme | |

death of a cat

the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived

my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside

i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown

the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose

the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.

only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.

then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose

the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed

there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed

gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend


                                                     12/11/06



Details | Bio | |

Trying Times

Trying Times

Can I maintain this life
Without begging Christ 
To save me 
From the life he gave me 
Can I walk to the plot
To where lays my father death spot
And stand over his grave 
His life is with me acknowledgement
I’m is daughter but I wasn’t with him his last dying days
Tears seem to not fall from my eyes 
Because I know emotion will not grow him back 
And the last words that utter from my mouth will be with me until the day that I’m 
dead they are now un-depart able bitter words that has now been said

They say Gods give you nothing you can’t bare 
Trying time he’s given me trying times is in me 

I dream of some better days 
As a young child proven educate with good grades
Wanted to be a woman at a young age 
Started working on my life 
Tried to blackout every thing in my life that went wrong 
Even as a minor I promise god that all my struggling was going to  make me 
strong
But lost in the mine set that I had no one to carry with me 
Turn my back on the people that had given me life 
Told  them I didn’t need them so forget their advice 
I broke them down to the same feeling that rooted  bitterness 
Spoke for me took hostage over my pride 
But each heart beat I wanted I wanted them to reach for me because all I wanted 
was to be their child 

They say Gods give you nothing you can’t bare 
Trying times he’s given me trying times is in me 

Fast I was moving 
Tried I was getting 
Still I wasn’t not going to stop 
Because I  will never give up 
I instill in myself as long as I don’t misused my body and educate my mine 
There was nothing that could harm me Nothing
Suddenly  everything that  I was reaching for turn around and ran from me
And for the first time in my life I wanted good to save me 
I barely stop myself from falling to my knees begging him to free me 
For now I could see 
My daddy deceased 
My mother sickly 
And soon I will be a woman 
For I will be no ones child 
I feel as if I’m not ready 

They say Gods give you nothing you cant bare
Trying time he’s given me trying times is in me






Details | Verse | |

Ding Dong The Wicked Witch is Dead

Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.


Details | Narrative | |

Polish woman made sure to cancel her own funeral



  She was going to visit her old auntie at 91 years
  The sweet old aunt lived in her own home
  in the town of Ostrow Lobelski in Poland
  On the floor she found her body lifeless and cold
  Her heart did not beat, and she was not breathing
  Medical and police were called
  The old auntie Janina Kolkiewicz was declared dead
  After she had been in cold storage at a mortuary for 11 hours
  she ensured that the employees got themselves a real shock
  Body bags began to move - she was not dead
  The niece says that when they came home
  Janina asked for a hot cup of tea
  she felt cold all the way into her body and soul





  - This is a true story !!! - 


   16.11.2014
   A-L Andresen :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved 


   


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Fault Of Thyself

Fault Of Thyself

For every man there is reward.
For every man there are consequences.
Which kind of man are you?
 
For the brave man, there is honor.
For the cowardice man, there is desertion.
For the stone man, there is isolation.
For the weeping man, there is no shame.
For the anger man, there is violence.
For the patient man, there is a reward.
For the observant man, there is a puzzle.

For every woman there one man who fits her.
Be she the reward.
Be she the consequence. 
She is the Queen to the King.

Be she the honorable, for the brave man.
Be she the deserter, for the cowardice man.
Be she the isolatar, for the stone hearten man.
Be she right hand of no shame, for the weeping man.
Be she the perfect reward, for the patient man.
Be she the puzzle, for the observant man.

A man who can never handle a woman during her most awful, destructive days then he does not deserve her on her wonderful, perfect day.


Details | List | |

Qualities of Health Engendering Women

They see strengths
Not the limitations
These are people who will make you proud of yourself
They will tell you why you’re special
Trust you to the point you have to answer their expectations
They make you better than you normally are
You can be proud of yourself
They respect you 
For what you’ve done
Where you’ve come from
They see what you’ve experienced something real
Respect you for your courage
They live by their rules
They do not expect you to follow theirs
They are at peace to themselves
They are not proving anything to you
They are good listeners
Sincere in their interest in you
You feel important
They are available for honest
Genuine discussion
Makes you want to share yourself


Details | Narrative | |

The Old Man

Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.” Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed ‘til night came to end. When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man, which many name Death.” The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold. The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed. Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged. The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.


Details | Epitaph | |

The Perfect Woman

The Perfect Woman

“She loved me- she loved me not” 
And she sung “Stand by Your Man”
When the moment was right 
She would wiggle a bit  
Taking my manly hand
Of course she could cook
 I married her biscuits
 I did I did I did
The perfect women the one I married
Her voice no longer gets mad 


Details | Romanticism | |

A Flower's Funeral

A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-


Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Beautiful Whitney

Whitney was a beautiful baby.
Whitney was a beautiful child.
Whitney was a beautiful young lady.
Whitney married a sorry excuse for a human being
and now beautiful Whitney is dead.
Love is not only deaf, dumb and blind;
it also can be deadly as it was in beautiful Whitney’s case.


