Ballad Women Poems | Ballad Poems About Women

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Slow Movin Tights

I'm in me bath here, with a box of red cheer, 
yeah a box of red cheer, beer's too bloody dear.
Me mind's wanderin twixt big tits and riches, 
bein able to scratch at what itches, 
without scratchin the bum out your britches.
If they think you got what, 
they'd rather they'd got, 
mate, hang onto your hat, 
they'll bloody take that. 

That girl in black tights, so jam-packed with delights, 
nights full of delights in them slow movin tights. 
She's not, like Jacko reckons, a whore.
Wouldn't lie on me bare wooden floor.
Christ, I did nothin to get to be poor.
And you can't pay what's due
so your creditors sue? 
Funny old world, not half.
But good for a laugh.
I can't help but hear next door's shoutin and tears,
all their shoutin and tears, I can hear em from here, 
through the stem of me glass on the wall. 
Pray to God he don't hit her at all. 
I'm half pissed and spliffed and I never could brawl.
But I stand in the queue, 
for a place in the zoo. 
Heard you shouldn't have pride.
They wouldn't have lied.
A party's upstairs but I can't breathe their airs.
I won't breathe their airs, them there upstairs.
So I fill the bathroom with me smoke.
All those girls shaggin some other bloke.
I just lie here and soak and suck in me toke.
What's it like not to do
what your needs need you to, 
to beg borrow or steal, 
to make stuff come real? 

I hear downstairs' soul hit his lavatory bowl.
That porcelain bowl gets the whole of his soul, 
as I wring out the bladder of red.
All the sweetest of girls, Jacko said, 
have big whites to their eyes that aint never've bled.
There aint nothin so nice 
as those whitest of whites
on rich girls 
with sweet arses
in slow movin tights.

Copyright © Red OMara | Year Posted 2013

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I LOVE THEE I am no voluptuous beauty nor do I live a life of purity I can only say: I love wholeheartedly with all I am so truthfully I keep my heart open though it gets hurt so often I avoid to be irate as I know love changes the heart rate.. Guys tried to coo and woo, they say words as for "only you" Yet, hard to believe it is true as I see some untrue I give chances as my heart marks with tact entrances I learned from various instances looking man in romances In places where rules impede, two persons who wants to bid Not of money but of affection, in them must be determination I love thee not of what you have… Not even of who you are but to how you are to me… If I love you, don't tell me much what to do… As me, myself will show you, I am that real and true.. Yes, I am liked by many but tell you what: I don't like this honey nor am I proud of it in anyway One is enough to make me stay Stand with me through it all, I give my best not to fall My name your sweetest call echoing in every wall.. Hold me firm yet dear; allow me to move closely We'll make it anyhow, treading smoothly on flows... We are strong, aren't we? No one moving alone Together we'll face phases in tune, though there will dunes.. ________________________________________________________ © OLIVE ELOISA D. GUILLERMO 3:25 pm, 07/13/2013 ***CONTEST: ANY POEM GOES #13 SPONSOR: POET DESTROYER 8TH PLACE (TO GOD BE THE GREATEST GLORY) ***Sponsor SKAT A Contest Name Any Old Poem #5 4th place

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2013

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Misty oh Misty

Where did you come from
And why couldn't I have found you sooner?
I was sure that God had forgot about me
Why couldn't destiny have found us sooner?
We both are poets so we know how to write
That's why we dazzled each other with words all through the night.
Poetry will have to take the blame for our flame
I almost told you i love you.
Instead i made a phrase with your name.

Copyright © Eduardo Posada | Year Posted 2017

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What does a perfect woman mean? 
Does it mean something that meets your standards?
A standard measured by physical appearance
or from within towards one's heart and soul?

Perfect is just a label 
A label to define what you like in a woman
A woman whom you want to be with for the rest of your life
A life that will make you feel satisfied.

