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Sonnet Women Poems | Sonnet Poems About Women

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

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The Storm

The Storm

 

 

Lily disappeared one hardened season,

            What a virginity stolen from Lagos to continent America

 Whore plantation there, there must be scarcity of flowers in Africa,

            Neighbours mutter in their garden, Daisy gone too with the season.

 

 

Comes raining season, as Children sing “rain” rain” the soil patches,

  They appeared groomed beauty of lust and vain

They must refresh men, thee desire powerful than the orb of three witches

            Beware their veins, woes and diseases, flowing like drain.

 

 

Gone so wild good girls, selling foreign virus in the outlets

            Being brought to Africa, they brought no tablets

And their disease come, grandpa hibernate in the forest

   No herb yet, says the wizard on the crest.

 

 

This season with drops of death here,

            When will your storm be over, here?

 

 

 

Uche Chidozie Okorie


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Little Sister the Chef

Being the little sister in a family with mostly boys
Was very hard and difficult liking all their toys
I loved to play in the dirt , could throw any ball
Played "running bases", "tag", and loved "off the wall"

My sister was way older and she was never home
So I was forced to battle with my brothers on my own
I fought my battles valiantly, but each time I would lose
Being youngest in a family,I often became the muse

I cried many tears those many years ago
For competing with those boys,I had a lot to show
I grew older,strong, and smarter and chose a tough career
Cooking for a living in a man's world, I showed no fear

Those brothers had taught me to always fight for what's right
A women could cook as well as a man, and besides I had a knife!


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In A Hotel Room

In A Hotel Room

In a hotel room, she lies, literally to herself.
Their meetings filled with desire are brief.
How can she put her dignity on a shelf
Lost, between the crumpled sheet.

As a friend I helplessly watch 
As her happiness turns to shame 
All the joy before is lost
Falling for this hoodlums game.

There is no love in a hotel room
Used for trysts and rendezvous
As she leaves she's filled with gloom
Not the girl that I once knew.

Players play for keeps 
no conscience they can sleep.


Details | Sonnet | |

Sonnet 8: The Perfect Woman

How many gentlemen have chased your myth?
How many captains and how many kings?
How many have heard of your legend fell?
How many poets and how many priests?
How could they resist your tender mercy?
They'll never deny the world at your feet.

How many gentle ladies dread your myth?
How many mistresses, how many maids?
How many have known your calamity?
How many nurses and how many nuns?
How could they ever dare compete with thee?
They'll never deny the world your beauty.

How many people, both women and men,
Meet the measure of The Perfect Woman?


*Michael Dom, sonnet for Nette Onclaude's Take Two contest.

**I had thought of shortenning this poem to fit in 'The Perfect Woman' competition, but I could not do that without destroying the original vision. A pity I wrote the poem before reading the competition rules! Nevermind, it's all good! mt_dom


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Post coitum omne animal triste est, sive gallus et mulier

Post coitum omne animal triste est, 

             sive gallus et mulier*

 

Yes, no cockerel who rules the cackling roost

   Will stomach slander from Latin master;

But who will stand aside and let the ghost

   Of hints slur old motherhood’s register.

Manhood must of needs hang its head in pain

   After all the sweat and toil in loins of love;

After millions of squiggly soldiers in vain

   Drop their lean tails at the egg wall alcove.

Only the fool who dares call woman’s bluff

   Shall learn hard way positions in bedstead;

Virile pride will sink in the depths of fluff

   While smooth gym-trained muscles rage instead.

   As they say hereabouts sur le vieil Continent

   La différence, Mon Sieur: lip’s shade content.

 

·     * “After the sexual encounter every animal is
grief-stricken,
excepting the cock and the woman.”

 

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005-2012. From the collection:

Poems Omega Plus, 2005. Rev. 2012.


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Mess in Indian culture

humidity in culture climax.
why's nonsense pain in sex?
killing, rape and abduction,
is women's attitude corruption?
why natural growth is at risk?
the world society is in progress,
but hindu traditions are in mess,
rapes; leader blames a western fix.
no women is protected by law,
nudity for men is women's rape tax.
over the centuries system is slow,
pain in veil is cultural glow,
disconnect women from the growth,
is it only a solution for modern flow?


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The Broken Girl-not me

Is my life not tortured enough for you to see? 
I am broken as can be. 
My heart is torn. 
My tears stain these perfect floors.  
Why are singing with glee? 
Why do you not care about my every plea? 
I am trapped in your arms. 
I am the hopeless moth. 
How did you pick me? 
What is it that you see? 
A girl untouched by life? 
A flower blooming in the desert? 
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.  
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.


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Women

Women Oh Women!!!
The necessary evil 
in the lives of men.
Women it is that 
makes you extra sad
When nothing in the 
world will make you 
mad.
 
