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Best Woman Poems

Below are the all-time best Woman poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of woman poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Woman Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Woman poems are below this new poems list.

THE WOMAN IN ME by LOUW, TSHEDISO
Enough Talking, Woman by Garcia, Phillip
Ode to the woman by Kgaswane, Mpho
Spring : A Woman of Beauty by Mehrotra, Reya
Old Woman By The Shore by Vitale, Mario
Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned by Brown, Tera
A Woman Who Battles With Depression -part 1- by Sangster, Michaelia
Alpha Woman by Faries, Marissa
Wrath of a Woman by Banks, Russell
MY WOMAN by Oloye, Olufemi

View all new Woman Poems

The Best Woman Poems

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A beautiful mirror

-Escape of the mountain-

Do you care about my breast?
The new curve - countryside corset. 
The beauty of every summer dress 
Laying down, wearing out gravity 
Embracing the same feeling; Your
hands indulged in. Passion and devotion, 
around perfumed scenery... 
     The perfect pair

Today we will pray,
Counting every second on the clock 
No longer the womanly figure before'
I will possess a new battle, 
around the virtues of my palace.

-Will you still be there, 
  when the hump and lump are gone?
-Will I still be the queen of your heart?
Patiently I shall wait and see, 
 in hopes to gain the time, breast cancer stole 
Leaving behind torn tissue, with a daily reminder of;
The one that got away.

---note---
A Focus on Breast Cancer 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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PINK LACE

**Every pace change --is the voices of poets sharing his/her Ribbon** 

"PINK LADIES"  
  
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 stood and stole my Womanhood
Pink is the ointment rubbed inside my diary.
---

I crawl- I remember-
Looking for a dream, where the women wear 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 of my red chemo hair.
---

Now here you are,
Standing on 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 sit there and shatter our lives,
With many of us, you’ll discover we do not break like glass 
Still, we 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 
---

I PLEAD FOR MY LIFE?
I have no family to lean on
Everybody’s plus my mother is gone
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…
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 its caressing view!

One day will find the cure,
And, destroy YOU "The miserable ‘Breast Cancer’ Disease" 
"ONCE AND FOR ALL!"


by; PD

Dedicated to all the females of the world. 
((And men whose life touched by this disease))


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Adored to Abhorred

from owned to dethroned
you led me
from queen to unseen
you hid me
once crowned to now bound
you kept me

absorbed to derobed
you left me
a spectacle to be gawked at
you jeered me

from diamond to dust
you threw me
once devoid of lust
you spurned me

and yet, here I am
  naked
       bleeding
              dishonored
  unwanted

here I stand
here I smile
biding my time a while
knowing as I do
the inner splendor shines through

I bathe my naked body
perfume every curve
comb out my raven hair
for I dare
This is swear:

None can usurp my throne
It's mine and mine alone
I climb the stairs
and they all stare
yes, they stare
so aware
the Queen has returned
your history’s been burned

I'm here
more beautiful than before
radiance galore
I see you
with flames of desire
once more in your eyes
you...watch me.....R^I^S^E

my glory emanates through
every idol set up by you
adoration's MY due

It is true:

discarded to lauded
I taunt you
demeaned to re-queened
I rule you

I reign, I disdain
don't be vain
your plea to return
I will burn
spurn
I'll watch you yearn

you can't take me back
I know what you lack
a heart and a soul
I won’t make you whole

Knighted to blighted
I see you

And so….
adored to abhorred
I leave you


Eileen Manassian Ghali


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2016

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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..) 



Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

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Philosopher's Stone

Do Not Trust a Word, she says

She speaks of sunken treasures the way no one else does
The map to her heart is drawn by the sun
Her smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon attracted by the prestige of her glowing art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case

Her love lavishes making every moment memorable.
This lovely lady cultivates you in every way
Your blood rises to her flirtatious demand,
Her eyes, hypnotize, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost to her spell
She lives, she breathes your ribs in

Words were spoken, now wrapped around your heart
In a game of trust, her kiss hushes your lips
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ----stepping all over yourself
You are nothing more than a fool in love, 
Trusting and turning every word she says into gold


~I LOVE YOU~

( A Poet Destroyer Collection)


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015

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Put on Your Warrior Spirit

Don't let him sway you with his sultry rhymes
Don't let him woo and steal your heart away
Don't let him touch your soul with soulful lines
You know, my dear, he only wants to play

Don't let him tell you that you are divine
Don't let him make you think that you're unique
Don't let him say your eyes are pools sublime
You know, my dear, he wants to make you weak

He wants to break defenses and come in
To taste the hidden pleasures of your heart
He wants to take, to conquer, and to win
and then to leave when you've been torn apart

There is no greater pain than wounded pride
When truth reveals betrayal's sharpened knife
Revenge will be the thorn there in your side
For he has taken love, and dreams and life

