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Woman On Writing And Words Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Woman

These Woman On Writing And Words poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Woman. These are the best examples of Woman On Writing And Words poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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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 | Verse |

My Words

Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words


Details | I do not know? |

The Writer I Am In My Dreams (A response to The Woman I Am In My Dreams by Maxine Tynes)

The writer I am in my dreams
is more sophisticated than I am
and sees the world as an untold story
I mainly see the footsteps behind me
        Where I stepped softly so as not to call attention to myself
this writer conjures volumes about the man on the bus
who has a scar on his face five inches long
she elaborates on his life with gifted prose
he is a pilot shot down in Vietnam
guerillas gave him a scar and set him free
he used to be a lion tamer
that one is self-explanatory
I simply cannot stop staring at his scar and wonder
does it bother him to have such a mark?

The writer I am in my dreams
has perfect time management
goes to work, attends class
has a beau
        moves from day to day
        finds time for friends and play
        hobbies and exercise
        dance class and likewise
the writer I am in my dreams
her words are clear and precise
they don't feel like empty thoughts on a page
they don't sound immature
her words and statements work
they don't get in her way and make her mind spin
and conjure up thoughts of self-worth
they whirl around the room and
whisper about the unimagined
they dialogue with rhyme and wit
and they always converse graciously

the writer I am in my dreams
I wake up and pray to be
and sometimes my prayers are answered


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 | I do not know? |

The story of a Muse

The story of a Muse

A beautiful woman that loved him,
she listened to him, in awe of his genius,
she inspired him, encouraged him, 
to do his best work, she validated for him,
that his thoughts and ideas were otherworldly,
She knew his mind and heart must be heard,
His art could change the world, 
and took on the job of pulling this gift out of him,
she lassoed the tornado that was his soul, 
and directed it, into the brush or pen, 
A symbiotic relationship, of male and female,
at their best, a guided purpose.

It seems as if she always left him in the end, 
A mystical woman with more artists to inspire,
left him crying and wounded, 
to do his crazy works after his genius expired,
no direction, haphazard, psychotic, suicidal
used up, emotions undirected, lost, death. 
but a life of value, influential, inspirational, an immortal,

I do not know where i got this impression,
this story of the muse.

Its not fair, 
all my muse's, 
dont care about my work, 
they only care about how i can help them, 
They listen long enough to find what i am looking for,
Put on the mask, the liar face, manipulative,
just long enough to get what they want, 
or realize that i wont give it to them. 
Try to buy my soul with their sex or money.

My naivety, my love, my hope, my trust, 
used against me, for their selfish motives.
Purity pretended, love mimicked, smile a lie. 

Is the muse a lie, is this why the artists go crazy?
Is the suffering evoked by an evil women inspirational?

I have seen men like me, with experiences like me.
Too wounded to love, to trust, to try again. 
Settle for a weak woman, one that wont hurt them. 

Men, i have always considered cowards
They cant look me in the eyes.

As i am beat down by love, i see their temptation.
Chasing the muse, waiting for her, mistaken mimics,

Dont tell me the muse doesnt exist........... 






Details | Free verse |

A WOMAN OF VIRTUE

For nine months
With love and pain
With joy and suffering
In her womb she carried me
A mother she is 
And a woman of virtue.

When there was no one, she was the only one
Even left alone, she never leaves me alone
Indeed, she’s a mother 
And a woman of virtue.

When toddling, she cared
And still directs when I could run
She is a mother of the child and the adult
In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come
Many names will I call her; “A mother of all”
And a Woman of Virtue.


Details | Rhyme |

track 18

thanks for the tea, heres something about me
nothing beats poetry, sitting underneath a tree
thankin' my family for a strong identity
people watching cause its free, beauty in the scene
has me staring with a cheese, a smile at what i see
possibly a dream,  caught up mentally 
imagining a few things, with this human being
who has the sweetest energy, soulfood like collard greens
all fools falling means I'm really dumber than I seem
being intelligent isn't just from memory
its handling impermanence light and sensibly
and lady I'm feeling your sultry melodies
we'd be crowded if its three, sit and be my company
must be a chemistry major cause the reactions meant to be
the love we can achieve, is safe from any thieves
 hold em from my queen, hearts tucked into my sleeve


Details | Rhyme |

I hate MRS Oleson

I hate Harriet Oleson because she was a bitch.
Somebody should've had that awful woman lynched.
She makes me so mad that the veins in my forehead start to throb.
That woman was greedy, mean and she was the world's biggest snob.

She had a spoiled brat for a daughter who was named Nellie.
But when Laura Ingalls threw hay on her, she became smelly.
If I had been MR. Oleson, I would've gotten a divorce.
His wife was so ugly, she had the face of a horse.

If I could've gotten my hands on MRS. Oleson, I would've gave her a good shake.
Every time she looked in mirrors, they were bound to break.
The Ingalls were very good people and they were also very nice.
But I wish MRS. Oleson would've had to shave her head because of lice.


Details | I do not know? |

The 3 sided woman

A woman with a vision is hard to deceive.
A woman with a goal is hard to distract.
A woman with a dream is hard to please.


Details | Rhyme |

That Angel Smells Like Lotus Flowers

I know not her name, 
But I can trace her by scent, 
She has driven me into a smell-at-them game, 
And am attracted to her a hundred percent, 

Stronger than my very own Chase, 
But am unable to keep the pace, 
The scent, be it expensive, I'll buy on higher purchase, 
I just want a glimpse of her face, 

Is she a material girl in a material world? 
Who taught her to smell so sweet? 
Whatever the case I'll buy her the world, 
And place it beneath her feet, 

I spoke with the wind to reverse her scent, 
And I followed it to a mansion so beautiful, 
It is here that I'll pitch my tent, 
Till I see this angel that converted me to a beauty fool, 

Alas! A master piece, 
If she isn't a runaway angel from heaven, 
Then God must have really been at peace, 
And created her in days more that seven, 

Introduce myself I shall, 
Even if its only for a while, 
Am Leonardo da vinci, please Monalisa smile, 
But she disappears behind that great wall, 


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