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Social Women Poems | Social Poems About Women

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

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Details | Rhyme | |

WOMEN OF EXTINCTION

We were more popular
When you felt lazy,
More important when
We cooked you potatoes and gravy...

To please our boys and men
We would go to any length,
Even begged for mercy
Were pillars of strength...

We are the glue to glass houses
Being abused by the hour by the day,
Even ignored or unheard of by many
But we will continue to love come what may...

Negatively spoken of around the world
And frequently pacified by our nation,
But the torch GOD placed in our hearts
Is not a symbol of accusation more of edification...

Tear us down kick us to the ground
But we will always strive for equality,
We are free women accepting nothing less
Our guardian angels fill us with spirituality...

We are women born to cease dissention
We are women not women of extinction


Details | Rhyme | |

NO MORE EXCUSES

For pot-bellied uncles staring shamelessly For lechers ogling, whistling by the road side For exploiting girls and killing ruthlessly For chauvinistic men forcing female foeticide, Now, no more clumsy lame excuses. For game-seeking loafers and perverts at bus-stands For all powerful molesters who got to get away For masochistic husbands wielding an upper hand For "she asked for it", these words who say, Now, no more clumsy lame excuses. For those who believe, a girl should lower her eyes For those who expect women not to answer back For those who feel show of oppressive strength is nice For those who think its core and courage we lack Now, no more clumsy lame excuses. For now, we press for policies of zero tolerance For now, we shall rise like a phoenix, to carve a niche For now, after much suffering, we ran out of patience For now, we are out to eradicate the cancer of social psyche So, No more clumsy lame excuses. * the roots of the crime against women, rape, are deeply embroiled in the social psyche wherein at every stage the women are considered as lesser beings and perpetrators are always more likely to get away and with this confidence are the atrocities meted out. We need policies of zero tolerance and a multi pronged approach towards the issue.


Details | Verse | |

Secretly Obsessed

Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head

Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much

I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I 
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care

I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that 
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos 
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust 
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....






Details | I do not know? | |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir,my innocence is gone now, no more fear ,
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain !
I was crying, i was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and I looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world,that what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir,my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was blind!
having hidden hatred inside,a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds,that you marked,
yes,you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.


Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


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 | |

Your Secret Place

Everyone should have a secret place
where everything is so beautiful, you just belong
as peaceful as a day is long, an out of your usual pace,
sounds of nature all about, where birds sing there song,

Meditation replaces frustration, along your happy trail
moving about streams, pine trees as tall as a waterfall
where pine cones grace a foliage landscape  so surreal,
woes are meaningless about green grass, lollypop bushes

A cool spring where skinny dipping hasn’t a sign to obey
trails going every which way, too choose, you can’t lose…
your way, this sunny day, misty spray, a couple out to play,
no weight to bare, deadlines to meet, nor fail too win

time only absent from laughter heard as children frolic there...
in a caressing manner, with her long hair draped about your face,
sounds echo off boulders where water flows by gallons everywhere
yes - your secret place, where good time memories are your true nature


Details | Acrostic | |

No Perfection

Nothing compares to her exotic allure
One glance brings an immediate desire
Painfully close enough to feel a fire
Each second burns when not beside her
Ready for anything at a beckon moment
Fresh and more than capable to own it
Everybody knows she causes a friction
Casting the light we want to be under
The essence of what makes us want her
Is this what perfection is only about
On second thought, I know the reality
No woman needs pressure of a pedestal


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 | ABC | |

The Three Floozies Mary, Flo and Burly (A known Feminist)

