Loss Women Poems

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

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Details | I do not know? |


I've Scribbled This Song For You...


I'm wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin...


now I'm all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now...

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I'm tired of being so carefully hid,


la laa laa la laa laa laa...


(repeat to fade)


:-)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013




Details | Iambic Pentameter |
They never went to war; they stayed at home
The young, the old, the unwell and the dead
The women who were not allowed to roam
The men who tilled the fields and baked the bread
Some sat in darkness waiting for the rap
Of letterbox, and soft white feather fall
The silence broken by a dripping tap
Dark shadows cast by street lamps on the wall
The little lads who ran behind the train
That took their fathers off to certain death
Who waved until their arms ached in the rain
Who ran until their lungs ran out of breath
Old men who yearned for youth; just one more chance
To feel the blood flow, hear the battle cry
To wear the uniform and take a stance
To stand with other men, to fight and die
The crippled and the mad, the deaf, the blind
Escaped the fate of many thousand men
Some angry that they had been left behind
Some thankful that they’d never fight again
Women, who with their sleeves rolled ploughed the land
Lit candles, raised the children, hid their tears
Made ammunitions with a careful hand
Kept watch and saved the night time for their fears
So many stayed at home, and stayed alive
And suffered pain and loss, regret and guilt
That they were left, that they were to survive
Within the house such sacrifice had built
Their many names are not inscribed on stone
Those sorrowed souls, so haunted by war’s ghost
Were left to stand and mourn the dead alone
Listening to the trumpet sound the post

by Gail





 

















Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
I sailed unaware into 
the ocean currents 
of her life:
and 

smitten, I 
desired to ride 

them with her;
somewhere 
along 
the ocean ways, a 

seed of love 

planted in the soil of
my heart had taken root 
and grew--only to perish 
like 

a young hope 

that's fleeting:
though I loved her, 
she 

still wounded
me 

like a careless 
knife. 

In spite of 
this and myself, 
I looked 

for encouragement
in her stare; 
and 

at the outlines 
of her graceful 
form 

I did wonder: 
she was 

indeed 

a Helen of Troy, a prize, 
on whose loveliness 
I 

so richly gorged! 

But never was 
a lonely man 
more wretched 
than 

I was, 

as she could 
not return my
affections  

with equal measure of feeling.  

I would be more
glad had she been 
unwedded to another,
and   

could easily be within 
my desirous 
and
jealous 

orbit! 

In time, I 
never 

saw 
her again;

and love, or the 
appearance of it--like 
an aborted 

fetus

flushed down the 
toilet--died 

with her parting 
as well!


Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2013




Details | Ballad |
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,
Antigone

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,
Antigone

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,
Antigone

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

Details | I do not know? |


The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)





Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
If I picked my Valentine
she'd be a perfect 10.
She'd have blonde hair with highlites
and answer where and when.

She'd be a little shorter,
yet tall enough to kiss.
Her reach a little longer
to torture us in bliss.

Her shape would be the bomb.
As sexy as they come.
With hair up for the moment
I'd meet her at the prom.

She'd talk a little faster
with words I'd say are smart.
Yet keep me to attention
in hugs up to my heart.

A smile just like a lion.
Her face a source of pride.
One to show my mother.
And then to make my bride.

My Valentine was perfect
as I lost her way back then.
How was I to know that she
would find her perfect 10.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Copyright © Marilyn Williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Shape |
into darkness 
this life descends 
mired at death's door 
as its light steadily dims
these aweary bleached bones 
doth mourn once youthful days
when innocence pure o'er this soul
in blissful ignorance happily reigned
before time's ephemeral passing breath   
enshrouded this woebegone heart's moody
mangled reprobate impenitent suasible flesh
with ne'er a humble outcry nor ire forbearance
this lingering bemired e'er obstinate human clay 
whence forth engenders hope's demise since afore 
existence's perfect birth beyond its motherly womb   
till sufferings' midlife malefic spirits furtively abort 
its righteous life-giving journey heavenward bound 
an inward promise greedily denied by passion's fire
mere dust in blackness of darkness wholly effaced
from paradise lost to limbo's nonexistent embrace
this inflexible cursed soul henceforth forgotten
a preemie spirit resident to fields of silence

© Eugene Harvey

Copyright © Eugene Harvey | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
People were
Many things.
Strange or not

People were
Different and
Odd and fun.

