Narrative Woman Poems

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Details | Narrative |
There was a young woman living by the sea.
Her house was on the shore owned by her family.
The house of a fisherman that was tall and slender,
Was built on an island opposite to hers.

It was a starry night when they met.
Fisherman was on water preying fishes with net.
He saw a woman drowning in the sea,
She was caught by his baits accidentally.

The fisherman came to save her;
Brought her home and offered food and water.
Under the moon,they laughed and talked,
Footprints marked the sand as they walked.

The moonlight flashed in both eyes,
Hidden feelings suddenly arise.
Hearts were pierced by Cupid's dart
Filled the place with love and art.

Came the sun rise and ended their night,
Woman needs to go home and leave his sight.
Poor young fisherman can’t defy;
Hugged her and kissed goodbye.

Days have passed but memories still in mind.
On the balcony she sits, staring on the opposite side.
So she went to the opposite island to see him,
But found fisherman and his wife and child with him.

The woman stepped back and went to the shore;
She drowned herself for life’s not good anymore,
But someone stopped her and grabbed her.
It was fisherman who gladly said “You came back” and pulled her out of the water.

Out spoke the woman, --”You’re now married, so let me die!”
“What? I’m not married, you’re telling a lie!”
“I went to your house and saw you with your wife and child!”
“That’s my twin brother”, the fisherman smiled.

Now, it’s the fisherman and the woman living by the sea,
In an island where they both dwell happily.
With the moon above, they exchanged their vows so quiet,
On a lovely night where the stars are bright.

Copyright © Flora Mae Gudez | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Busy getting ready to go to a meeting
I was looking through my closet for something to wear
My 20 year old daughter, Shereen, was in my bedroom
Showing me her new clothes
I marveled at her
What a body
What a beautiful woman
Her curves were to die for
Her thin waist set off her other assets to perfection
Such a womanly figure
Her black raven hair fell in big waves to her waist
She commanded attention
Her pencil thin skirt set her curves off to perfection
What a beauty!
I loved showing her off to the world
Just that day I had told her
She was a living goddess

Rushing to get ready
My mind was on finding something quickly 
When her words totally threw me…
This goddess
This paragon of beauty said to me:
“Mama, I was just looking at you earlier today.
You are so sexy
You have wonderful curves.
What you were wearing really set them off nicely.”

I paused…
This 47 year old overweight woman
I looked at my daughter
Who is brutally honest
The one I turn to when I need an opinion

"How was the solo I sang in Church? Did I go off key?
Does this color suit me?
Am I being unreasonable?"
To all my questions she'd answer with truth, not mincing words
She'd call me on some actions that she thought were "childish"
"You're overreacting, MOM! Stop being a Drama Queen!"
And here she was saying...
"You're so pretty, Mama!"

Because I know she doesn’t hide the truth
I felt like my heart would burst
It may not seem like much to you all
But those words….
Filled that hurting place in my heart
That little place where insecurity has set up a home
Where walls echoe of coming age...and lessened desirability
That place where memories of who I was
Mock and jeer the reality of who I am
Deep in my heart
That place...
The words settled in
And for a time
Chased all the ugly away
and gave me back my glow
exuding out in my stride
and they way I carried myself

Those words reminded me 
That age is an attitude
That the inner woman
The INNER woman doesn’t change
She is ageless

A few words….
But what a big gift
my daughter gave me today!

Eileen Manassian

I know it's hard for men to understand the sheer agony a woman goes through when she realizes that time is passing her by. That certain age where menopause reminds you that fertility is a thing of the past and beauty is slipping away. Men don't understand....They just get better as they age...more handsome.  The ravages to a woman's heart are extreme. Seeing white pepper your hair....changes to your figure...little wrinkles around the eyes. It hurts, but we need to accept it with grace. I never thought it would upset me so, but I'm trying to cope and it's all the lovely comments I get that make me able to go on. Just this evening, I got another such boost when a family friend who is visiting my brother from abroad said, "Hello, Pudding" when he saw me!  What a delightful comment! :) I'm, sweet, jiggly, and yummy! ;) It's all attitude...and I got plenty of THAT! 

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
A girl around 13, sitting at a kitchen table of the home where she baby sits, is waiting for the woman of the house to finish getting ready to leave. She is startled by two brazen hands coming surreptitiously from behind her, fingers and thumbs beginning to gently squeeze her prepubescent breasts. Frightened and aghast, the young girl stays transfixed and says nothing. The man’s wife calls out to her husband, and the fondling abruptly ceases. The girl knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t want to give up the babysitting. She enjoys the children and likes earning money on her own. All she can do is fervently and silently hope the incident will not reoccur as she continues, on and off, to watch the children of that disgusting man. The girl’s mind and body mature; by age 17, she is coming into her own. She has been reading, watching, experiencing, and . . . . learning. Once again, in those later years, she has the occasion to watch the children of that man whose invading hands had long ago so repulsed her! As he drives her home late at night, he reaches out for breasts now much larger. The girl is waiting for it. Shaking inside, she summons up her small bit of courage. Pushing his hands away, she calmly but assertively declares: “Leave me alone. You can never do that to me again.” She now realizes there are not always others that can help you. No longer a scared little girl, she's a woman who can take care of herself. I know because that girl was me. For the TRUE Meaning of Being Adult Poetry Contest of F J Thomas

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I’m really not a jealous person. I am happy for those who are fortunate in life.  If I see a lady who has a beautiful family that loves her, I am happy for her.   When a guy pull up in a fully restored ’57 Chevy convertible, complete w/ vanity license plates reading “AHH YEAH”, I’m happy for him. I have met two people in my life who have won large lottery jackpots, and I was very happy for them. Even when I see a drop-dead gorgeous exotic looking young woman wearing Chanel and four and a half inch Jimmy Choos, I am delighted for her.  Seriously, I’m just not an envious person by nature.