Come join the three for another cheap, meaningless day in their lives
They consider themselves to be hip, part of the same sex marriage, Burly the 
husband, Flo and Mary the wives
Their day always starts at the breakfast table bashing  the males that exist 
They wish the males could be on the endangered species list
Sometimes things change among the three, as the estrogen level rises in Burly
Once a month, she wants to be a wife and act very girly
As for Mary and Flo, they think Oprah is hot
Burly thinks Rosie O'Donnell has the goodies she so much has sought
They sip their Busch Beer out of Nascar Coozies
There is no more room for anymore women within the circle of The Three 
Floozies
From their point of view, all men should be women's slaves
Burly  has a strong scent of Old Spice after shave
They love watching domineering women type movies
The popcorn is shared by all Three Floozies
They go out to only all girls clubs
They cheer on the under dogs, their favorite one is the Chicago Cubs
Their closets are full of clothes by Dickies
They leave each other love notes on little stickies
Mary likes champagne on a store brand  soda budget
Flo likes Butterbeans with cumin to make them smell pungent
Burly likes Pickled Eggs and sardines
Burly's favorite movie line is In space no one can hear you scream
Flo's favorite movie line is Go ahead, make my day
Mary's favorite movie line is My name is Chucky, do you wanna play?
Burly dreams of one day wrestlin' steers
Mary is concerned that Burly one day will leave, that's her worst fear
Flo watches the WWE, she is such a loyal fan
Burly uses her forehead to smash empty beer cans
None of you are mothers, so on your peanut butter selection, quit being choosy
Mary, Flo and Burly are today's Three Floozies




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 | |

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 | Haiku | |

MUSIC - HAIKU

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


Details | I do not know? | |

For Men Everywhere One Billion Rising

1 Billion Rising.

For Men Everywhere.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

Stop!

Stop the abuse!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Listen!

Listen to the voices!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Think!

Think of how you treat,

grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Act!

Act now to change yourself!

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when you stop,

the violence,
the abuse,
the rape.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

is perpetrated by,

grand-fathers,
colleagues,
boyfriends,
husbands,
nephews,
brothers,
partners,
fathers,
uncles,

men,

all men.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when us men stop,

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

today, now.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!


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 | I do not know? | |

One Billion Rising

Today we rise.

No more hiding in the shadows,

of culture,
creed,
tradition.

No more silent complicity,

defensive arguments,
sickening pretences,
shabby excuses,

for the actions of men,

brutal and coarse and vulgar and obscene and murderous and abusive.

Today, we rise,

as one.

Today the change starts,

with me,
within me.

Today we rise.


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 | Rhyme | |

Come and Go Chicago

Come and Go Chicago – Zamreen Zarook
 
Where are you going my lady?
Where are you from my sweetie?
What ever you ask my buddy,
You won’t get the paddy.
 
She became a liar,
Because of your chore,
Two questions that you murmur,
Master, don’t forget that you were the rear.
 
You became a sinner,
Without knowing what is inner,
Now you know the manner,
So, never to forget the dinner.

Cease to care for those questions,
Nothing you gain from the considerations,
Everyone has their own equations,
So,they do have their explanations.

 


Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | Verse | |

I blame me

I blame me for all my mistakes
I blame me for all the rejection and heartache
I blame me for all the times I stayed silent 
and should have started and earthquake
with my words
I should have spoken up when I had the chance
now all those thoughts are wasted
unspoken, unheard

I blame me when my husband touches me 
and I feel the hands of a predators pounce
And I blame me when the pressure it on
because all I had to do was shout out and renounce His name
Lord, help me to get rid of the shame

I blame me for my loneliness
I blame me for my feelings of lust
I blame me when I look at myself and see absolute disgust
I blame me when I shut down - unsure of who to trust
At times not even sure if I really know how to love

I blame me when my kids are crying out sick
because when I brought them here
I knew that this world was unfit
Yet overpowered by my love for them 
I became more and more protective
So I blame myself in advance for their sadness
when they finally see that the world is not objective

I blame me for those nights I can't rest
Wondering if my consciousness has finally realized
that I have done my best
to stay positive and have good intentions
So I blame myself when I give in to temptations and my human inhibitions
and begin to feel ashamed of myself
I begin to feel like I don't have enough strength to love myself
because
good things don't happen for me
So I blame me for my thinking and feelings of worthlessness

It's a big world and my lonely soul has no more confidence
I have nothing
I have given up 
and so I blame me for my incompetence and my soul's rut


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? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day


wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last


...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust


...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen


...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands

but...

now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell


...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
again
put down


Details | I do not know? | |

For Anene Booysen 1996 - 2013

Hamba Kahle Anene Booysen! (1996 – 2013)


Dead at 17, brutally raped and left to die,
in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

‘horrific’, ‘repulsed’,
‘brutally raped’, ‘shocked’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left to die,

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

Anene was raped,
savagely mutilated,

 

Her 17 year old body tossed aside,

 

by the hands of men.

 

Men, always men,

 

cowardly, beastly, perverted, twisted men.