Women are an 
indispensable tool
Even to the 
foolishest fool.
To be in the right 
frame of mind
Try to have one of 
the woman kind.
Then to be the 
saddest man in the 
pack
Then have one of 
them behind your 
back.

They make you mad 
at will
That can't be done 
by the strongest pill.
Just pray that you 
have a good one
That the battle of life 
by you can be won!!!


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'Why are women such puzzling enigmas'

Wherefore are you all a perplexity,
O women? Though you be the fairer sex
your cruel and cold, enigmatic, complex
brains are rife with insensitivity.
Your loves, so sweet at first--duplicity!
"You and me, forever," you say,--and flex
at me eternal love like a reflex,
ne'er acknowledging your dishonesty.
O women, understanding you is lost
to me--for e'en your kind's best makes no sense.
To think! my love, my poems...all at great cost
wasted on thee and on your loves' pretense!?
     Wiser, I resign myself at their love,--
     ne'ermore to think women as from above.


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TORRENT

A broil, inside, so women effervesce,
spilling from my cottage, armed with platters,
dismissing each storm cloud that presses
dusk. Wind clips my blush roses, scattering

petals onto bare feet as if we are brides.
Laughter electrifies even those weary
who relax by hollyhocks. It’s July
and we’ve become the melt of night, freed

of propriety. When, at last, the rain comes,
maturity un-roots to re-spin legends
on the lawn, belting out a  summer song
with elbows locked friend to giddy-friend. 

Almost steaming, Morrison’s Brown-Eyed Girls
are renewed by verve and this kindred gall. 









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Be with you for ever

I walk threw a war and back to be with you
I jump over river to live with you
I fight the battle of war world I
Then to be with out you
I will run crime race
Then to be with out you
I jump over a boat and jump to a plan
Then to be with out you
I walk threw fire 
And I stand beside you
I swim in the river with shark
Just to be with you
I take four plans 
And wait to be with you
You’re the man for me and I am the women for you
I will fight mike Tyson 
Just to be with you
I lift up a SUV if you was under it
Just to be with you
I go rock climing and fishing 
Just because you love sports
And if I have to take on 100 women to be with you
Know problem because your heart will tell you the true
And you always come back to me.
So tone you light skin brother you’re my best friend and
I want let you go for nothing in this world.
I will still be with you.


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The contest of womanhood

The contest of womanhood
She aches,
For the loss of womanhood 
With an unadorned effort in trying to contest
She purposes to stroll away from the cluttered alters of altruism 
Like a lunatic she searches the confidences of the tempest
For an answer to where; 
Her beauty of youth, 
And the tenderness of her yesterdays has vanished to?
With no courage of finding any she stares still
Expressive of an assassinating disparity
With a rhythm-less thud, she echoes the soreness and torment deep within
And in most of the life time, 
She finds the intoxication of an outrageous battle for identity at the bottom of her heart
She knows, her sentiment will never reconcile and this contest may not be for her triumph.


Details | Sonnet | |

JADE

JADE
by Rosemarie Rowley

	
I knew you fainthearted what side you were on
When you talked of social reality: not Jesus at the well
With the Samaritan woman, or the invisible loss of power
Which halts her speech and causes His deference

Holding her in trust for what she is.
You can talk of rural communes in China
Till the cows come home – leading them will be a girl
Bearing a key-ring and a dead black raven.

Your ways are sweet indeed, nectar and honey
And vinegar to end it all: you’d let all the
Wells in the world run dry for a principle
And proudly show us the papier-mache women who survived,

Embalmed with bitter hope and urgent salvation,
To tell the tale on electro-magnetic tape.


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The Sonnet Man of Stone

How cool would it be to be called "The Thing?"
I bet women would be all over me,
Since this nickname has a very nice ring
To it, and sends a message overtly.
Most women I know could not stop peaking,
If everything was massively large
And rock hard, in a matter of speaking,
Because they love a man who is in charge.
With durability and super strength,
I would be the most unstoppable force,
Being willing to go to any length
To complete my mission and stay on course.
       There would be innuendo in my rhyme,
       When I tell her, "It is clobbering time!"


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AFRICA

In the kingdom of the Waters
She sits enthroned on its womb
Flanked by the silver facet Atlantic-Indiana
As the barking tides wrestle her marble feet

In the court of the Tropics
She is robed in green foliage of ancient savannah
Adorned with pearls of arid sands,
With ivory mountain and cincture of rift

In the mythic boarder of the Equator
She rests at the footstool of the fierce sun
Comforted by cloud’s tears
And caressed by solemn winds

In the royal neighborhood of Continents
She locks horn with Europe
In the witness of Asia
And her offspring Madagascar