So do not let him win in lover's game
Pick up your sword and gird yourself to fight
If you succumb, you will not be the same
I urge you then to vanquish with your might

Then still your heart and let it dormant lie
Let not your eyes take in the beauty there
He will not stop; he will most surely try
To ravish you and leave you naked, bare

So fight with all your might this war to win
Don't let your guard now slip; be strong and brave
take heed to what I say; don't fall in sin,
for none but you, your heart and soul can save

Eileen


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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The Battle

The menace of war in the chaos of life
The peril of ocean when tempests are rife;
The danger of jungle where feral beasts hide
The terror that lies in a mountain slide.
All these things are simple child's play
Or frivolous sport on a summer's day;
These sad battles that rouse and vex
The heart and soul of love and sex.

Struggle and hardship,  beasts of prey
Are there to menace all human clay:
The bird uncaged can take to his wing
But the hazard of love is another thing;
Under the torment of passion's control
Love crushes the body and steals the soul.
A minute of rapture, an age of despair,
These are the gifts of love's warfare.

Always and forever since time began
When man dared woman and woman lured man;
In that sweet peril that prowls and lies
Is a bloodless conflict when eyes meet eyes.
That careless menace, forever sweet
Whose forlorn end, is joy's defeat;
Now and forever till time has passed
On passion's altar, hearts shall come last


Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2012

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IN THE MOOD


lately, i have been in this female mood for some kind of abandon, that which exhales the tigress fire out of my lungs digging the veins from a week's' routine movements pruned to the barest of a payroll’s droll… antiseptic cubicles dictate the rags of chlorine-infected lunch where rooms i strut around have nothing except robotic people, same rye snacks, basins of expired coffee and files of schizoid folio.. just outside, the sky coughs of gas masks rendering a paper bag of humanity to suffocate on clanking bones along claustrophobic subways: such a hemorrhaging day waiting for 5pm to hiss, halt ,and heave… i need to dance with the arms of a jazzy moon fondling my back and whistling the tunes of recklesness when all but the spirit lusts for is just a slice of raw breaths spiraling into tangy punches of rockstar blues... spare me the cranky claws of a friday so sore; i alight like a feline dressed in black lace with cabaret wings, feathers splattered on glitzy cobblestones... voluptuous legs hot and wild sniffing sultry lavender scent of friday night’s parade; and the band notes howl, free like me.
Carol Eastman's Your Favorite Poem by nette onclaud


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013

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When I Talk to You

When I talk to you. . . I'm talking to the wall
                                                                      to photos arranged
across from where you hung the paintings
made by your own two hands. 
           
                            Set behind the dusty glass of antiquated frames -
                                                the photos tell of family, heritage, and you
 in your youthful glory. . . of you with dark lush locks
                        that framed the face 
                          of a rose in bloom


When I talk to you. . . I'm talking to the birds -
    two sweet parakeets 
                                        now more than a decade old.
The cage is not as clean as it was             when you were in your prime
                                                                   and all was immaculate!
Now someone else is caring for these birds
which tilt their little heads and inquisitively 
                                                    peer at me
                                                       as if to ask: Are we supposed to understand?

                                       and silence
                                                 meets my ears.

When I talk to you. . . .I'm talking to the air.
It smells of
              antiseptics, and today           your room is stifling.


I push you
 in your wheelchair
    to the garden, where breath of spring                  awaits us.

I talk to you, but we                                  do         not          converse.
I look into your eyes                                 grown   pale.
                                 Their   empty   stare
seems fixed 
upon the roses.             I gently pluck one up
                             
                                      and place it in your thinning snow white hair



Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

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Mother is Dove

Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.

Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.

Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu 
For my heart.

I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.

I remember the wood from the wood 
The water from the water 
And manifold items from jungle alleys 
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.

I remember the constant match 
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with 
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.

I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls 
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?

Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.

Oh, mother loving woman 
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.


Copyright © Canny Amah | Year Posted 2009

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A Cinderella Story

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Simon, I have something to say unto you. There was a certain creditor

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Whom had two debtors. One owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And when they had nothing with which to pay he freely forgave them both.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tell Me, therefore, which of them shall love him more?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
   
Simon answered and said, “I suppose the one whom he forgave more.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He said to him, “You have rightly judged.” He then turned to the woman and  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house, you gave Me

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No water for My feet, but she has washed my feet with her tears and wiped them

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With the hair of her head. You gave me no kiss, but this precious woman

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Has not ceased to kiss My feet since I came in. You did not anoint My head 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With oil, but this priceless woman has anointed my feet with fragrant oil.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Therefore I say unto you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She loved much. But to whom little is forgiven, the same loves little.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven...Your faith has saved you. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Go in peace.” ~ “A Cinderella Story” ~