What is a perfect woman for me?
The perfect woman is a woman who is beautiful inside and out
Not only in the sight of those around us
But in the sight of GOD

By: Ms.Melba Regina V.Sales

Copyright © REGZ SINGING DIVA | Year Posted 2013

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The Rich Get Richer the Poor Get Poorer

They know all the loop holes for the IRS 
Elaborate parties, tuxedoes and women in their 5,000 dollar dresses 
A cardboard box, another statistic for the homeless 
A corporate exec did a downsize today 
The car repossessed, the house taken away 
Sometimes reality is a person's real life movie of horror 
The rich get richer, the poor get poorer 
Some have never known to go to sleep without a meal 
Our government turns a blind eye does not want to see what's real 
America's rich worried about the homeless overseas 
The poor get spitted in their faces by those wealthy celebrities 
A billionaire wouldn't even foot the taxes for the cars she gave away 
Never forget where you came from, you may have to return there someday 
All the rich have a gold key  to the IRS's back door 
They know all the loop holes for the IRS 
Elaborate parties, tuxedoes and women in their 5,000 dollar dresses 
A cardboard box, another statistic for the homeless 
A corporate exec did a downsize today 
The car repossessed, the house taken away 
Sometimes reality is a person's real life movie of horror 
The rich get richer, the poor get poorer 
Some have never known to go to sleep without a meal 
Our government turns a blind eye does not want to see what's real 
America's rich worried about the homeless overseas 
The poor get spitted in their faces by those wealthy celebrities 

Copyright © Eugene Carmen | Year Posted 2008

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I am the face of misery
My life, a dissonance of autumn and spring,
The years are written in the same
Lugubrious, nostalgic grey
How can it be the author to blame?
I cannot scream this all away…
Burn nor Bleed this all away…
To Death I am Ordained

Lacuna ever growing
With Velvet sheets of life flowing
Aeons apart of my "royalty"
Under the mask the cannot see...
Can you dispel this tragedy:
Antigone - Epiphany failing

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,

No words of hope
No words of hate
Do I have Lenore to send to me:
The sordid child of Thebes
Caught In the longest nightmare
life - the slowest way to die

I know this is my life 
But I'm not under control
under the mask the will see
Just Another Human

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,

Can you dispel my life; this tragedy?
Can you control the storm in my mind?
I'm asking you: can you rid me
Of The Curse of Antigone?

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

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The Cyber Nymph

The Cyber Nymph
Loch David Crane
August 18, 1997

Lie back--expose your belly ring		
up unto the sky. . .
I just hope when I get down close
it won't put out my eye!

That summer I was 48 
and she pert 25;
I left Prozac in the cupboard 
and Reality went Live.

I shoulda taken time to stop
and used the vorpal rubber
But 48 he couldn't wait 
to find another lover.

So while the Sun was merciless
to sand and skin and sea
"If she swells I'm sure she'll tell,
returning then to me."

I must admit I got her drunk--
I used her just for sex:
Blue and blond with freckles,
suntanned buns and pecs.

But she revealed computer skills
That took away my breath.
Her dancing cyber fingers sang;
I soon saw who was best.

Ol' 48 could bare compute
"Not very fast" she said;
"I've practiced years not to be fast"
gasped I, collapsed in bed.

Then the Sun warmed up the honey--
it dripped twice more in a row.
Ulysses' "rosy-fingered dawn"
beheld her frown, dress, and go.

That freshly-flossed feeling
reverberates my spine
A smile wells up from deep inside
and stays there all the time.

At play I watched this cyber nymph
on Netscape and E-mail;
Her eyes flashed, fingers flying,
shaking golden ponytail.

"You're kinda slow," she grumbled,
terrifying 48;
"But I like that in a man," she grinned,
making me feel great.

My old 12 color monitor
was not enough for her;
More movies, GIFs, and videos
flew by me in a blur.

But 48 he had a trick:
while she stared at the screen
I spoke in her ear, nibbled her neck,
and adored her like a Queen.

I kissed and bit and licked and squirmed
'til wrists and spine went quiet--
The way a mouse's legs go still
when python's on his diet.

And then the honey dripped once more,
the Sun was past its rise.
I felt its rosy hug and knew
that love was in my eyes.

I asked her for her address,	
she wrote with @ in code;
I said "I'm too old fashioned"
and asked for her telephone.

So when you dream, sweet 25,
tall cyber nymph of mine,
remember please old 48
who isn't past his prime.

And as the honey of the Sun
drips down into the sea
I'll recall my Cyber Nymph
and she will undelete me.

Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014

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Slow Man's Rap

This here brois the Slow Man's Rap.
This slow man knows where it's at.
I'm never condescending. I'm always offending.
But being what I am is a job that's never ending.
I got my ways. I got my days, when people of 
different shades look at me in strange ways.