 

‘Beastly’, ‘perverted’, ‘twisted’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

who now lies cold and dead.

 

How many Anene Booysens will it take,

 

for us,
society,
families,
people,

 

human-beings,

 

and,

 

men, especially men,

 

to excise the ghastly menace,

 

of the heinous capacity that resides,

 

within men,

 

always men,

 

to brutalise, rape, mutilate, and murder.

 

‘Brutalise’, ‘murder’, ‘rape’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left,

 

to die,

 

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site,

 

in Bredasdorp.

 

 

Anene Booysen
(1996 – 2013)

 

* – Hamba Kahle – “Farewell, Travel Well” in Zulu

 

** – Bredasdorp is a small town near Cape Town, South Africa


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 | Narrative | |

Memoir: Crashing Women's Studies- Feminists, BEWARE lol

Don't ask me how it happened; I have no clear recollection. I have always had this brazen habit of coming right out and directly asking for whatever I want; I always figured "no!" was the only worst possible outcome, aside from a good cussing, perhaps. Either or both I can handle.

My best friend, who had invited me to this event, wasn't even a speaker; she was just present for class credit and I had nothing better to do so I happily joined her. Her professor was the director, or MC, of the night's festivities and proceedings and Jill introduced us soon after we entered the banquet hall and before the speaking commenced.

I also have this horrid habit of mentioning that I am an artist to anyone of any importance or significance whatsoever, hoping to sound gallant and impressive. I can only surmise that Jill's teacher asked me what kind of artist I was, and I must have boldly stated, with an air of haughty confidence no doubt, that I was a de facto grand poet of the ages. I was only 19 at the time and thought I was Poe! My style was sloppy and unrefined, but I didn't know it yet.

Given that this was a "Women's Studies" organization and all guest speakers that night were, obviously, going to be female, I don't know how I convinced, finagled, schemed, bulled, or mechanized my way into making myself an impromptu speaker as well that evening. It was an "anything goes" type platform, from women reading poetry to short stories, to essays or presenting artwork. I was, I kid you not, the first male to EVER be a speaker at this "Women's Studies" gathering.

Having committed many of my poems to memory, I just quickly jotted down four or five particular favorites, and when it was my time to speak, impertinently stepped right up to the platform, adjusted the microphone, and recited my horrible poetry to a group of...I'm not sure if "feminists" is quite the word for which I am searching. Let's just say that if Gloria Steinem or Gertrude Stein had been in the audience, I might have been yanked off the podium. So there I was, babbling about, having basically crashed this Feminist rally. That I wasn't mauled or had my eyes scratched out can only be attributed to luck, progressive-thinking, guardian Angels or plain ol' polite courtesy. In retrospect, I blanch at the thought of my shameless, unabashed audacity.

I would love to know whether any more males ever took part in anymore of their events, but I guess I'll never know and can only hope that little bit of history I made that night remains intact. True story.


Details | Haiku | |

Geisha's smile


Geisha  always smile
Because
She don't have the money to cry


Details | Rhyme | |

women s silence awakened

                             (9/9/12)

For centuries they had to walk behind the man
Because men thought that they could not understand
Politics or the power of glory
That to them was just a story.

But women from the start , always knew 
What was in their hearts.
In their hearts , and in the hearts of their men

They knew when to act like a lover
And when to be a friend.
When to keep quite and when to give an ear
Of this they had no fear.

They supported their men because of the 
Love they had inside, and of that
They did not deny.
But in their hearts they knew it had to be
A two way street.

That they must support each other in
All their endeavors and failures in life.
This is what they do as husband and wife.

The more that time passed the more that
Women s silence awakened
It was awakened to voice their opinions
Thoughts , and emotions
Of this it had to be spoken.

Now women have most of the rights of men
And into every field they will defend
They realize that now they can show
That whatever man conceives ,They will do - and do believe.
They may not get paid as much as men
But they will in the end.


Details | Verse | |

Women

 Comes from the womb,to not being cheered.
 That has been the culture,it haven’t changed over the years.
 Child reached the moon ,  but not the mind of our people. 
  It has become a rarity that it has been cheered.