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 | Free verse | |

Goddess of Mars

Goddess of Mars and of
all things desolate

I chart desperate needs
I measure hatred

Alone in a red filled 
valley of despair

Hot winds lift and
spiral my hair

I am not there
I am the barest whisper

My talons scrape the blue
confines of heaven

while my dark- star constellations
spin  in fatal, frozen orbits

I am not there - nor is infinity


Details | Narrative | |

The Woman In White

It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.


Details | Free verse | |

Tell Me Why

Why?
Why?
Why?

Tell me why?
Tell me why?
Tell me why?

Was it, because I was too nice,
I was too much of a gentleman,
or was just too much to handle?

Was it, because you were young?
Was it, because you couldn't find your heart,
in all that darkness?
Was it, because you just didn't feel the love?

Why?
Why me?
A man like me, deserves no pain,
no heartbreak.
So, why me?

I pray and ask the Gods,
why!
But an unresponsive god never speaks to me.
He sits there and watches... watching what?
Nothing, but a heart being torn to shreds.

Was it, because I was too careful?
Was it, because I loved too much?
Was it, because one half of the heart couldn't fit the whole?

I ask you, because I still love you.
Come to me, my beautiful,
stop this nonsense,
I cannot make you love me,
but I sure can try to show you love.

Do not blink,
do not take a gift sent down from the Gods
for granted.
Appriciate what you have,
appriciate me, because one day,
when you need a shoulder to cry one,
you will not be able to find me, anywhere.
I will be lost,
in a fool's dream of romance and love,
that will never come on my front doorstep.
Still dreaming of the possibilities of you and I.
My heart is with you always,
but I will soon expire,
so do not wait too long.

-10/5/2013


Details | ekphrasis | |

The Circle

The Circle --- A Painting By Frida Kahlo

~~~

Caught between one life and another my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon I am crumbling into fragments like a fragile leaf, played with by the wind O' dark angel of the night You've slashed your talons across my life You have pounced, without a care... declaring my flesh and bone your own I only hear you in the silence of despair.... My world is now this moment that does not move O furtuna, sternit fortem O furtuna, rota tu volubillis Never was my life my own, never could it bend A circle, round, I cannot be........but just a line that ends Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem, A leaf, no longer, on the tree Reflecting then, upon a sky I reach a hand upon my crown and I feel of death instead My heart shrivels dry, a blackened rose, ... Do you feel my pain? Why must the flame of life grow dim? With hope you soothe me in your whim To take it all away? This wretchedness is black as tar, I taste the bitter blood! There's darkness hidden in the depth of who I used to be I am like a leaf, played with by the wind Do not turn eyes away...! Torment me not, with heartless lust.... as flesh turns into dust! ______________________________________________________________ Based on the Painting 'THE CIRCLE' For Cyndi's Contest: "Women Who Paint --Frida Kahlo" 8/19/13 http://www.fridakahlofans.com/c0611.html The Circle Translation O furtuna, (O' fortune) Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel) Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string) Quod per sortem (since fate)


Details | Rhyme | |

The Ghost I Knew

Can I catch you
Can you stay?
Forests at wood
There we play
A gentle hand 
That fixed the dress
Brushing tears back
Saving stress
I can not bare
The oaken wave
Only memories
Can I save
I miss your hair
And what it covered
More than a mind
God knows I loved her
The ghost I knew
She rests away
I can not catch you
You can not stay.


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 | Narrative | |

The Woman with the whiskey bottle As her tombstone

Learning to distinguish between and having a compassion for-silence that protects pain and silence that protects injustice has been a difficult important lesson-Julie Buckner Armstrong
                                      Rest in peace Mary Turner

May 19, 1918 in Valdosta, Georgia…
The day before, her 19-year-old husband,
hands cuffed behind his back, was strung up from a tree with hundreds in attendance
applauding his death.
She threatened to have her husband’s killers arrested. Outraged,
the Mob decided to teach her a lesson. 
With her swollen belly and feet, she tried to flee but was captured at noon
and taken to a bridge. One of the Mob men picked a tree. 
She was tied by her ankles and hung upside down and doused
in gasoline and motor oil from their automobiles. One of the Mob men lit a match. 
Engulfed in flames hot enough to make Satan sweat, she writhed in pain as her skin bubbled
and boiled. Pieces of flesh and clothing hung from her body. The Mob men howled in glee. 
Still alive, one of the Mob men took a knife and cut across abdomen as if she was cattle. The 
Mob men cackled like ravenous hyenas. Her premature baby dropped from her womb and hit the 
ground. It whimpered twice. 
The Mob, with boots of pure hatred and evilness, crushed its tiny
skull and body. Their final act was to riddle her burned and bloody body with bullets until she
finally died. The Mob, satisfied, went home.
The next day, they returned to cut her down from the tree. Her and her baby was buried near the tree, a whiskey bottle marking their grave.