I don't care. I have no fear.

Didn't cause no one's troubles. 
I got my own. I just do my thing.
Then I go home.
So don't blame me, if you don't feel free, and 
why don't you just let me....go to sleep.

This here slow man treats life like toy.
Don't believe in sorrow. I believe in joy.  
Don't believe in fighting.  I believe in rhyming. 
And making the best of my too short timing.
Cause my bomb will blow, when my fuse burns low, 
and life's got to move. Not fast, but slow.  

Feeling fine, feeling free, feeling fun...
under the sun.

I've paid my dues and and sang my blues.
Now it's time to put on my walking shoes.
The thing is here, the thing is back.
The thing is coming at you with the master rap.

I got women on the left.
I got women on the right
I got work in the middle.
And this is my wife.

I'm one slow Joe, but a lot is what I know.
And I can't speak jive but, I know I'm alive.
I'm up and down, and all around.
Don't act like a clown, cause I rock this town.

I'm flying like a bird.
I am the word.

Now that I've bored you with my name.
And my stupid little game.
It's time that everyone go insane.

So, have a good time. On the party line.
Where the fun is so fine.
And laid on the line.

Enough with the rapping.
Let's see some hands start clapping.
Some feet start stamping, and 
lot's of dancing.

Or whatever
Or whatever
Or whatever


Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit it

Get with it.
Get with it. 

Women so fine.
A bottle of wine.
A real good time.
I ran out of lines.

Moving my feet, to the master beat.
Looking nice and looking neat.

Move your feet
Move your feet.
Move, move those feet.

Hit it.

One last time.
One last time.
One last time.


Copyright © Daniel Schack | Year Posted 2012

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Election Day

“Election Day” 
by:  Eric L. Boddie

By plane, train, bus, car or boat 

I’ll travel the Earth to win your vote 

I can’t say when I’ll finish, but I know when I’ll start 

From this day forward, I’ll be campaigning for your heart 

If elected, I’ll serve you well to the best of my ability 

I’ll deliver your heart to a state of tranquility 

There will be no new taxes on your emotions and things there of 

I’ll do everything within my power to erase your deficit of love 

I don’t have a foreign policy, you are my only concern 

Home always comes first, that’s what the other candidates must learn 

And in the event of war, you are mine to defend 

For your honor I will fight until the very end 

Healthcare will be provided, and your economy is sure to flourish 

I’ll work my fingers to the bone to ensure that you are well nourished 

Your soul will be educated through love, respect and dedication 

I’ll declare everyday a holiday for you to show my appreciation 

So when Election Day comes, just who will you choose 

I’m the best man for your heart, with me, you can’t lose 

Copyright © eric boddie | Year Posted 2015

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The Singer's Cloak

The singer sang from beyond the grave,*
Or in his grave, to be true.
His voice reached up to the architrave
And vibrated in every pew.

The vicar called on the choir to sing
As loud as loud they could.
But the voice had an even louder ring
Sending quivers down the rood.

Oh Lord, they sang, oh mighty God,
Gloria in excelsis deo.
But the singer sang of life’s hard rod
And of Hell's undying blow.

The women looked up the pillars tall,
While big-eyed children cried.
The singer had them in his thrall,
But was not to be descried.

The vicar read his sermon out,
As if proclaiming from the mount.
The singer responded with a voice so stout,
He sang of fear’s rich fount.

The congregation lost relation
To the good man’s godly word.
They stood in helpless trepidation,
Their souls so far disturbed. 

The church’s doors swung open wide,
To a cascade of chattering leaves;
The screams and panic and terror inside
Shook the church to its very eaves.

And then, oh then, oh horror pure,
The spectre appeared at the door.
His bloodied hair, his sombre allure,
Chilled the living to the core.

The vicar clutched up bible and ran
Through a hidden door to the side,
The singer opened his cloak like a fan
And wrapped all the children inside.

The women bemoaned this cruellest loss,
They wailed to the crucified Christ.
But bound and weak and nailed as he was,
There was nothing he could do.

* This Poem should be read in conjunction with 'The Pauper's Grave'

Copyright © Paul James | Year Posted 2011

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Forgotten Love

And here i arrive at the lovers gate,

Steering thoughts to captivate 

the ferrying notions of our fate,

the empty, quiet, familiar state.