People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all

People were
And still are
Strange and odd.

People are
People. For
life is life. 

Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from

Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move

But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.

Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.

Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.

Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.

Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.

Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.

Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.

Copyright © Layla Elkoulily | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Keeping my head up, treading water
Cut throat surviving, struggling
Going under, death visits
Will to live, tested!
Selfishness Vs Selflessness
A Greater Love, encompasses me
God demonstrating mercy, for his children
Learning about forgiveness, cultivating, inner faith
Melody of Love, one can experience
In the darkest, waking hours, of everyday living
Self survival, learning how to live
Peace of Mind, Peace of Heart
Peaceful Spirit, Freedom in Love

Copyright © Amy Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |


The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.







Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
I blame me for all my mistakes
I blame me for all the rejection and heartache
I blame me for all the times I stayed silent 
and should have started and earthquake
with my words
I should have spoken up when I had the chance
now all those thoughts are wasted
unspoken, unheard

I blame me when my husband touches me 
and I feel the hands of a predators pounce
And I blame me when the pressure it on
because all I had to do was shout out and renounce His name
Lord, help me to get rid of the shame

I blame me for my loneliness
I blame me for my feelings of lust
I blame me when I look at myself and see absolute disgust
I blame me when I shut down - unsure of who to trust
At times not even sure if I really know how to love

I blame me when my kids are crying out sick
because when I brought them here
I knew that this world was unfit
Yet overpowered by my love for them 
I became more and more protective
So I blame myself in advance for their sadness
when they finally see that the world is not objective

I blame me for those nights I can't rest
Wondering if my consciousness has finally realized
that I have done my best
to stay positive and have good intentions
So I blame myself when I give in to temptations and my human inhibitions
and begin to feel ashamed of myself
I begin to feel like I don't have enough strength to love myself
because
good things don't happen for me
So I blame me for my thinking and feelings of worthlessness

It's a big world and my lonely soul has no more confidence
I have nothing
I have given up 
and so I blame me for my incompetence and my soul's rut

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Lyric |
My friends, this saga slowly unfurls
 a love story that went quickly awry,
 seems greedy Bob dated a pair of girls
 when with one, to the other he’d lie.
 
The homlier girl’s name was Edith
 who, nonetheless Bob was fond of,
 but, greedy Bob wanted to live out the “myth”
 and with sisters, he was sure to find love !
 
He began slyly asking about sister Kate
 for her beauty was equalled by few,
 she was young, and he believed her well worth the wait
 she had enough sex appeal for two !
 
Bob’s antics had him severely troubled
 because, he covered his tracks day and night,
 his love-making prowess had quickly doubled
 so his lovelife was going just right !
 
Well, finally Bob’s saga ended in terror
 because the girls both found out what he’d done,
 Bob had mixed their names up, in a passionate error
 and what transpired next, was not very fun !
 
One of the sisters had taken Bob’s life
 because he’d proven he couldn’t be “true”,
 and the lesson he learned, at the end of that knife
 taught, “you can’t have your Kate…..and Edith, too !

Copyright © david goodwin | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
The cash and carry of love
Which summer doth requisite
When will thou birth me a dove?
Soon autumn will bid for hunt-		5
To gratify winter’s drudge
Oh! Far is the sight of spring
None can pacify better
For season flies without wings
And quick does it charm scald beauty
 Of whose time shall be pleaded?	10
As vaguely summer doth leave
Crow beckons with a caw
The womb that is long barren
Whom for eon is not loved
And in earth’s hate it joy is lost		15
Quick drains life off it victim

Copyright © Femi Adebayo | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
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

Details | Free verse |
Her name is now a legend 
Before her name was feared
The lady Henrietta 
Lean close and lend an ear

They say her status started
One night long time ago
She found her husband cheating
With the girl she knew next door

Her mind did snap
Her heart grew cold
With a knife she stole their souls
Cut the beating heart away 
Ate flesh when cold

Within her veins flowed the blood
Of the one who done her wrong
Gave her everlasting life
Her age in death was old

But one small thing that should be said
About the spell she cast
That beauty would always be her guide
In death she looked her best

Word spread quickly through the town
Where Henrietta lived
About the spell she cast the night
Her husband committed sin

Women came to ask for help 
To change their husband’s ways
For they had also messed around
Now love for them had strayed

