Evil Women Poems | Evil Poems About Women

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Details | Free verse |


Does the past really matter?
 Does it set you free? 
I’m absorbed in the sin,
That is surrounding him and me. 

Lost in the curiosity,
Cold to the touch. 
Drenched in the poison,
With my dignity in his clutch.

Feeling like I was cheated;
I chose the evil instead of light.
I traded in the sunshine,
For what lurks in the night. 

I disobeyed his orders,
I gave up security to be unsure.
I went against the warnings,
Gave into darkness instead of remaining pure.

Once my bed was made of soft grass,
But now it is made of stone.
Was plump from all of the luscious fruit,
Now I’m starving to the bone. 

My curse is one of circumstance.
The punishment a crime,
I’m stuck inside this dampened cave,
For the rest of time. 
My world came crashing down,
The grief has not subsided.
My heart broke completely,
When my sons collided. 

My misery a token,
From the abandonment I earned.
Upon the time spent in sorrow,
There was a lesson to be learned.

Have I found the moral?
Only in time we shall see,
For all I did was eat an apple-
From the Knowledge tree. 

Copyright © Alyssa Waters | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

I Killed 1000's of Evil Women

I was arrested this morning in bed
The evidence was very overwhelming
I was bloody and bleeding all over
In a frenzy last night
After some wine
Apparently I committed atrocities

As I sit inside this bare white interrogation room
I can tell you with a clear conscience
I feel no remorse
No regret
They all deserved to die
I crushed them
Made them bleed
Made them plead
I showed not one drop of mercy
Killer killer killer
I slaughtered them all
Every last female I could slap, slay or strangle
Dead dead dead
I am guilty as charged

By the end of the evening
My friends had to restrain me
A frenzied killer was on the loose
Although they themselves carry some of the guilt
I could not commit this crime alone as I did
Sure they killed a few here and there too
I know what you’re thinking
The Killing fields

Well Law and Order, FMD division
Was about to start their interrogation
Nothing to it really
I readily confessed
Every single one of those dam females got what they deserved
I confessed, if I hadn’t killed them
They would have surely sucked me dry
Till I was all skin and bones

Why, I had an evil smile across my face
All those famous serial killers
I out did them all
I showed no mercy
Blood and gore I slaughtered them all

Now you are all thinking
Who is this evil one?
So I say to you
I am also you
There is not one of you
Man or woman
In my shoes
Who, would not have done the same

Those darn female mosquitoes that night
Were driving me insane!!!!

Notes: Law and Order, FMD division
Female Mosquito Division

PETA, please do not protest in front of my house, this is pure fiction
thank you

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | ABC |

WOMEN ARE EVIL, men ARE stupid

WOMEN ARE EVIL - men ARE stupid

Women are evil, men are stupid
when it comes to affairs of the heart, the arrow of cupid
It's sometimes a game that a broken love plays
so clever these women creating such disarray

Men go in like idiots, hook line and sinker 
not seeing clearly hidden by blinkers
whilst being ridden, women take men for a ride
there is almost always something sinister lurking inside

To manipulate, all they do is spread legs,for in truth men are just dumb ****s
all they think of is shooting their muck
so to summarize the last statement so easy to control
such a fixation men have on that sweet juicy hole

A nine month period a baby after this
a time when women can truly take the piss
i know men can be such bastards but in short women have the evil last laugh
they will hurt you so easily with there vengeful wrath

From restrictions on kids, to doing your best mate
as i said, just opening legs men just take the bait 
yes there are enlightened ones like myself, who recognize this 
still with my kid a women controls me and takes the piss

Men are from Mars, women are from Venus
wouldn't it be funny if i was a women with a *****
 just to clarify so you understand 
 i could have an evil intention coupled with a stupid plan

If i had the mind, genetics and equipment equal from each sex
i could get ****ed,**** also cry from cruel texts
i could start a campaign to change how both parties can be
i'd be the one to set both men and women free  

Okay there would still in the future be a few underground freaks 
would have the evil, stupid thing going on, not taking in my speech 
but it's just my thoughts, this will obviously never be
one can only dream, loose oneself in a fantasy

