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Women Free Verse Poems | Free Verse Poems About Women

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

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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 | Free verse |

The Perfect Womens Club

I invite you to join the perfect womens club
The application is sitting on the desk
The following will not determine acceptance
Weight, height
Age
Hair color 
Certainly not breast size
Education will make little difference unless it's used wisely
There is no one to compete with
Acceptance is almost always guaranteed
What are we looking for you might ask
Have you cryed?
Have laughed?
Does your heart possess the capacity for love
Do you sing along with the radio
Have you smiled, really smiled?
Have some of your dreams come true?
Are there still dreams waiting to unfold?
You can be shy or outgoing
You don't have to be anyone else
Flaws are important
They are what make you unique
Doubts and confidence
Forward and reserved
Doing the best you can today
It's okay if you have failed
Are you still smiling?
It's even okay if you are crying
You just have to be you
No need to change for anyone
If you want to change that is okay
You will reinvent yourself many times
Perfect in imperfection 
A proud member of the Perfect Women's  Club


Details | Free verse |

Not Too Late for Tears- Girl Rising

She held her mother’s hand
As tears made their way
Down the face called
“Exquisite, beautiful, charming”…
The face that had been her comfort

She could not absorb the pain in her words
“Nothing…I feel...nothing
If I could only feel a little of what my friends describe
That feeling of”…she sighed
“Of….of giddiness…
They say it’s like…like…
The beating of a drum..faint at first and then
Beating louder and louder until…
Until you want to explode with the strength
of the vibrations
Tingling all over”…
She covered her face with her hands
“Instead…I try to imagine it as we lie together…
Hoping I can please, can satisfy…
Your father.”

Talking about private matters
Was difficult in her culture
Now, home on semester break
She heard her mother share
The horror of that night
When as a child they held her
Kicking and screaming
Exposing her most private parts
Cutting away the center of desire
The essence of her womanhood
That had been cloistered
In the folds of safety
Leaving her….scarred
 
She squeezed her mother’s hand
This woman whose every move
Made men stare
Exuding sexual charm
She was the epitome
Of every womanly grace….
Yet...unable to feel the fluttering
That some time ago
Had slowly awakened in her own frame
Mysterious sensations

Her mother’s tears
Now fell from her own eyes
She bowed her head in shame
Wanting to blame
Her grandparents for following
The stupid traditions of their world…
Thinking it was best…

Her mother enfolded her in an embrace
And rocked her
“Shhh….don’t cry…
It’s too late for tears now"…

“I’m so so sorry, Mama,” she whispered,
Pulling away
Her mother reached out to wipe her tears
“Feel sorry for your father
I see the pain in his eyes…
Knowing that I cannot feel what he feels…
Often, he won't approach me, but I entice him
I dance for him”…
She smiled…caressing a memory
“He stole my heart
The moment he looked at me with those eyes
How I wish he could see, the fire of his eyes
Burning in mine." 

It that moment, it took shape
The career that had remained
Unborn…in the womb of her mind
She would be the voice…of every little girl
Who had ever screamed in pain...in shame
She’d speak…
For the little girl her mother used to be
For all the others that were to come
So they wouldn't have to grow up
With eyes that reflected pain instead of passion
The pain she now witnessed
…in her mother’s eyes!
No, it was not too late to cry…
Her tears now would be tomorrow’s tears
Of some woman’s tender and sweet release


Details | Free verse |

The Roll Top Desk

She sits alone..
Everyone has said their final goodbyes
To her husband of sixty some years
Her seven children have never known
Or at least never mentioned..
How she never smiled

Just day to day
Did her job
Like the old man said
Woman..
Bring me my......

Now there across the room
The forbidden..
His roll top desk

Head always hung low
Eyes never meeting his

She rises
Lifts her head
Approaches defiantly

Rolls back the heavy top
She's dusted a million times
She touches the things unfamiliar

 Keys to the truck she never learned to drive
A checkbook she didn't know how to use
Legal papers she knew nothing about
His favorite cigarettes she couldn't smoke
His stash of booze she despised
Sat in the chair that was no longer HIS

Was this feeling loss?