With each one she gave the spell
Steps to end their grief
Now in the town such beauty found
In women who’s husbands cheat

With new found beauty each started life
Fresh and young again
And if the man they loved did cheat
Revenge was sweet again


Many many years went by
And soon the town was gone
Towards the end all that was left
Were women who were scorned

But in woods outside the town
In a placed called Widow’s Peak
You find plots of all the ones
Whose death came from a cheat

So this story lives today 
If you doubt then ask around
For the one you love and share a life
Could be a widow from that town

All men beware all women ask
Before you start your cheating
In every city and every town
A Widow’s Peak is forming

Believe me if you will or not
In the end you’ll heed the warning
Just let the one you love find out
To Widow’s Peak you’re going

Copyright © Joshua Vick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
From ashes
she rises, 
absolving
cleansing, 
face, hands, feet.
Four months, 
Ten days, 
She mourns.
She weeps.

She clothes herself now
in an adornment of white
bowing privately, 
praying fervently, 
as bitter fumes
of acetone
seep beneath the door.

Her source is god.
Her destination is god.
She pleads with god now
for peace
As men mix and pour
A holocaust
Just outside her door.

Her sisters wail.
They bathe her lifeless arms
And shroud her
as Iris Albicans- 
Exotic, 
Fragile, 
Pure.

The imam, he stands, 
Praying silently
As men convey her
towards Mecca.
From ashes to ashes
And dust to dust.
From ashes to ashes
And dust to dust.

Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
       White Saree

You my friend! In White(1) Saree(2) and grim faced
Your dresses were, as always, colorful and laced
What happened to that enchanting, infectious smile?
Where is that enthusiasm, your charming style?

Death is a reality and everyone must die
The living ones mustn’t be left for agony to fry
Humans are not candles that burn through the night
Tell me why widowers are not made to wear White

Why should only women this branding endure
They are also human with a heart and soul for sure
Change this White Saree and in the garbage throw
This is how a system that is archaic must go

          Come to me, my love, let me tell you what is life
Your being mustn’t be embodiment of agony and strife
Give up this white coffin and wear red, scarlet and pink
The fountain of life is gushing out; it is for you to drink

Let us, like our olden days, in horizon of thoughts fly 
Life’s rainbows await you; so do colors of butterfly
Shed your gloom and let the roses of your cheeks blossom
Walk along the valley of life hand in hand with a handsom
                                   ------
(1) In Hindu religion the widowed women are forced to wear only white cotton clothes
(2) Traditional dress of Indian & Bangladeshi women and also some other far eastern countries

Copyright © Farida Akhtar | Year Posted 2012

Details | Acrostic |
S lain 
A nonymously
N eighbors
D umbfounded by
Y ?

H ow could he?
O ne more tragedy
O ver 25 bodies
K eep them in your prayer please, children of Tragedy

©Copyright December 16, 2012 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Brian Pierre-Alexander | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams

Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay

The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways 
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire 
She presses her finger on the thorn 
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad |
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

Details | Free verse |
Nobody 
Knows my real name
‘Angel’ 
Is what I go by
I am freezing cold
I don’t have money
Just, the clothes on my back
I am a walking wardrobe
I am lonely
I smell like crap
I am starving hungry
I can’t find any shelter
My clothes are drenched
I look like a drowned rat!
Violence
Upon women
Is classed normal
Around here!
I wonder...
If
I will survive
Another day?
Only
To wake up
And
Do this
All over, again!
“Protect me tonight
As,I lay my head to rest”
“I love you, dear God”

“Goodnight”

Copyright © Amy Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

They always say you can't be beautiful
Without being skinny as a stick
But damn it society I want to be seen and I want to be...
beautiful in my own way
Before the blood drips on the floor
from the scratches in my arm
from the pain inside my heart
don't you understand

You're making this too hard on us
us girls with a little extra weight
us girls with bumps on our face
just shut up I'm sick and tired of this
This shouldn't have to be my fate

I don't want to die to be seen and heard
to be recognized as someone beautiful...
But isn't that the only way?
When a society you thought you knew is telling you that you can't be beautiful
without having to fit some social standard
that's bull*****don't you understand
That's why so many teenagers are dying every day 

I want to be pretty 
without having to change
is that too much to ask

I want to be loved 
without having to change who I am! 
By a girl instead of a man
Let me live my own life
stop telling me that I can't! 