For those who hear my words, take in all that i write
men will always be stupid they will never see the light
so women can continue being evil playing their evil game
today, tomorrow, the future will always be the same
For while women have a pussy, a sweet juicy hole
that will always be the ticket to gain easy control
its like dangling a carrot on a string in front of a donkey
they are the organ grinders we are the monkeys

Men are dominant and strong, women are subservient and weak
whosoever made this bold and silly statement, let the ****ers speak
men are stupid, women are evil and clever
to be honest i see no change, it will be this way forever

Poem by Paul Powell  20/06/08

Copyright © Paul Powell | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

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

Copyright © Chidozie Uche | Year Posted 2014

Details | Dramatic monologue |

HAMAS TERRORIST BASTARDS, Telling women and children to stay in buildings to be bombed

There is no truce for Hamas, these terrorist murderers not only kill Israelis, 
but allow their Palestine citizens, men, women, and completely innocent 
children to be slaughtered as shields for their insane and cowardly cause, I hope 
they (HAMAS) and other terrorist groups are all blown to HELL! Then maybe we 
can finally end WAR!

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Couplet |

Loving the Fruit Salad

With a committed one, it is wonderful and decent to chill but you eat the combination of the salad still. Twelve noon is different from nine cos it feels more like the day then longing for midnight all because the sun has gone away. You lie on rocks, sands and then swamps to feel all of earth it is because of you more girls come through birth. Flexible lips and serpent eyes were your weaknesses yesterday charming hips and arrogant breasts take over from them today. Making the decision on one to take that stand and embrace puts fidelity, strength and manliness far from disgrace. You’ve selected that one for you who’s ripe and green but pluck the fruits of different trees everywhere seen. Even a homeless refugee with an amputated knee creates a segment of your taste to make her a nominee. Free flying is this right, fun, decision and liberty to drink life’s wine by using your private property. Such a way of life you continuously employ puts you under loneliness’ trap as a prey not a decoy. Too much sinking makes you carried away by the wave time then slaps to realize no way, another chance can pave.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Somber Tears

As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Youth and Arrogance

Once upon a time,
There was a girl who thought of herself as being a great Dame
She would walk alone
And tell everyone that she had a heart of stone

She pushed off her admirers
Claiming they met not her desires
She broke many a hearts
By simply refusing to be their sweethearts

But one day, while she walked in the lonely forests
She came face to face with an enchantress
The latter was busy in concocting spells
To make of herself the world's only belle among the many belles

Angry for having been disturbed
She threw a curse on the great Dame
Be hated, she said, be ugly and be forever un-loved
Be made of fire so that anyone who touches you does perish in your flame

The young girl could do nothing
She tried to be to the world a bit more humbling
But everyone rebuked her
Everyone despised her, hated her

Why, if she did try to be good,
She scorched as would be a piece of fiery wood
If she did reach out to a young lad
She was laughed at, as if she was one so mad!

Why, she thought many a times of jumping into the raging sea
Maybe it would be good, if she did die way too early
Arrogant she had once been
Arrogant and one so mean!

But yet, she found not the courage to do such
She found not the courage to kill herself as such
Nor could she open her veins
Nor could she inflict on herself, other pains

Lost and discouraged, she sought out the mountains
She would live there, all alone, and in disdain
That was when she came face to face again with the enchantress
I shall cure you, only if you do allow me to be your mistress

Such was done and the young maiden became an evil slave
She accepted to do many evil deeds for her mistress, so abusive
So much that one day, as she looked at herself in a mirror
She shrieked with horror

She was old, wrinkled, ugly and witchy
No more did she have any beauty
Why, her life had been cursed, her life had been arrogant
Now, she could only accept her Fate's punishment!

Copyright © Anoucheka Gangabissoon | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Young Witches Buried In Shallow Graves

In the Middle Ages
witchcraft was wide-spread;
young witches were buried
in shallow graves.

The angry bard was also a monk and defended the Church,
" No witches of any age will be roaming in Catholic Florence
and allowed to practise their magic by the glow of the torch! "
From the pulpit he made his voice rise and broke the silence.

He felt the presence of the other witches who gathered 
outside the church; he trembled a little, but continued 
his speech of condemnation that to them wasn't eloquent,
" Go to sleep and never rise again " was the loud chant.  

