These Woman Sad poems are examples of Sad poems about Woman. These are the best examples of Woman Sad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
**Every pace change --is the voice of a poet sharing his/her view**
The phone rings,
The clock dings,
I scream, scream, and scream:
I can’t grasp what is real
I can’t inhale the lives you steal
This game is like murder in the first degree,
I can barely feel the words you're expressing.
Your hand, holding on to mine, as if it was the last
I crawl I hide behind these moonstone walls
There it hid and robbed my Womanhood
Pink is the ointment rubbed inside my diary.
I crawl- I remember-
Looking through a dream, where the woman wears combat boots
Women ready to kill all confrontation with nukes.
I was lost!
Do you know the feeling?
Once you hear, the “C” word your mind starts spinning,
You can’t see what’s going on,
Your smiles soon to be gone,
LOOK AT ME!
On this fright night, I bleed
Hold on tight, of the dead of this night
I’m down on my fallen knees,
A secret I can't keep, no longer need
Breaking backs when I mention the word “C.”
It is like getting struck by a freight train
Taking what belong and makes ME me!
Forgetting the Pink October ribbons, I wore
Taking time to weave them into the last strand in my red chemo hair.
Now here you are,
Standing under the chest
Heavy shoulders a violin press.
No longer needing the little black dress
Skin pink tight leather, now you caress
My eyes are full of tears
Once I discovered the beast came back without fear
The news blew like a missile in heat
With a fire’s shooting out from the dark
Sweltering me, blazing me,
Leaving the world all ribbon tied.
Dimples and pretty lips, I drop the world with beauty and tissues.
Filled with pink ivory issues
This is the way that I feel, I am real… you are a killer, you are a disease!
You can sit there and shatter our lives,
With many of us, you’ll discover we are not breakable like glass
Still, we will walk in high heels strolling through pink valley skies.
With a charm called a Pink Ribbon; -I WORE-
- A heavy pink scarf now I wear like a noose,
Remembering my days have been numbered by you.
I PLEAD FOR MY LIFE?
I have no family to lean on
Everybody’s plus my mother is gone
I have no friends by my side
You are the undead:
Leading some of us into a watery grave
You are like a jack in the box
Hiding until you are found…
You’re silent until your jobs done...
You made us angry, you made us cry, you killed many of us…
However, you will never come close to a glorious ~Victory~
We are “PINK LADIES,” who continue to be strong
I will find a way to sew my chest back to it's caressing view!
One day will find the cure,
And, destroy YOU "The miserable ‘Breast Cancer’ Disease"
"ONCE AND FOR ALL!"
Dedicated to all the females of the world.
((And men whose life touched by this disease))
The Man (A sad point of view.)
I can't believe he has to be a poet.
To tell you how he feels.
Maybe he does not know it.
Words written on paper don't really heal.
Do not tell her you are sorry.
When your apology is not real.
To be or not to be?
That is the question you should really ask.
The man should never call himself a poet.
Unless he has lived, learn, lost, and gained it all back.
The man who writes good poetry.
In my eyes is a man of art.
He can paint you anything without a paintbrush.
This is the man I call no poet, with a colorful heart.
Using all his manly skills.
He is way ahead of the ordinary man.
Leaving the imagination, filling the soul with chills
He is like the woman who leaves you all aroused.
The woman (A sad point of view.)
While the woman swims in her own drown.
She finds herself helpless to suffering worlds.
Without a man she thinks she is lost, nowhere to be found.
The secret of the female is,
When she is heart broken.
She thinks life is over .
Little at the time she knows.
Once a woman feels.
She gets right back up to be a lady.
When the time calls.
The lady is stronger than ever.
One thing I learned about a lady .
You better respect her.
Don't destroy her better days.
She will crumble you up for sure.
If the lady says she is a poet .
Than a poet in her..
I will never insult a lady,
She will crush you where it hurts .
A real lady knows how to control her man.
A lady knows how to keep her emotional words real.
But the woman needs to grow .
Stop trying to be something she's not.
In time she will know.
To give it her best shot.
I will praise myself and say.
"Woman always come and go."
A poet she can act and play.
With fake words that have no flow.
This is my demo to you poetry freaks.
Keep it real.
When words from your heart want to speak.
You have spun a careful web of lies.
Lying in disguise.
It’s made smooth as silk,
sparkling before my very eyes.