  She becomes a girl, and pity is felt for,
  cursed every moment for being a girl.
  But never been appreciated for pain she takes in her .
  When she run bare-foot to make good for the future 
                                                    
  No books seen in her future, the law has been made 
  to live on bread of others.
  Which she never think as cruel .
  Still we pity them as if she is not a SAPIEN.
  Girl conquered the world,but we see then burden to future.
 
  The authority is changed to rule her .
  But her character remains the same whatsoever.
  Still rock remains her strength, in cruelest of wave she face inside her .
  She raises many of them like hers.
  But never appreciated for being a great women.
  The respect should come from heart .
   For a women who brings, all peace to world forever.

  Some respect is gained,  as she grows older.
  But still work for for family,and share her bread to other .
  By being most generous on earth forever.

 And the time comes,  when she need to be helped by others .
 Put aside as old manor with no future.
 Still try to find happiness ,in cheer of the younger .
 Finally the curtain falls,and the end of great  journey comes to a halt .

DEDICATED TO WOMEN OF INDIA.
                                              


Details | Rhyme | |

Defend Yourself Women

Being a woman has its challenges at times,
We're always working hard to only get a couple dimes.
But “man's” comments make me thrive,
Especially the ones about the way we drive.
But put yourself in our shoes and see with what we're dealing,
Then try to say women have too many feelings!
I hear we're suppose to stay in the kitchen to cook and clean,
That's funny! You clean up your mess and make it gleam!
I'm not going to be pushed around! I'm in charge of my life!
If you don't like it-then go find yourself a different wife!
Yes, there is equal rights and opportunities for women and men,
But one day women will be the rulers and men will obey us until the end!


Details | Free verse | |

THE REST ARE WOMEN

Rest are Women! 
We worship Women,
We love Women as Mothers
We seek affection
from Women as Sisters
We are Men

We place Woman
on a Pedestal, We need Her
We use Her, We misuse Her
We are Men

We love our Wife,
We hate Daughters
We flirt Women;
We abuse Her
We are Men

When Women dares! and
Gets down her pedestal
We hate her,
we fear her
We are Men

Wonder! Why God fears
to get down from pedestal
The offerings will stop from all,
Shall ignore even the Lord
We are Men
The Rest are Women


INDIA, THE LAND OF GREAT CULTURE  is sadly named among the five worst places 
for women in the world in a survey.


Details | Free verse | |

A Grand Carlyle Residue via 1989

Stymied synergistic stoolcumers synchronized
of gifted glib galb garbage run of mouth
nicotine rings of one night 
no promise quickly spilled
ever taxed gestured pocket
pool. tandem coulpling random 
access eye spew askances for a 
tainted night glow. Weak whitewine 
whispers office yupslugs curtaling on a 
Friday nnite feeding rampage
cock'll doodle do ya, hopefully, fixed
******l trans plant stilted blue
libidious carneverous ego ectascies
exaggerate trip the gonad fantasy fantastic
click, click, click, scrape,
click females ina crowd leave ina crowd
***** puffers everywhere cancer
croonies suck lips with sunken jaw 
jumping jill frenzy paste posted tooth
smiles--only gum grin where prohibited
white collar/blue collar share a
once beer of sorts, while linley smoke
figures haunt backwards in a sitdown dismal
denial comedy for the no show waitresses
geese gatheing empty of poignant personality
through bar riers of in-finite age range ripe
rituals for meta phor women to the restroom!
The plot hair thickens. my lungs hurt from watchexisting
Blue suit sancturary slugs offer office onslaughts through
oppulent openings via perservance in a temperate tampon 
express meal head long into a pubic partisian oblivion? 
True bar tintilation touting tempting tidbits of tumultious
temptations tilting time, tantilizing tremors, tracking
tricks of professional preference and sexosocial sinny
secular satisfaction. Gomer Pyle just pissed by. 
Judy, Judy, Judy. Poor Judy.   

occular preferences occlude 


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Free verse | |

Smooth Convicts

By Angeline Star

Anti-social
behavior of
the push-up 
bra- -
confines.