Alas it's come to say goodbye 

as i knock on yesterday's door,

no confidence or measure 

no laughter, no more.

as we continue in our absence 

we fade our memories in weary complacence,

like festering leaves among the steps, 

leaning over the window ledge 

coffee morning toast, bed 

we eliminate the dread of the past undead.

just so we can forget and adjust 

and forever pass-by in forgotten love.  

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2015

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Emotionless,and a sorry Excuse

Can Things ever last,
When they happen so fast.
do these tears and pain ever fade,
Is Drama yet another day,
That I must play to waste the day away, 
and ignore the pain,
 that never seems to fade.
I know that game,
I played it so many times,
Emotionless is what i shall be,
 for all times and eternity.
Galeea's training proved right,
All little boys play the game of deception,
But they do not realize that some girls see it before them,
Some girls grow up to be woman and are looking for guys,
Who want to be man enough  to take any
Drama and pitiful lies that other little girls spread around to see,
 if they can steal that one great guy in their life.
Pity is what it is called when a Man falls into that pit of vipers,
Why can i not be like those vipers?
 because I am too smart and not so vain as the 
 others girls i see around me.
  Because  i am me  and  i just want to be me
and that is what i would like to see,
 For that is reality.

Copyright © Cheyenne Nienhueser | Year Posted 2013

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God simply made man and woman
to be together for the rest of their lives...
it's a blessing this heedless world
has not fully known;
and it's so rare nowdays
to see two people in love,
and promise each other to be faithful!
Is that all so impossible?

Real men don't cheat on their women,
real men give their whole hearts full of gold
to those who really love them;
I've come to know a good man
who did just that for his woman,
and he still loves her although she's old!

Unfaithful men, would you rather have
an unhappy home or feel a joy
as sublime as the sunrise in glory?
Untrustworthy men, give up what you crave;
you can be the strongest man on earth,
and still can't stop the tears gathered inside!

Real men don't cheat on their women,
real men adore and cherish them 'till they're gone;
to be beside them and share a lovely dream,   
to console and encourage them when they're weak!  

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2006

Details | Ballad |

Why the dogwood tree grows

Why the dogwood tree grows.

In the middle of a vacant filed stands a grand dogwood tree where the  crows gather daily. People flock far and wide just to gaze at its majestic stature and overwhelming beauty wondering silently amongst themselves, “How this tree came to be.”

Shrouded in secrecy lays the scattered bones of a dead man. 

His hands rest against his thighs, his head turned upright as his soil filled eyes gaze upward awaiting the warm glow of the sun that sadly never comes.

The man laid to rest beneath the black dirt over time had long been forgotten, he no longer had a name, no home, or even a family of his own. Just the loving roots he had been encased in long ago.

But how this event came to be only three could say.
The women, the murder, and the forever silent dogwood tree.

The restless bones belonged to a man, a young man who had fallen in love and courted another mans betrothed. The women cared for the simple gardening man and the many trees his nimble fingers tended but her fiance was a jealous chap with rage to match.
And upon one final night after witnessing their true loves kiss the grief stricken cohort stuck the man down with his rusted pick axe and banished the gardener to his hand dug grave, placing his lifeless corpse in a vacant filed in which no one came. But what the enraged man didn’t foresee was the seed of a dogwood tree.
It fell from the deceased pocket and grew from the gardeners heart.

Year after year the tree budded magnificent flowers each possessing a hint of red staining their petals.

People marveled in its splendor gazing at the unique tree, gasping in awe and glee, but for one women its beauty agonized her for its existence was a constant reminder that no justice, nor revenge could ever be won for her simple gardening man.

And as the roots steamed onward feeling the caressing flow of a spring wind on its crimson petals the mans chest flooded with air and his dry, frail skeleton once more exuded life; 

And  as she eyed the swaying branches his memory suddenly came to life.
He was the air the tree inhaled, the nutrients it desperately needed to grow, and the reason it thrived.

Even in death he had the gardeners touch.

Her wrinkled face light up with love and for the first time in fifty years she smiled in happiness thinking to herself.

“That is why the dog wood tree grows, its out of love for my dead mans bones.”

Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2012

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Sarah's Door

My son there are fields you may stray 
With flowers to take hearts away
Where you can be happy all day
But listen to words I now say
Enjoy life mid kisses galore
But stay away from Sarah’s door
So into the world boy did go
And boy did the boy put on show
The flowers would wait in a row
In hopes to just bask in his glow
Truly this was what youth was for
Now who would dare a dream for more
The Joy of day ran into night
There never was a time so right
Another kiss lurked out of sight
An endless flow of sheer delight
Had sparked his mind to Sarah’s door
From somewhere he had heard before
He shared his longings with a friend
Who warned him of some evil end
It’s Sarah’s door let’s not pretend
Rich kisses here we must defend
Such crazy thoughts we must ignore
Abandon thoughts of Sarah’s door
But Sarah’s door entered boy’s dreams
From it imagination streams
What lies behind its golden seams
To push his passions to extremes
It calls him taunts him to explore 
What madness waits at Sarah’s door
Now there’s still fields for hearts to play
Where flowers wait to kiss the day
And youthful airs are on display
Except for one who went astray
Now they don’t see him anymore
Since he had knocked on Sarah’s door

Copyright © Martin Kloess | Year Posted 2013

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Be a cow

I should fear, I should hide
I should obey and abide.
I should behave when I'm out,
Masks, hijaabs, drapes and shrouds.

I should read but not write, 
Not confront but shimmer with fright.
I should learn to not hate and let 
You make me warm your bed.

I should never raise a voice, 
Should never aspire of heights to rise.
I should not fight but be hapless;
My person should be my dress.

I shall wash and I shall cook
Bear your children, I shall stoop.
Duress, care, feeble, weak.
Your stronghold should I always seek.

I shall follow but never lead
If there's hope, I shall not heed.
You shall trample, you shall play.
Rape or kill, have your way.

Strange though it seems, the way it has been. 
Maybe I don't complain, but couldn't you have seen. 
This age of worship, rage and anger that I see now
I wonder you'd listen, if not a woman I had rather been a cow.

Copyright © Mayur Choudhari | Year Posted 2017

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The Costumed Dream

     Seems like I'm falling 
in love 
     with Bat-Girl
   Don't ask me how this happened 
       Women in costumes 
appeal to me 
     Not long ago I hugged a woman 
in a cat costume
    Comic book dreams 
coming through once more 
  Green Lantern, Magneto and 
       the reat 
are competing with me 
for the love of 
  a costumed woman 
I think that "love steeers the star" 
  Fantasy women are sometimes 
easier to deal with than real ones

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2011

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Poppies of Remembrance

Time, to buy our poppies
To remember once again
remember those who died for us
And those who were just maimed
We must also remember
Those, who lost their loved ones
Mothers, sister’s, daughters
Fathers, brothers, son's
What a lot of us can't imagine
What torment that must be
But they all gave their lives for us
To make our country free
In one hundred years
Two wars some endured
lost fathers in the 1st, sons in the last
This fighting is absurd
And still we send our menfolk
To fight the wars abroad
 Please end this madness
I beg thee dear lord...

We think we're in recession
But do we  really know
The hardships that our grandparents
Suffered against the foe
Bombed out of house and home
Nowhere else to go
Then all neighbours rallied round
To help they were not slow
Rationing came about
For food, for clothes, for fuel
From just scrag ends of meat
Made appetizing gruel
Women took over men’s jobs
In factories, farms and such
Blackouts, sirens, shelters
Hardship there was much 
Army, air force and navy
Were not the only ones
But fire-fighters, nurses, doctors
Air raid wardens, everyone
They all played some part
In winning against the foe
Many lost their lives
A dreadful way to go
Some might say its better
To die instantly my friends
For many, many suffered
In agony till the end
We can’t possibly imagine
What it's like there at the front
Many months of fighting
With no end in sight
In trenches, 
Your comrades all about you lying
Water logged and stinking,
Lying, crying, dying.
So please stand in silence
Remember, remember them 
They fought for our freedom
Our women and our men

Copyright © jacque lee | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |

Detoured Dreams

I always thought of heaven,
as a warm, New England Fall day. 
The leaves were shining brighter
than the street post lamps at midnight. 
I’m cruising along the highway. 

Passing scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us?
Everything that was -is 
fortunately apart of today.  