You whispered to me, spoke my name,
enticing me to follow.
Luring me into the silken web.
Its tendrils of soft silk, wrapping around me.
Caressing me into its self.
You wound it tight and warm around me.
Then I could not breathe.
Little did I know there would be no way out.
This web of lies you have woven,
cannot be undone.
Middle-aged woman puffs a cigarette
right outside the grocery store entrance.
Her dark eyes fall from mine while beads of sweat
trench above furrowed brow. “Spare a few cents?”
she asks under her breath. My muscles tense.
Annoyed, I shake my head; no words are spoken.
I toss a coin in her pail. Still smoking,
She gestures with a nod. The hazy air
hangs, weighted with her stench. As stone eyes glare,
my son begins to cough nearly choking.
Hard days have come to my family; life
has knocked us down. Humiliated, I
beg to survive, you see; even through strife,
we had love but no home. So forgive my
intrusion today as you hurry by.
It’s a nasty habit. You don’t approve.
My kids are gone; last week, the state removed
them. Now, this smoke seems like my only friend.
God took my spouse last year. I can’t pretend
life’s good. Forgive me. I, too, disapprove.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, July 27, 2012
for You Don't Understand Contest (Cyndi MacMillan)
From her garage, with no delay,
she started to back out one day,
not seeing in her own driveway
a child at play; a child at play.
One moment cannot be rewound.
She’d never heard a single sound
but felt the impact; on the ground
her son she found; her son she found.
We should not judge her for the sake
of mercy since her grave mistake
must place on her - guilt hard to take,
A lifelong ache, a lifelong ache.
For the Monotetra Poetry Contest of Kim Merryman
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....
My soul pounds with rage.
This heart has been scorched,
by your burning words.
My soul gasps for light
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.
the season I turned eleven
was the season that I died
there'd been blood betrayal and famine
and I thought I had survived
my neighbor killed my kitten
and for that I could not cry
my mother went to handle it
told me to stay inside
i sat poised in an armchair
trying to calm my mother down
while I could feel nothing
we knew she'd made him drown
the woman was a laundress
washed other people's clothes
didn't like the stink of pig sties
it offended her frail nose
the wash-board on the right side
where the pigs did have their homes
was the one she always gave me
like the left one was her own.
only when a pig was hanging
would she demand to trade
i'd wash next to a hog's corpse
a choice could not be made.
then one day I got angry
and I dared to move her clothes
i moved them to the right side
as the rage inside me rose
the woman tapped my window
and said your cat is dead
it was two days before Christmas
she roused me from my bed
there was display of feeling
tears could not be be shed
gray fades to black
hello sadness my old friend
I know your temper flares
every time she gets you mad
You turn around and hit her
and I see her looking sad
I hear the yells and the screams
man why don't you just chill
She is your woman that you love
not someone that you wanna kill
She is the mother of your child
why do you treat her this way
She does what you tell her to do
and look at the price she pays
You get angry for no reason
you begin to break things
Call her names that she isn't
after she does everything
You use her as a punching bag
you don't care about her pain
She struggles all the time
and she goes insane
When I look at her
I see nothing but beauty
You say you are a man
why don't you fight me
She cries for you to stop
but you don't want to back down
You keep on beating on her
till she falls to the ground
She begs for forgiveness
but that doesn't phase you
You continue to hurt her
till she's black and blue
I feel her pain every time I see her
and there isn't much I can do
But the love that I have for her
is more then true
I hear her tears and sense her pain
cant you be a man and let her be
Better yet step in my direction
why don't you fight me
Stop making her cry
stop making her hurt
Leave her in peace
stop being a jerk
If you want to be a punk
and try to show your ass
Leave the woman alone
you have no class
Let her be and leave her alone
let her live in peace
She deserves better then you
she deserves to be pleased
But don't ever lay another hand on her
have some dignity
why don't you come in my direction
why don't you fight me
A figure in darkness
Cradleing a small package
Trots up the stony ridge of stairs
In the night clouds cover the horizon
No stars can be seen from the gloomy street
A single lantern is lit and the only light
A woman with the hood drawn above her head
Lays a child upon the doorstep of a lonely family
She touches her fingers to her mouth
Then to the child's forehead
A tear filled with happy memories
Lands upon the baby's hand
With one last look
The woman disappears into darkness
As swiftly as she appeared
And the baby gave a cry of sadness
Then all became silent