All seemed peaceful on that Good Friday with the rain falling,
the bells of the basilica tolled to mourn the crucified Christ;
the altar was draped in purple, the glass windows were dark,  
the parishioners waited, the bard never came to the mourning.

" Mourn the barn's death! Christ forgave all sinners, he did not!"
" He burned them at the stake not as criminals but as heretics!"
" We'll protest and revenge their death so inhuman and unjust!"
The witches' chant was louder than the lament of the believers.    

Written on 5/31/2016

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

When a Man cries Himself to Sleep

When a man cries himself to sleep,
it is a sad sight to see,
tears roll off his cheek
and onto his bed sheets and pillow case.
When you hear his somber cries,
you can feel his pain
when he wimpers like a child who treds in fear.
No one knows what they do to a man
when they play with his emotions,
lead him on,
take advantage of him.
They don't know what they do to an innocent man
looking for love.
They break his heart that is full of love,
they stab him in the back
when he needs them at his most vulnerable moment
they laugh at him, and tease him,
Do they know what they do to a man?
They slowly kill a man, who just wants a simple kiss on the lips,
they kill a dreamer, a good man, with a big heart.
They drive a man to his bed,
with tears running down his face
and force him to dream of nightmares.
When a man cries himself to sleep, 
it is that saddest thing to see.
Goodnight and sweet dreams...

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Songs of Sorrowed Hearts

What makes this world go around?
What makes Death walk the Earth
and God sit on his throne and watch over us?
What makes love go around with such favour
and strut along side lonesome avenues?
What does a widow, a motherless child, a Vietnam veteran
and a boy who has had his fare share of heartbreaks,
all have in common with each other?

They were all promised a beautiful life,
free for all to love, free from the pain of betrayal
and anger.
We are what make the world go around,
I am the poet who sits and looks at love walk down the street,
and watch the blind eyes stare deep in my soul.
I am the poet, that feels the pain of a heart torn in two.
He his the poet who writes of smiles, to forget the frowns
and tears.
She is the poetress that writes of her success,
in order to forget her past that tortured her soul,
now he and she walk together writing poetry
sharing their love and smiles with the world.
But with smiles, also comes frowns,
with hearts full of love, comes hearts full of sorrow,
and someone has to stay behind and write of the bad
has to write and compose the songs of the sorrowed hearts.

We are all given love,
but it takes some whole lives to understand
the dark mystery that tags along with beautiful love.
Someone has to suffer the pain,
someone has to sacrifice his or her happiness,
so another poet can feel the beauty in happiness and pain.
I am willing to sacrifice my time and heart,
for my fellow poet to feel the smiles grow on their faces
and feel love uplift their heart,
while the black cancer tears apart mine.
I will go on, with what is left of my heart and smile,
and go into my room of creativity
and compose the songs of sorrowed hearts
for future poets, like that came before me.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |


When the night comes,
and the world is a away,
the demons step out,
as their corpses decay.

Across Will-street,
lived a mysterious sinner.
A famous voice,
whose faintest whisper made the mighty shiver.

Her long gold locks,
made many a man weak,
till he knew her up close,
where no one could hear his helpless shriek.

Burning lust,
disappeared in her embrace,
then moving swiftly,
dripping blood from her long nails.

She was her daddy's girl, people say,
till she hit him with a gun.
No man could ever escape,
the trap of this woman.

Courage, don't be weak,
don't let your young heart loose.
She is waiting till the night birds call,
she has her sight on the whole town view.

Widows always weep,
the young is red meat,
when she kills all the sinners,
she is the bad woman.
When your daddy is cheap,
you ought to be weak,
but she is not a dying soul,
she is Bloodwoman.

Copyright © Karan Patade | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

But with the evil, came the good

All turned down to the worst
as the children lost innocence,
as the bums drank their last breath away,
as the man eating sharks finding their way,
to the over-crowded sandy beaches,
as the man turn to the woman
and gave her a slap across the face,
as the thef steals in the night,
as the coward goes behind his loved ones' backs,
as the oil lanterns spill over and burn the bridges
to salvation and paradise.
Something always happens to the good guy,
a knife in the back in the midst of dawn,
his woman leaving with another man,
he dying slowly of cancer,
or suffering from intoxication of the blood.
Poison. Poison, ravages his body,
oh, how could God let such things happen
to such a good man?
His life work, his social life, his nirvana
all destroied, burned away, turned to dust.