Details | I do not know? | |

Vula Amehlo - Zulu for open your eyes

Vula Amehlo (open your eyes)

"Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes"

Vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
though eyes aren’t needed to behold
the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
the time to turn your back is long gone
no time now to pander and no time now to fawn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn
though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we may be invisible and tucked away far from you
but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze
come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes
we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights
we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples’ rights

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
don’t think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause
we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
vula amehlo
mothers and fathers
vula amehlo
brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright
we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night
vula amehlo
one and all
our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year
we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear
vula amehlo
open your eyes
and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
open your eyes



Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains
unyielding


Details | Rhyme | |

Cassandra's Girls



What is in the glow of a moonless night?
Drops of sadness on shattered glass,
Blinding blankness in a clandestine plight
Or a pretty orphan girl, alas.

She sways along the roads, so bright
She wears the sunshine and the rain,
She cries when the street-dogs fight
She has no worries, no one to blame.


What is in the strand of a bald man's hair?
Stains of sin on a crumpled shirt,
Questions meandering like a murderer's dare
Or a pretty orphan girl's dirt.

She swoons between heels of fame,
She smiles through cigarette smoke,
She applauds this perfidious game,
She gets raped, a random bloke.


What is in the noise of a fly on a corpse?
Lumps of shame on a naked canvas,
Innocence lost with childlike remorse,
Or a pretty orphan girl, Cassandra's.


She listened to the dimming of the holy light,
She searched for angels in a forlorn place 
She drank her tears to honour her might,
They orphaned too, her pretty face. 




Details | Rhyme | |

Mom I'm Pregnant

“Mom….   I’m Pregnant!”


From the time I held my baby 
in my arms…
I made a vow to “protect her from all harm.”

She was indeed a wonderful bundle of joy…
And during her life, has been a gift for us to enjoy.

She's been  the focus of much of our attention,
Trying to provide for her 
“timely” correction.

As a father, many thoughts entered my mind…
I wanted to be attentive to her, 
patient and kind.

As she's gone through 
her teenage years…
I thought of what perhaps is a parent’s #1 “fear.”

Then one day... “Mom I’m pregnant” were spoken...
At first, my heart was sad and “broken.”

“I didn’t raise her to be “crazy and wild…”
“How could this happen to a wonderful child?”

I realized that in spite of everything
 parent’s will do.
There’s no telling what their 
children will put them through.

I gave her a hug and all of the
 support  I could give…
Everything she’s been through…
 God will forgive!

With all that has happened in her life…
One day she’ll make someone a wonderful wife!

Dear Lord, please help my daugher to see...
How precious she is to her mother and me!




Entered in the contest; "Mom I'm Pregnant!"
Sponsored by Gwendolen Rix

Key findings
National levels and trends
• In 2006, 750,000 women younger than 20 became pregnant. The pregnancy rate 
was 71.5 pregnancies per 1,000 women aged 15–19.


Details | Free verse | |

Destruction of Women

Some men seek to destroy women to satisfy their own
pitiful images of themselves, subjecting the fairer sex
to lives of hell,

Whether its emotional, physical or mental abuse,
Either way, their distortion of women have grown obtuse,
Their respect has dwindled and they would rather treat
them like refuse,

The misguided men are really vying for their souls,
but strong women rarely acquiesce to the heinous
acts of hate and distress they cast upon them,

The godesses of earth outer shells may die, cry
and live with shame, yet their souls still roar with
beauty and a tireless flame,

Only cowards would seek to destroy whom God has created
to raise good girls and boys......


Details | Rhyme | |

Texas Debate

Texas Debate

State troopers are taking their tampons
Maxi pads – those that have wings
They’re afraid that some women might toss them
Along with some old girly things
You see congress out there in Texas
Is debating the meaning of life
Abortion and anti-abortion
Protests at the Capital’s rife
They fear for the Congressmen’s safety
They want to disarm violent ones
But Texans you know being Texans
Still allow them to bring in their guns

Uncle Mike


Details | Free verse | |

Soulful Cries

I scream, at the top of my lungs
No sound, comes out
Silent, curdling screams
Is, all I have left, now
I wrestle; I fight, with all, my physical might
While, being forced down 
By the mighty strength, of many men
The pungent smells of dirt, sweat and grime
Embed, in my senses
Their ghastly hot breathes; making me, want to puke!
Their hands, all over me
Constantly grabbing and groping me
Hollering and cheering each other on
Then, someone punches me
Someone, I cannot see
A large man’s hand, covers my nose and mouth
Muffling my soulful cries, terrifying, my insides!

I can’t breathe, now!