Copyright © sarah seraphin | Year Posted 2011

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My day as a woman

When I awoke, a woman I'd become
The spirit of many, contained in one
Strength and beauty, mystical tears
Magical entity, who hated mirrors

Looking at reflection, I seen my flaws
Yet in the background, I heard applause 
Others seen me, with much different eyes
I listened too their voices, discarded my lies

The blood of creation, flowing in my veins
A brave warrior, a vision with brains
Nurture and strength, complicated friend
Passion personified, a master of pretend

Layers of lovely, deeper than a well
If you love me, I have a secret to tell
Loyal and fierce, sometimes hiding my face
Push me to far, I'll be gone without a trace

My day has ended, time to go to bed
Still words unspoken need to be said
Yet in the end I turn back into a man
Enriched by women, I am who I am

For Women Only Contest 2
By: Richard Lamoureux 
Perhaps you will allow me to be an honorary woman 
Either way I enjoyed writing this poem. Thanks for the inspiration.


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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A Woman From God

A Woman from God

I do not cover my eyes because God gave me sight; just as he did man
I do not cover my face because God made the sun to shine on it; just as it does man
I do not hold my voice because God made it beautiful; just as he did man
I do not hold my thoughts because God gave me sense; just as he did some men
He gave me a mind that I may know one day I will see a better place than this
…that I might hold on to the hope of living where life is no longer ruled by the arrogance of man

He told me I was a complement; that I balance the one for whom I was made.
….because I too was made in His image.

                                                             ~FJ Thomas



Copyright © FJ Thomas | Year Posted 2015

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FEMALE SPIRIT


women of dusk and dawn who love to feast on their senses in a banquet ripened by love and courage, chilled to last till the moonlight bequeaths more hours for stories about earth's flesh... oh, let the first drone of music praise the female spirit voluptuous as hips sashay in gaiety wildly wet, empresses hunting for the eyes of god in men softly flowing in veils of mystery that hover in the fragrance housed in chambers of rich legends and reality: taste their tears, cuddle the apples of fertile breasts… yet no one can touch their essence or own life’s primeval wombs; women are women like their children defying any explanation. ..................... 101 in a ROW contest -6 -- PD A


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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UNSELFISH LOVE

I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.

She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.

But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.

Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.

Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."

She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.

I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.

I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.

Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.

Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.

Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!

1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest



Copyright © Daniel Cwiak | Year Posted 2010

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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



Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

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FLAVORS OF HER ESSENCE


A woman's soul, is it as porous as the air that breaks the water and earth apart from each other? In the slither of liquid contours, this maiden's essence blows into tiny glints of filling days’ silent pages without having to fill in the blanks. But such fire in her navel; swelling, leaping forth unto a black dahlia of night dripping with all the kerosene stars like a tigress on a hidden, sensuous prowl... This is her shape. Then coming from metal gut, she fumes of musky-flavored energy, steaming the brain for a war of poker in a den filled with invincible men as she raises the bets for a royal flush of aces... This is her bullish time. Yet, curling into late evening she enters into the pillows of her soul rinsed from the bouquet and incense of a dulcet day, her bosom of long breaths warming the lamp gentle, temperate, and mild in peace, coasting along the ledge of her swan sleep... This is her soul's time, shape and peace. For Laura Loo's Second Place Challenge Resubmitted 6/27/2016 ----------- Place 2nd in the Contest:The Scent Of Your Soul Judged 10/18/2014


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

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LOVE STORY

LOVE STORY
The breeze is in my hair. The moon is gleaming behind me. The love I feel is everlasting. Cadence of my soul. Show me your happiness Share, my love. Laugh with me Our destiny is mixed with pleasure. Our essence treasured. Come walk with me in the garden. Alive - Let's reach our ultimate…high. Smile, darling smile Kiss me with your eyes. Forever we are. Champagne we drink To toss our uniting. You feel my sylph A fulfilled spirit. This journey succumbs me. I am free for you to love. Embrace your ideas Let the breeze come in. Dance to the ecstasy. Release all your fears. Capture this time As our minds, intertwine. Laugh with me Inflection of my soul. Show me your happiness. Share, my love. A majestic dynasty Our empire In time Now! Here we stand You and I forever. No obstacles have formed. You are my one and only. Woman, smile Kiss me with your eyes. Forever we are. Thrive - Let's reach our ultimate…highs. This is our life... Together This is our existence... Forever Ardor love Justified by God Come walk with me in the garden As we write our love story.
MY PHILOSOPHY
Man is man. His skin is what makes difference. His upbringing differentiates. This is, he states, “God's way.” DARK SUNSHINE - VSW _________________________________________| PENNED ON AUGUST 03, 2014!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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The View

        THE VIEW 
          (SADLY)

I can't believe he has to be a poet
To tell you how he feels
Maybe he does not know 
When words are written on paper 
does not mean your wounds 
are going to heal properly 