But with the evil, came the good.
Yes with time and time again
repeating itself in a circle of time,
across the crossed faces,
as blue eyed Death smiles
and as the girls grin,
Everything came into place,
Anyway with evil, came the good.
Indeed it had came right to his front doorstep.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |

At the gate of hell

As hades watching hoping she would dive in.
But a gentle soul waiting at the gate of hell, waiting for the command from Olympus.
Death softly passes 
     Death roam her round about but the gods were seated in Olympus.
Hera listening softly to the heart beat of Zeus.
The god of music was drowning Olympus in his lovely melody.
But the gods refused but waiting on the woman standing at the gate of hell.
    Death reached her hand so hades shall be pleased.
So the gods were watching.
The breath of hades opened Thanatos calling like a soft wind upon her. 
So the gods were watching.
The woman from earth, the woman whom caught the pleasure of the Olympians of Olympus.
But death still parading her at the gate of hades

Copyright © Christian adeyemi | Year Posted 2017

Details | Dramatic monologue |

HAMAS TERRORIST BASTARDS, Telling women and children to stay in buildings to be bombed

There is no truce for Hamas, these terrorist murderers not only kill Israelis, 
but allow their Palestine citizens, men, women, and completely innocent 
children to be slaughtered as shields for their insane and cowardly cause, I hope 
they (HAMAS) and other terrorist groups are all blown to HELL! Then maybe we 
can finally end WAR!

Copyright © Robert Gruhn | Year Posted 2014

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 | I do not know? |

Pocket Feminism

When did teaching a woman how to cover her shoulders and legs and teaching a man that their personal attractions control us, become part of the curriculum?

When did teaching a woman how to protect herself in an attack and teaching a man how to commit an attack, become part of the curriculum?

When did teaching a woman that our bodies are weaker then men’s so we must protect ourselves and teaching a man that their minds are inferior so rape is okay, become part of the curriculum?

When did a woman’s virginity become something that’s embarrassing to hold on to?

When did a woman’s virginity become a prize when her first time was not consented?

When did a woman’s virginity become something she is both terrified to lose and mortified to keep?

When did the world become a place where we teach men that they can control women, teach men that rape is okay, teach men that they are stronger?

When did the world become a place where half of our population lives in fear and the other half is power hungry?

When did the world become a place where half of us must hide who we are and the other half shoves who they are down our throats? 

When did the world become a place like this?

Copyright © Dakota Hornak | Year Posted 2016

Details | Political Verse |


I ham aghast at increasing unpopularity
witnessed by Donald trump
hence aye aerate thoughts,
how ass nine his banal, demoniacal, fanatical, and hurtful
culling frightening insight,
where portentous Portuguese Man 'o War debacle
doth crowdsource, flickr, and indeed long foster 
plenti full over active imagination
to induce writhing expressions of fear
in direct proportion 2 hiz bursts of haughtiness),
would animate mine rear i.e. rather noxious flatulence
expelled from outward doppelganger of rump
pull stilts skin cuz this chap haint Noah fan,
Ark n saw wing enemy against dill dough don, dat does pump

swaggering bravado with fist swelling ego
analogous to his body pinning populace proletarian
that brazen denizen hurling and spewing volcanic fiery spittle
with incense against others – to him mere lumps
of protoplasm heckled as inferior to himself
boasts as proof of favoritism enervating fawning,
gabbling feverishly arrogant mania for him jumps
higher than expected,
while he commits faux paws which bumps
his ratings lower, he gleefully endorses
pandemonium toward gloating gump
shun from uproarious. querulous
and populous madding crowd!