Many heavy handed blows, follow
In a blurry haze
I watch, my scarlet red blood splatter
Upon the snow white sheets, that surround
My sacred blood spilled
My salty tears mixed in with sticky men’s semen
My body, a raging torrent of scorching hot lava
Lulling into a translucent, entranced state
Surrendering, to the primal, animalistic frenzy
The men, taking what they want, anyway they want it
Devouring every morsel left ,of my weak and weary body
My body fighting, for its God given right
To live, now!
My life flashes before my eyes
The sounds around me begin to fade
My eyes glaze over, my body goes limp
My body betraying me, when I need her the most!
Silently, I pray for this is not my will, but their own
“Have mercy upon these souls” 
“Please forgive these men, as I do, now
“My love remains with you, heavenly Father”
Blackened tears of jet black mascara
Weave their way down
Through the bloody crevasses, of my black & blued skin
My body used up, a lifeless vessel, totally numb!
My innocence and dignity stripped!
No one, can save me, the worst is done!
Bashed, beaten, worn
I am nothing, no more...


Details | I do not know? | |

Fear of the Lord 11132011

CHARM IS DECEPTIVE AND BEAUTY FLEETING
THE WOMEN WHO FEARS THE LORD IS TO BE PRAISED
PROVERBS 31:30

I HAVE BEEN BLESSED
Over the years to cross paths with a number of women who fear the Lord
It bears saying that none of them is timid soul
“Fear of the Lord” in Scripture, of course

Means Reverence
A deep appreciation of the power of God’s presence
That transforms people
Making them both confident and courageous

Still let’s not be too quick to throw charm and beauty out the window
Charm and beauty keep us going
Whether they are found in the little encounters of daily life or in the refinements of high art
Charm and beauty are reflections of the creator

The more we appreciate them
Though they are only fleeting
The more we reverence the One who has made this glorious life possible
Gracious God, thank You for the worlds You fashion for our enjoyment each day


Details | I do not know? | |

Emmeline Pankurst

She fought for the rights
Of women everywhere,
Changing the laws
To make them more fair.
She worked extra hard
To make things just,
This fighting woman
Was Emmeline Pankurst.
She was a passionate feministe
Just like her mum,
Together they made
Sexist men look dumb.
Her example will inspire us
To stay together and strong,
No mather the distance
No matter how long.
The 1900's where when
A difference was made,
When the distence from men
Began to fade.
She led protests
Against authoritive men, 
And thanks to that
Things are much different that then.
So many fewer women
Are expected to clean,
Ordered about
And treated mean.
The world is now
A better place,
Where women and men
Wear the same face.
Through hard times and struggle
She pushed her way through,
Emmeline Pankurst,
All women thank you.


Details | Free verse | |

C'est la Vie

the bar is crowded
and the smoke tickles my nostrils
i sneeze a few times
then find a place in the front
the band is a joke
lead guitarist sticks to power chords
except the rare occasion
he noodles like an idiot on solos 
some old hipster eyeing me
i look at him with a questioning stare
"have a seat," he says
two women to his side
his friends crowded around in the bunker
the round table shakes from shots landing
and the kick of feet and laughter

"what's your name?" he asks
"val" i say and waft the smoke away
"val... isn't that a girl's name?"
his two drunken friends laugh
"usually" i say and reach for a drink
"why ya here val?"
"to meet a friend"
"a friend, huh... where is she?"
"he"
"you gay or somethin?"
"unfortunately, no" i say with a sneer
he doesn't like my tone, but continues
"how long you been waiting?"
"an hour"
"an hour? he's not coming"
"yeah, we'll see"
"you're welcome to stay and drink with us though"
"thanks, but no thanks"
his eyebrows furrow at this and he leans over at me
"look at this kid. doesn't have any friends.
and when someone tries to be a little friendly
he shows just why he doesn't..."
his friends laugh harder, the two women sit uninterested
"look, val. this is my world...
where do you belong?"
my thoughts go sour as i climb my way out

clearing my head on the streets
i make my way for the subway
the walk is long and my feet are killing me
a waste of a night as usual
and thoughts keep going off in my head
as usual

the ride back is empty
besides a big college kid and his girlfriend
the entire time they are making out
but every once in a while they look over at me
and say with their eyes,
"this is our world...
where do you belong?"