And I write-
because it relieves my pain. 
I create
because it’s nice to remember how to love.
Am I therefore less worthy, 
if I one day choose to make money, 
off my lovely creations?

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
Legend has it at one time, 
that’s what he wanted out of life.

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
What if someone had embraced this passion, this skill?
He could have sipped wine, 
painted on blank canvases,
and basketed in reflection of the moon.

He could have
Made love, 
and wrote songs, 
and Praised God, 
for the fortune of being able to dream. 
He abandoned his love for creation,
His love of art, 
praised only the devil
and became crazed with hate,  
millions were slaughtered, 
millions had to pay the price.
How tragic can life be?  

But now, 
I’m Passing through scenic pastures, tiny plazas and singing-
perhaps we are all just standing
on the great shoulders
of the men and women who were before us? 
Everything that was -is 
unfortunately apart of today.  

we never know just how much
shutting down one little, tiny, persons dream
can effect so many other people’s dreams.
and the generations to come. 

What if Hitler had become an artist? 
 would it have spared us some?

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |


I left my parents behind,
My name change, my home too
I followed you on a life time journey 
I feed your hungry belly 
And your raging shaft too

I'm a woman, treat me right 

For nine months, 
I walk around the world
Carrying inside me another you
The little you, Bradley 
A bearable burden just for love

I'm a woman, care for me

Before anything,
You come first
In my mind, nothing else matter 
I breathe for you ,
And will die for you 

I'm a woman, respect me

Don't call me weak
Don't call me irrelevant 
I can make you sick
I can kill you too
My strength is mightier than a typhoon 

I'm a woman, my power is immeasurable 

Copyright © Ifedayo Mayowa | Year Posted 2016

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Copyright © robert ray | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ballad |


In the night she comes,
Freeing all the women from their pain.
as she made their pain go numb 
she looked at the abusers with disdain

I don't know how she does it
How could a woman with her own pain 
Help other women with the same?

Pashant is what they called her.
Her arms were strong as steel.
She was a true fighter
as you can see she was very skilled

I still don't know how she does it
How could a woman with her own pain 
Help other women with the same?

She didn't do this for attention
That wasn't the type of person she was
she did this for prevention
Everynight this is what she does

Oh, I don't know how she does it
How could a woman with her own pain 
Help other women with the same?

Her eyes were very daring,
She didn't take any mess from anyone
She had the beauty of a fairy
She would not run

I don't know how she does it
How could a woman with her own pain 
Help other women with the same?

Copyright © passion williams | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |


I adore modest women,
so soft-spoken and
very elegant,
who aren't looking for men
to seduce without being
atrracted to  them!

There's a shortage of men,
and they try to get whomever they can,
ugly, handsome or good- for -nothing;
all they want is pleasure, not a friend! 

I love simple women
who are fashionable 
and very sleek;
I love women
who can look in their mirror
and say to themselves,
" I'm beautiful! "
Honesty can make any man weak,
enough to give them much more!

Be careful of women who touch their face
when they laugh and pretend to like your kisses,
giving you the illusion of a full moon...
in the middle of a hot afternoon:
you will burn, but won't remember a darned thing;
and all that wasted energy for a quick sling!
I adore modest women
who don't wear lots of make up...
to hide a despised face;
isn't simplicity
another form of beauty?
I adore modest women
who undress you when they're hot...
they make you feel wanted without words:
and that's when my passion starts up,
and I become a real man!

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |


by a woman   
or by another
an illusion of the futures

in the worlds that cross themselves
souvenir by souvenir

it is the fragrant tea
this sugar in my mouth

who animate my present
my desire to live the sky

this eternal horizon

Copyright © Milan Georges Burovac | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ballad |