Throughout launch of his campaign,
banally, devilishly, and fiendishly
character assassinating those opposed to his views -
inducing me to harrumph and dump 
faith in humanity, wondering what ruse
smart democratic pol mongers can conjure up
while pacing in soft shoes
woeful sentiments sans attempt did render
competitors to drop out in ones n twos
whom he purportedly considers apostates,
and heathens cons heeds Make America Great use
all manner of bullying (determination whose occipital pupils
coalesce into searing grape nut size beady eyes, the late Ewell Gibbons 
would not monkey around, 
but bare his wrath poisonous dagger like teeth)
forcibly silencing jeers
when necessary plagiarizing Neo Nazi playbook - with a "who cares"
attitude closing interest
for United Stated chess board foursquare,
which deliberate intent to foment n render prostrate -
music to those hoteliers billion dollar ears 
defeated apprenticing contestants hearing sobbing tears
with vitriolic biliousness inducing jabs of his a will full spears
reputations of personalities (men and women politicians
his especial flavor of scathingly scandalously scabrous sordidness
spewed to grab figurative crotch
the hello kitty 2016 presidential election),
whether liberal, conservative, heterosexual or queers 
this muddling middle-aged mwm abject psychic fractal shears!

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |

Wicked Women

Wicked women, such fearsome things
speak gently, haunting,
holding men with dark and
painted eyes, wretched
whispering, blackened lashes.
Let us watch their craft, with a poison mastery they
win at last: cause the blissful men to blister.

Copyright © Lauren Johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Thou Art a Witch

Thou Art a Witch!

By Elton Camp

 In the 1690s, a horrible, warning example we find,
Of the danger when church and state are intertwined.
Number convicted as witches was twenty-nine
Though many more the Puritans came to malign.

Cotton Mather had paved the way for such thought.
He published pamphlets which ideas on witches taught.
It was held women more likely than men, Satan to serve
Women were lustful, weak and from right would swerve.

Witch-hunting could considerable profit make
Since the witches’ land the colony could take.
When found guilty, her land
Would fall into another’s hand.

Relatives of the Salem minister
Acted in ways that were sinister.
The two girls made a strange sound
In the room, they threw things around.

Under furniture they would crawl
And then roll themselves into a ball.
“We are being pinched and feel pain.
And of pinpricks we also do complain.”

Other young women began to do the same
To their parents’ horror and great shame.
“The devil’s most surely come around
And is now taking over our fine town.”

The first accused were a group of three.
Who different from most proved to be.
Sarah Good was a homeless old dame.
Who to beg food to her neighbors came.

Sarah Osborne didn’t the church attend
And had sex with an unmarried friend.
Tituba was of the black race
So she had the music to face.

After those three were sent to jail
Others were accused without fail.
Next were women more undetectable
Because all were far more respectable.

Though true church members they happened to be
Of a charge of being witches, they didn’t stay free.
And then to nobody’s surprise,
Number accused began to rise.

Spectral evidence was taken as true
Witch spirit leaves body, evil to do.
A vision or dream was thus held to be right,
Though the “witch” was elsewhere that night.

That became the reason why
’Twas no help to have an alibi.
Of convicted, none were set loose.
All died by hanging from a noose.

Also, an eighty-year old man refused to reply.
Under the weight of stones was made to die.
To be less like Europe they did strive
And didn’t burn any “witches” alive.

People came to recognize the mistake.
That the testimony given had been fake.
Some still admire the goal:
To put the church in control.

For sure, no man’s life or property is safe
When under any church law they do chafe.
Union of church and state all should fear.
And so from that great evil do stay clear.

Copyright © Elton Camp | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |

Damage II

"To study psychological trauma is to come face to face both with human vulnerability in the natural world and with the capacity for evil in human nature”— Judith Herman.

I once knew a girl resolute 
With countless goals in pursuit
Along came a knight 
To dismantle her fright
And all of her goals to

Golden girls in gilded towers 
Dream by night
In endless flowers
they've made
And now to sleep
And in the day to just to keep 
They cower and weep
feign they're meek

Hemmed in by formless magic
Her nights tower height and breadth tragic
Dreams nightmares stay to glower
Picked her pocket and her power
Girds her in safely-- fragile female woe
Holds her captive Svengali's secret male mojo 
Female cunning and intuit fail
And all that's left are thick walls
To wail
Up on.

Copyright © Toni Orban | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |



Caged in
in love
with a

to evil
to run

Turned light
to dim
fond of
peace; joy
Closed hand
bruised face
please stop

Thoughts of

Copyright © Patrice Trice Jackson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Couplet |


All coevals
are co-evils.

Volodymyr Knyr

Copyright © Volodymyr Knyr | Year Posted 2017