Details | Narrative | |

SCARCE HARVEST

War World II was raging over this
southern Italian town* spared by a miracle...
a deluge that suddenly occurred: 
a night of blasting sounds, of rising flames 
as American planes bombarded its buildings;
the Nazis fled to occupied Naples.
In the North, the Fascits were executed,
as the Dictator Mussolini himself was. 


The farms could not be furrowed deep and neat,
fear hung over the farmers' shoulders;
and wheat couldn't grow abundantly to make bread,
and brazen women to a distant granary they went, 
risking their lives to grind the wheat kernels;
they were no young men in town, or the older ones
who had gone to war for a concept so deceptive.
Many youngsters and soldiers were kidnapped by the Nazis, 
to be taken to Germany as prisoners of war...who would have 
challenged the Third Reich, or disobeyed?


Old women with handkerchiefs on their heads, weeping loudly
and mourning the tranquil town it once was...so lovely and happy, 
and their cry was too bitter and inconsolable to be hushed;
now, even bread was taken away from them,
damning the cruel Duce, who had betrayed them for vanity...
why did he bring prosperity to Africa, not to Italy?
Why was his ego so manipulated by Hitler's cleverness...
that he could have conquered peoples and lands?


Ruins and dead kindred...a scenery of dread and abomination,
and the lively memory of begonias on their sunny balconies 
brought a sweet nostalgia in an hour of horror and death;
and gathered among the crumbled walls, their rosaries  
recited with graceful whispers, gave them 
the strength and the courage to desperately grieve:
"Peace, o beloved peace, have you overlooked
the kindness of such humble and honorable spirits?
 

Darkness brought the silence they had sought under the glittering skies,
to hide the ugliness of the war in their gloomy shadows,
never to reveal the devastation of their town;
and with the new sun rising, hope would have been 
renewed in the sunrise's lasting glow.
They would have seen those wheat golden kernels 
bend under their heavy weight and bow.... 
and heard themselves saying," Mercy, o mercy
of our righteous God, let prosperity abound...
as the misty rain slowly comes down!"   

Southern Italian Town:  Baiano

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Narrative | |

A REVELATORY MESSAGE OF SALVATION

The Good News is for people
who have a sickness and need to be healed,
and healing starts with a reborn spirit,
but spiritual blindness won't make one look upward,
to ask for forgiveness and becoming whole;
the Good News can give you a new heart
with their revelatory message full of promise...
coming upon you form the Divine Source!



Who has the audacity to blame God
for not intervening in the world's affairs,
whose troubles are too numerous to mention?
Starvation causes incurable diseases,
bizarre and unrestrained sexual behavior kills;
state after state approves of the same sex marriage:
Sodom and Gomorrah lives on
with their merry-making mocking!  



And the same individuals who frequent
holy places, in which they worship their god with vain praises,
condone the filth and ugliness already tolerated by society,
making easier for them to express their sexuality
in offensive ways and disobey God's commandment;
two men taking the role of a lovable daddy,
and two women that of a devoted mommy?
Aren't they sending the wrong message to those tiny beings?



If men lay with men and women with women;
conception is denied the joy of blissful birth,
and the screams of babes, coming out of the belly, 
won't be heard anymore...what an awful pity
for children not to have mom's and dad's affection: 
to live a normal childhood on this beautiful earth!
O lost and uncaring people, receive and hear with elation,
the Good News with their revelatory message of salvation!
  

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Something to think about from me to you

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT.....
				FROM ME TO YOU!


* The Average Woman Would Rather Have Beauty Than Brains 
Because The *
                          Average  Man Can See Better  Than They Can 
Think.


After you read this, you may have  laughed well still  agreeing  
with this statement! 
Men may of had a little  more to add but this would only be 
based on trying not to sound so shallow!
The women on the other hand, either silently agree or may have 
showed a little anger towards this statement  being that one may 
have experienced  similar situations  that brought back 
unpleasant feelings, But would still result in agreeing.
This statement has some truth.   
It  also holds  deeper meaning than what meets the eye! 
“If you have a more appealing outside” 
Is it safe to say that you may  get opportunity  based on how you 
look? 
If that is the case, does one settle?  Do you then do whatever 
needs to be done ?
Would on be smart to  get in where u fit in? 
( We All Know More Or Less Where Or What That Would Be! ) Or 
is it safe to say that knowledge will go over a face and body any 
time? 