Women Are Necessary Evil

Evil combs from their waists morally
Like a song from dead throaty tune.
Machete of tempting guts, they spread
Nagging substances to the eyes of men,
This thistles taxed our brave minds.
Our blood a gulp of water to their veins,
Scars for the flesh of our successful life.
war wounds for the souls of men in shadow 
of a baseless child bearing and home-making!
Women: necessary evil to men! Evil they are!
Tormenting with their verses of pretense,
Cutting pride with their envy and jealousy,
Eating deep of men testies with prostitution!
Women: necessary evil to back off from!
Materialistic they are above their shoulders,
Bewitching  is another test of their lives
and all we wanted is a home but hell they give;
highest score of hell which keeps men away 
from a place once called a home now a forest.
Right on their lips are  paintings of blood,
In between their legs are death channel flux with 
fluid that kills more than the black powder.
There is an applistic balls on their chest, it kills!
Their souls bathed black sorrow and agony,
There is a painting of blood in their heart;
Painting of a  dying song in a pool of rhythm.
Rhythms of violence reverberated in their muses,
Women are necessarily evil among human race!
But I remembered mother, she is not among them!
Men battered in their hands,
Destiny wasted in between their legs,
Dreams elude the owner at the sight of their buttock!
There is a painting of blood on their palms
Which the creator knows nothing of now,
They have Ploughed many heads to grave,
Yet, burnt many faces in the insanity of the day.
Women are necessary evil, keep off from them!
Women are the trade mark of the devil, beware!
Eve bite of the apple made them all guilty!
If only men can stay without women on their
Laps, the world will sing a new song of peace.
Brave hearts men had wrestled but they could not
But cling to a woman's arms for protection yet,
Died a miserable death of curse and abomination
Women are necessarily evil because their 
conscience are dead.

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All right Reserved 2016

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

Meadow Lark's voice

Written to my Cherokee mother:

Meadow Lark's voice is so soft and so sweet
She's a Cherokee woman and won't accept defeat

At Meadow Lark's voice the birds will listen still
As her gentle voice carries around and over the hills

She cares for all creatures both human and beast
Meadow Lark's voice is so soft and so sweet

Meadow Lark's voice is so soft and so sweet
As she hurries along and does her good deeds

She makes Indian medicine for all the new borns
And everyone states that she inherited her charms

She's a spiritual healer to all both great and small
She gives them faith to be brave and help to stand tall

She whispers in ears of battles soon to be fought
and reminds them that they should not accept loss

Meadow Lark's voice is soft and so sweet
But listen closely and don't be deceived

For this voice is so strong even the wind will say
Listen to her and you will know how to be brave

Copyright © Renee Trimble | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

Just Like Women

A brave and courageous knight,
Dressed in shining Armour,
 Was a feast to the eyes,
Of young and beautiful women.

And this was exactly what happened,
To the great Knight of Cotenbury,
Whose head was held high,
And who walked with the royal stride.

Oh,but what a disappointment was it,
To those young and beautiful maidens when they found out,
He was already married,
To one of the most beautiful princess!

Copyright © nitya mathur | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |


At first light
I set out to further my wanderings 
Tripping the grassy ride along 
To catch a boat sailing to other province 

Along the path, a sweet sepulchral voice
Arrest my sympathy breast
Entranced by the sweetness of the voice
I seek it to find, thus, I became unquiet

I drew nigh, the verdant field rings 
Of sweet lay,resonance with elegiac tune
I espied, behold 'tis the widow that sings
Her visage writ large in gloom

The tidings of this widow
Had once danced pass my ear
Alas! A pitiful lonely soul
She bore no heir

Sited neath a bower,in wonderment I stare
She had worked mightily on the farmland
Heaps arrayed on the earth bed
All she'd sown flowers on her fertile land

She sow and sings by herself
Pearls of perspiration watering the heaps
A solitary sower, with no hand to help
Anon, her eyes rimmed with fatigue

She cast her eyes heavenward
Storm clouds were gathering 
She hurried, in fleet of foot homeward
Thence I further away in my wanderings

Copyright © Ifedayo Mayowa | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |


I like you, a women of many colors of love,  I am many 

things, not just one, two but I am a women mentor

I am a mother, aunt, cousin, I am not perfect you

have so many things to pick to hate me pick a couple

things your so picky, I believe in a creator, also

I love him and them for many reasons, you are a bigot

that hates even the stars in the sky and sun and moon.

So What.

Copyright © diane henning | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ballad |


I like you, a women of many colors of love,  I am many 

things, not just one, two but I am a women mentor

I am a mother, aunt, cousin, I am not perfect you

have so many things to pick to hate me pick a couple

things your so picky, I believe in a creator, also

I love him and them for many reasons, you are a bigot

that hates even the stars in the sky and sun and moon.

So What.

Copyright © diane henning | Year Posted 2007