To be or not to be?
That is the question you should ask.
The man should never call himself a poet
Unless he has lived, learn, lost, and gained it back

The man who writes good poetry
In my eyes is a man of art
He can paint you anything without a paintbrush
This man I call a 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
aroused ------- he calls for me

While (I) the woman swims in  tears
She finds herself helpless 
Without a man, she thinks she is lost, nowhere to be found

The secret of the female 
When she is broken
She begins to feel and thinks life is over 
Little does she know her time will come
When the time calls
The lady is stronger than ever

One thing I learned about a lady 
You better respect her (me)
Don't destroy (my) her better days
She will crumble you 
She will crush you where it hurts 

This is my demo to all ya poetry freaks
Keep it real!!
Don't steal my words.
I have feelings too:)

by:PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

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Together, At Last

Setting: A man and woman are reunited in a garden after an unbearably long separation. From the viewpoint of the man.



Now the sun is slowly rising o'er the mountains
And it lights a sea of diamonds on the flowers kissed with dew
It is shining golden beams into the garden
And they cast a shade of auburn on your hair of golden hue

So here is what I have to say:
The flowers in their beauty have seemed to fade
And here, these diamonds seem to be afraid
At sight of you
The trees, though standing strong and firm
Could not be half as staunchly ever true

While here upon the grass I stand
I'll hold your hand
And then we'll stroll about this garden for a day
I'll hear you say
The things that I have longed to hear
And perhaps we will share joy and tears

Being here by your side
Makes all cares to subside
For I know winds may blow
But the past is washed away
Now I'm here, and I'm here
Foreverlong to stay
Or so I pray

Now the sun is slowly setting in the garden
And the shades of fiery gold and orange have changed to grey and blue
The moon shines in your eyes this starry night
And words can't seem to tell the love I have for you.


~This was written for the contest "Lyrics To Le Jardin D'Adonis" sponsored by Craig Cornish.
Here is a recording of the tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILm89xCyHQo
Written by Isaiah Zerbst on May 20, 2013


Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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Woman

                 Woman

The stars bestowed your eyes
The moon, your cherry red lips
The sun, that light in your mind
Heaven, those gold finger tips

The oceans surrendered your hair
Your form, fashioned by tides
Rivers tempered the spirit
Where patience and love resides

Strength, came from the mountains
The wind, sweet  lullabies
Volcano’s forged the Passion
That lives in soul filled eyes

But where, oh where is completion
Makes the pulse race and dart
For this, woman must wait
Till a man, gives her his heart.
 

Written 7 Oct 2013


Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

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Secretly Obsessed

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....







Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

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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.”


Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013

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The Accolade

 Fighting mid the strong and bold,
His eye and blade were keen;
Marching like a thund'ring storm
On foes of Faith, his queen.

Now returned in victory
Upon his mighty bay,
Set he off to Langley Tow'r
Her summons to obey.

"John the Squire," the footman called,
And held the oaken door;
Faith, it seemed, had gleaming eyes
Like never once before.

"John! 'tis good to see thee hale,"
The queen exclaimed, and rose:
Tales have sped to Langley's gates
Of many broken bows."

"God has saved me whole and well,
By prayers, I ween, of thee;
Tell me please, my lady Queen
What service I may be."

Saying thus, the squire bowed
And doffed his burnished helm;
Struck in awe by Faith, his love,
The queen of Arthur's realm.

"Gilbert saith," rehearsed the queen,
"That deeds of thee are done
Greater yet than those of Wat 
Or even Henry's son."

Tears bedecked her youthful face,
And glistened in the light;
John the Squire, as she had hoped,
Had done her favour right.

"Nay!" the humble squire cried,
"This word is not so true!
How could I, the meanest squire,
Perform the deeds they do?"

"Hush!" It was a firm command;
"I'll hear these lies no more; 
Kneel before me, Squire John,
A knight shall leave the door."

Down before the queen he knelt,
He pledged his knighthood true;
Swore her ev'ry small command
With cheerful heart to do.

From his side she drew his sword,
She struck the accolade;
"Thus the greatest knight," she said,
"Is from a squire made."

From her hand the sword did fall,
It clashed upon a stone:
"John, if battle claimed thy life,
How could I be alone?"

"God has prospered all my ways;
My Queen, I praythee, cease!
Soon these wars shall claim our foes,
And Britain be in peace."

Faith remained there by her throne,
With light upon her hair;
Not one maid of Camelot
Was even half so fair.

"God be with thee evermore,"
She bravely said at last;
"Guard and keep thee from the foe
Until the very last."

John the Knight farewell did bid,
And swiftly rode away:
When the wars were hammered out,
He'd be a king in May.


  For the Famous Art contest. Inspired by the painting "The Accolade" -1901 by Edmund Blair Leighton. 



Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2013

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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


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011