Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

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 | 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 | Iambic Pentameter | |

Tug


The fog reminded him the winter's edge
how faster can the nightly riding be?
he felt the overthrow and painful sledge,
- the asphalt hit the rider departee.

The roar was heard amid the falling snow
the bike capsized - and hard he fell to slug,
across the never reached horizons' glow,
received her bridal kiss and asphalt's tug.

He danced with her beneath the nimbus cloud
- enjoining the magnificence of waltz;
bestowed, denoted valor, fore avowed,
ambrosial her remembrance was, and false.

Beforetime she became his fate in mists,
perceived their airy dance, surpassed treetops
lithe daughter of woods' emptiness, not kissed
on fares unvisited, where searching stops.

Inside the nimbus celebrating Halls
Collegiate was the feast's inviting dance,
trajectory redemptive, death-ride tolls,
- was thoughtful and cognizable her glance.

So standing tall 'mid honors and dusk shades,
recalled the margins that he raced upon,
three hundred for Persephone of Hades
to be his wed on skyline's denouement.

The bullocky V-engine echoes thence
and crowns the basalt rocks atop the brae
when riders pass and fog is hazy-dense
upon his street-bike-fighter see him sway.

© 09-04-2013, George Venetopoulos
(Iambic pentameter)


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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | Clerihew | |

My constant mirror

My constant mirror from heaven, 
On earth and in the sea,
Only you can be;
But can you see yourself in my poetry? 


Details | Free verse | |

Wake Me, When the Morning Comes

A night full of nightmares
and suicidal tendencies,
feeling pain rush, like tidal waves
crushing me and blood boiling
anger wishes and takes the best of me;
but can I heal my own heartbreak?
Will I ever find love again?
See the angel of death come to me,
smiles and says come with me.
Oh, Wake me, when the morning comes,
so I can show evil the light.

Feelings eternal and fragile,
she walks some lonesome highway
travelled by the ones who fall in love.
She a grand fool, who takes life for 
granted,
wake her with the morning light
and shine down rays of goodness and 
pride
and show her the path that leads back to 
me.

Wake me when the morning comes,
place her upon my doorstep
and a smile upon her loving face,
I'm not ready to move on just yet.
I don't want anymore nightmares
and nightly visits from the black angels.
I don't want to see blue eyed Death,
with his grinning skull and black robe.
I want to see the sunshine break through 
my window
and I want to hear the birds sing love 
songs,
and the trees dancing to the wind's sweet 
melody.
I want to awake to her sweet and glorious 
beauty.
Wake me, when the morning comes,
when I can open my eyes to anew
and see life in a new day,
and live life in a new way.

-10/5/2013-


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 | Ballad | |

BESIDE EVERY GREAT WARRIOR OF OLD

Men were given total dominion
over all living things, and when
they subdued their enemy:
they were granted immortality!

Beside every great warrior of old, 
there was a strong woman of humility,
who gave him a victorious  sword;
and helped him change the course of history! 

Emperess Theodora was one of them to show adversity;
when Noka's revolt broke out:  she decided to stay,
while her hushand, Justinian, fled the city;
what an admirable act of feminity!

Beside every great warrior of old,
there seems to be a look of invincibility,
a defying moment to obtain glory;
and the cost for a golden crown is well-known!

Be the warrior of modern times, treatened by fear and fragility, 
seek out the man you were destined to be;
trust that woman who posseses internal beauty,
and beside this warrior, her courage will guide you with dignity!


Details | Rhyme | |

love's drowning

over waves of the sounds from the glass of the sea
comes a shreak that dispersed on a night that was cursed
and flys cold with a chill; it lands squarely on me
my eyes did turn quick and wonder about
crystal pale blue was the scenes only hue
hand to my head, filled now with doubt
but was there distress on that morn i awoke?
with the sands at my feet; on an air crisp with sleet
as the autumn sun's light had not yet full broke
the question that's posed in these ramblings you'll see
for she lay down beside during moonlight's high tide
why that night my love left, n'er a word spoke to me?


Details | Narrative | |

The Doppelganger She

I was once seen on one’s graveyard
Strumming an old guitar with a beer in one hand
I asked, “What was I wearing?”
“A clown’s”, the woman said, “and a cross lay flat on your chest.”

On a clowny day a white-clothed cried
“I think I saw you next to the baby’s’s crib.”
“What was I wearing?" went in my head. 
“A priest’s,” she said, then a puppet clung in your neck.”

On a priesty day, “You were that man!”
Said she gasping while a run.
“You hung your head, Oh belfry man!”
Then bellowed she, “Oh belfry man!”

On a gaspy day, in a purring crowd I passed
A woman lay naked on a road’s side
Pieces that woman accused me of possessing
Cross, puppet, white long garments the dead's hand clasping!


© Glenn L. Sentes
Written for Matt Caliri's Contest DOPPELGANGER
July 5, 2011


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 | Free verse | |

As lightning strikes the Joshua Tree

When lightning strikes the Joshua tree
The air is frightfully clear.
The children quiet their 
Jacks and Jump ropes
As the suburbia settles it's ears.
An ivy beneath a sycamore tree 
Watching a fire with envy.

It wonders,
How on nature's rich, ripe earth
Is there a power
So quick to devour
The beauty and grace of a Joshua tree.
Why is it the branches crumble so
When Ivy's destruction is subtle and slow.
Why do fires spawn sputtered cries
When an English Ivy lays easy on the eyes.

A Mexican woman pours tears to the land.
She cries for the homeless
And weeps for the sand.
She mutters one word that no one will hear
She pleads that you feel it 
Without dwindling fear.

When finally sleep comes
The children then stir
As they dream of a fire too bold to endure.
The woman will weep
As the fires grow.
She cries for the Joshua trees,
It's roots and it's leaves,
With a few tears for you,
And a couple for me.


Details | Verse | |

Bloodwoman

When the night comes,
and the world is a away,
the demons step out,
as their corpses decay.

Across Will-street,
lived a mysterious sinner.
A famous voice,
whose faintest whisper made the mighty shiver.

Her long gold locks,
made many a man weak,
till he knew her up close,
where no one could hear his helpless shriek.

Burning lust,
disappeared in her embrace,
then moving swiftly,
dripping blood from her long nails.

She was her daddy's girl, people say,
till she hit him with a gun.
No man could ever escape,
the trap of this woman.

Courage, don't be weak,
don't let your young heart loose.
She is waiting till the night birds call,
she has her sight on the whole town view.

Widows always weep,
the young is red meat,
when she kills all the sinners,
she is the bad woman.
When your daddy is cheap,
you ought to be weak,
but she is not a dying soul,
she is Bloodwoman.