7-29-2013
©Donna Jones


Details | Free verse |

THE COLOR PURPLISH

The man on the porch looks out
over his property and towards his daughter.
Nervousness seeps through her plum-dark flesh.
Each eye contact signposts a wicked meditation.
Women are voiceless in those days, yielding to
males and manipulated Bible verses.
Poverty and childbirth loiters the screen.
White men protect segregation and Black men protect pride.
Are there no advocates or women’s lib
in that part of the South? Does anyone care about the mistreated?
Even the animals are sinister, and the young babes.
Horses burdened with stuff amble the pasture.
Fried ham wafts from kerosene stoves.
All the outspoken women are rebellious and prostitutes.
They wear thigh-high skirts, halters, and ruddy rouge.
Men swagger about in cut-price suits, wingtips, and thin-band ties.
They sweat into juke-joints or atop a squeaky bedframe
while records scratch against a dusty needle.
The girl in the front yard runs through hanging sheets
and swings bound books against Mister’s groin.
Her eyes are watery, her hair wild as those purple flowers.
She peers down at her attacker twisted on the red clay
and she shrieks.
Nobody shows up to save her.
She runs off into nothing.


Details | Free verse |

Have more respect for yourself

*READ ALL BEFORE COMMENTING*

Lord forgive me she says she is on that sophisticated wine and dine, 
she says her lips are sweet, hips full bliss enough to put your mind at ease. 
Damn girl where did you get those degrees. 
She feigns knowledge, pledges abstinence but lets loose to the first fool she sees
Then pledges again and lets loose and the cycle continuously, continues in a loop of ignorance. 
Strange you are, a woman you are,
so when will you take a stand, and understand your lips and hips... 
momentary satisfactions. The ratings of your visage an illusion which fades over time. 
Rude... me... no, truthful yes, knowledge is a blessing the king you seek is not 
dwelling in the slums in where you hum your tunes
Lord forgive me she says she is on that sophisticated wine and dine, 
she says her lips are sweet, hips full of bliss enough to put your mind at ease. 
I won't beg, I won't cry so the more power to you girl, cause ignorance is truly bliss


Details | Free verse |

Two Women, Similar Yet Different

Two Women, Similar Yet Different




Educated yet could not prevail,
School of hard knocks,
Similar Yet Different.

A lavish life yet unfulfilled,
Appreciative of what life brings,
Similar Yet Different.

Ignorance lacking accountability,
Responsible yet naive,
Similar Yet Different.

Egotistical taunting artfully,
Craft fully expressing discontent,
Similar Yet Different.

Crocodile tears yearning notice,
Noiseless hiss of strength,
Two Women, Similar Yet Different.




Details | Free verse |

The Price of Freedom

A ghostly image of a Soldier
stood in the background, as
a Mother with a babe in her arms
stood by a grave site.

She lowly whispered, "Father
this is Your Son. Son this is Your
Father. He gave his life so that
others might live."




Being a Woman and a Veteran I realize that women die and leave behind families.
I wrote this poem before Women were allowed into battle.


Details | Free verse |

Haibun

Cigarette burns dot the seventies green vinyl chair and a floor television doubles as a table with a lamp and figurines. A six foot two inch three hundred pound strong man made the small room look like a doll house. I watched Big Daddy roll Prince Albert in a can on cigarette papers many times and he was precise, meticulous to make sure not to waste his precious costly addictive indulgence. I got the nerve to ask if I could roll a cigarette this evening and to my surprise he let me despite mawmaw’s protest. I was able to roll the paper without spilling a leaf he smiled and I felt I had accomplished something great. Life is simple in the summer time world of leisure and no school.  Big Daddy stayed outside from dawn to dark and worked the fields of corn, beans, tomatoes and okra. His old John Deere tractor made a "pup, pop, pup" sound when he drove down the road to our house. I could hear him coming a mile away and ran out to greet him. He had an idea that women were women and men were men when it came to working and he didn’t allow a woman to help him with the dirty work. A woman was to have pretty clean hands and delicate pale skin in his mind. Any other man said that to me I would give him a verbal lashing. But I overlooked Big Daddy’s faults he had a kind heart and never wanted to hurt anyone. He was generous in trading his vegetables and harsh if someone hurt his family or tried to cheat him. 
Sunday morning he rested and put on a suit and went to church never did he have his bald head uncovered except in church. He had a dress hat for Sunday to wear on the way to church. I miss seeing those fancy hats and suits. A third grade graduate knew how to dress and respect the lord better than any college educated wealthy man. He wouldn’t smoke at the church out of respect.
     Respect left
     With the man’s dress hat
     Equal rights


Details | Free verse |

The Hands of Pain

My soul pounds with rage.
This heart has been scorched,
by your burning words.

My soul gasps for light 
slowly suffocated,
By your hands of pain.

I bare the mark of shame.
Your touch has maimed my body.
My mind drowned out my screams.

Blow by blow,
Shamed so low.
Never did you know how,
Your hands of pain marked me.


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