One can look at another situation? 
Say you are  good looking with the added blessing: ( Beauty and 
Brains..... )
Would you get a fair go and show that you have a double pack to 
offer? 
Or would your true capability always stay getting overlooked?
 If when shown that you can do a job to the ultimate fullest; You  
may have lost because when exposed that you are not on a hoe 
role you may have made the boss mad and now he does not 
want you either way !  

“His ego got involved”


“WHAT A COLD TWIST.....”


SO WHAT DO WE DO?
 INVEST IN PLASTIC SURGERY AND ALL TO MAKE AN OUTSIDE A 
LIE? OR STILL PUT MORE TOWARDS KNOWLEDGE AND 
EDUCATION? 

“BECAUSE THAT'S GOING TO GET US FAR IN LIFE! “


Details | Rhyme | |

Can Men Really Love?

After years of seeking the truth
I'm still at a dismay
Can men really love?
Is it real or play?

I know women are meant to love
We love all in sight
We crave to be nutured 
Be it wrong or right

Is it your suppose to be strong?
Love is a weakness at first?
Will your friends make fun of you?
Do you think it's a curse?

Is it your ego?
I'm just not sure
I've seen what love isn't
You have to be mature.

Do men always get jealous?
Too afraid to be full exposed?
I know women will love a million different ways
But a mans heart seems to be froze

I'm just curious
So I put in words for all to see
Maybe someone can help me 
Can men really love in true reality?




Details | Quatrain | |

Listen Up Brothers

I look at art and I see beauty.
I read poems and reveal it too.
I walk among nature and feel it.
I witness it all, but I don’t know you.

Women, God’s handiwork, tough to read
They have plagued mankind for years.
We can love, appreciate and worship them.
We fall victim and are brought to tears.

Women are not objects, but objectified.
They can be overly suggestive, yet pure.
They can assault our being, yet we stay.
When it comes to them, we always want more.

We can defy them, but later need them.
We can hear their breaths, hear each beat.
When it comes to lust, oh so very often,
We also tend to grovel at women’s feet.

Men act like fools when around them,
Stuttering thoughts that never come clean.
We’d like to say how we love, need them.
But have not the words to say what we mean.

God was generous with the beauty He gave,
A variety of different colors and even size.
I wish He gave men the smarts, though,
So we can see women clearly in our eyes.

Let’s not waste time, trying to figure out.
Let’s just admire, respect, and cherish them all.
Let’s just open and share what we’re feeling
For women are needed, without them we fall.

Many of them have fallen victim.
Support those who have, give them a hand.
Give them not pity, that is not wanted,
Give them your heart that would be grand.


Details | Free verse | |

the words out of our mouths

just the other day a radio personality 
made a disparaging remark about a group of women 
whom he had never even met.
this person has always been known 
for his acerbic tongue and cutting comments.
but he crossed the line, he went too far
it was cruel and unnecessary
but the point i want to make 
is that anyone,  be they black, white or indifferent
should be held accountable 
for the words out of their mouths.

rap artists and r&b singers who refer to women 
as b%#@!&s and ho's
shock jocks on the radios whose only purpose in life is to be
as vulgar and offensive as possible
newscasters and talk show hosts who say inflammatory things
just to stir up some controversy.
what has happened to society?
have we lost all sense of morality?

bigotry is bad for business
racism is radically wrong
there is no excuse nor will any apology make it go away
nor erase the words that come out of our mouths
because once it is spoken it can't be unspoken

Jesus made a comment to the Pharisees
when they rebuked His disciples for not washing their hands
before partaking of the meal
He said,'"whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and is eliminated, 
but those things which proceed out of the mouth come from the heart 
and they defile a man."   
so be careful of the words that you choose and use
for the words out of our mouths tell people 
what is on our mind and in our heart


Details | ABC | |

WHAT ARE THEY NEED?

What the women need,
it makes them unique,
and what men need,
makes them wise.

Men and women
were really common friends
from Adam and Eve,
but what the women need,
it's difficult to prove.

Today she likes fish,
tomorrow ask for meat,
if you miss he change her face,
abusing and cry.

Oh! women,
 what are you really need
to settle men's heart,
minds and brain?
Really your'e heard!