Society you're killing us all
making us take our life because you all can't understand
that being who you are is what makes you beautiful

But we have to take a knife to our throat
to make you all see
the beauty inside of us
Can't you let us be. 

I want to be beautiful...
but I just don't know how
when everyone around me 
is telling me how to live 

Make this stop
This pain and suffering

Let us all be equal
A whole 
No more hurt
no more sorrow
no more suicide

Just make it stop...

Copyright © Darian Rehder | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |


You and I.


You.

Your heart blazed,
with a warmth of spirit,

soothing,

alluring,

soaked in truth.



Your smile burned,
branding me permanently,

gentle,

tender,

enveloping my being.



Your love was complete,
from the depths of your soul,

unsaid,

yet fierce,

bathed in silent knowing.



Your dreams were poetic,
fluttering in the afternoon breeze,
infused with the distilled essence of rhyme.


I.

I squandered your generosity of spirit.

I vainly discarded your priceless poems.


Now I stand,

alone,

empty,

desolate,

wasting away,

rotting inside, day by day.



Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
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 | Ballad |
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 | Free verse |
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 | Free verse |
You are not the man, you want to be
You said you were my Father, till, I discovered different
Enduring, daily beatings
Bashing the living day lights, out of a woman and a child
Repetitive, bad ass attitude, nasty streak
Mean and aggressive!
Fists, knives and guns, your weapons of chose
Out of control, abusive, devious
Relentless, over – bearing!
Breaking me, piece by piece
Confusing a child, with unhealthy love
Hand fed your bullshit, brain washed
Using me as your human, punching bag
This innocent child’s blood, staining your callas hands
My child’s curiosity, asking you one day
“Why do you hurt me and Mum?”
Your retort: “I am not your blood!”
I didn't understand, back then
Now, as an adult, I clearly understand!
Believe me, when I say
There was never a day that went past
That you didn't remind me of that!
My freedom, restrained
My sanity, tested
Caged, like a wild bird in captivity
Behind bars, looking out
 Here, I am today, free from your grip
Nursing, this inner child’s, bleeding love

Copyright © Amy Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
dismissively lined as "dented and painted"
protesting violence and raping of women 
those self-appointed, oh holy and sainted
can we turn another cheek and forgive them?

to relate to another with an iron-bar
to relate to another with utter disdain
to relate to another without human care
is this the civility we wish to attain?

you who are better, more worthy than other
you who are truer, in eyes of your god 
you with blood bluer than natural mother
might discern that it's you, who is flawed

sticks, or bars, or clenched fists attest
that you're no better than the rest with
casting of glances from eyes that detest
superimposed superiority is but a myth

want and ignorance are alive and strong
in all nations, so in all the world today
actually, it's been that way - all along
if we wish to civilize we must go all the way

and speak for every individual that spins
on this ball of rock that we call our home
to evolve higher form we must be, in the end
and remember, what is reaped, is what is sown

© Goode Guy 2012-12-29

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/12/28/168224273/victim-of-brutal-rape-in-india-dies-in-singapore-hospital?ft=1&f=1001
http://www.npr.org/2012/12/28/168185857/india-gang-rape-update
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/12/22/167879878/unprecedented-public-rage-over-gang-rape-in-india

Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |
Save Me From Myself

I was tangled inside your words to the point I knew once I tried to escape I’d be broken.
Could you have eve imagine how damaged I was once I escaped it was more then what I could have bare. Soon I became deranged and trapped inside myself not able to feel not even your ray of light could pull me from the darkness I had formed to shield myself.
Be proud are you not? This was all your doing and now I must live on knowing that I am no longer sane, yet yearning for you with every breathe I take. Who will be my knight in shining armor for it were never you, or shall I be forced to save myself from myself? Once trap in tangled of  lies ad deception  escaping just to find out everything that had happen was all my own fault. Should I be saved or should I be left to kill myself slowly.
It more then enough poison in the world to destroy my body, but not the broken soul which now know no safety. Don’t bring me back to this world for I wish to be saved. So I shall wander through time ad space until I am at peace. Save me my knight from what’s eating me, hurting me, killing me to the point I’m unrecognizable. Save me for I am selfish, destroyed, conceited, and without a purpose. Who shall be my knight in shining armor? I’ll be waiting for you, save me from the darkness that I call myself.

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012