Yesterday, my tire blew out. While I was waiting for my husband, I went into a local pub.  A nice girl, Jenna, started a conversation with me. She was missing all four of her front teeth!   We somehow started talking about dieting, and she told me that it is impossible for her to gain weight. She mentioned she weighed 102 lbs. and that she would love to gain at least 5 pounds but just couldn’t. She complained about how her metabolism was just “too high.” I’m sitting there with that old country song playing in my head...“A metabolism too high…What’s that mean? It’s like too much money, no such thing.” 

Ironically, it happened to be karaoke evening.   Once the festivities started, I clinged to the hope that my DVR was working and recording American Idol so I could watch it when I got home. “Big Matt” was up first singing George Straits. He was actually good. We all clapped. Next, it was Jenna.

I watched Jenna sing. In a world where if most of us had the misfortune to lose even one of our teeth, we would not leave the house unless it was to be fitted with our Davinci Veneers, this gal was poised and confident. She sang beautifully.

I found myself actually envious of this young woman. Not, however, for the reason you think. I found myself envious of her confidence.  Despite her appearance, she sang with passion, poise and enthusiasm. Even missing all four of those front teeth, she could get up in front of that crowd and dazzle us all with her nice voice and pleasant demeanor.

As my husband came to my rescue, I left smiling. 
I left smiling knowing that there are people like Jenna in this world. 
I left smiling knowing that I do give people the benefit of the doubt. 
I left smiling knowing that I do always look for the best others. 
I left smiling knowing it is possible for me to be jealous of a young woman who is missing her front teeth.

Copyright © Natalie The Rogue Rhymer | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
Pardon ma'am, but I noticed you've been staring at this painting for a while
She is beautiful but has such a melancholy face, it's hard to look away
Her name is Veronique and that's me behind her, the little canary
She's been my sorrowful mistress now for almost two hundred years
When the artist painted her she was wearing a subtle smile but then
Gabriel told her he had to leave for a fortnight and promised to return
He vowed to finish this canvas, painting her smile back on again
but thousands of fortnights and volumes of her tears have come and gone
no sign of Gabriel, so my Lady sits and stares wistfully, remembering him
She touches the bow of her violin but hasn't played since the day he left
I hear her weep late at night when she reads the poem he left for her
The edges of the page are torn and tattered,  tear stained parchment
but Veronique reads it night after night then holds it against her heart
He wrote in extravagant hand the words, now on yellowed page:

              Thou fill'st my heart with love
              More than any winged birds
              Could fill the heavens above
              Thou art the chalice of my soul
              The cup from which I drink
              My warmth when I grow cold
              Thou art nectar of my desire
              Thou art the spark of my fire

Those are words any fair maiden would swoon to have written for her
She still holds hope that her Gabriel will return but I worry about her 
She keeps repeating the words he wrote on the back of this painting:

My Veronique ~ 
           Goddess with cinnabar tresses in green velvet dresses

I've told you her name and mine is Cyros. May I ask yours?

A subtle smile crossed her lips, her skin pale and wrinkled with age
This lovely woman with touches of cinnabar in her grayed tresses
Stood with charm and grace. She curtsied in her green velvet dress
In whispered voice said,  "Cyros, I am Madame Veronique Rossetti"

Painting: Veronica Veronese      Artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
     6th of May, 2016         Within A Gilded Frame Contest
     Sponsored by:             Broken Wings

Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes 
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.

I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.

I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women 
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.

I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.

Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the 
empty range for my return.

I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone 
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a 
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.

Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and 
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.

Copyright © DR Robert Gonzo | Year Posted 2010

Details | Narrative |
I know a woman so brave and strong that married
her sweetheart and made a new home.
They were determined to make a good life,
so he joined the Marines and went off to fight.
They lived in countries so far away and had two 
sons during their stay.
Then they came home and settled down,
somewhere in North Carolina, a military town.
One day the news came he had to leave for awhile,
although she was crying, he only saw a smile.
He called her as often, as he was allowed,she 
sent him packages that drew a crowd.
Then the news came, he had been hit, a roadside
bomb, and it was real bad.
Her eyes welled up with tears of fear, hearing the
words she hoped never to hear.
Strong and determined to find out the facts,
her husband was severely injured in Iraq. She told
the men that had come bearing the news that eve,
this man  my husband, who just happens to be
a Marine, is my whole world, and has always
She made certain his care was very good, and beside
his bed, this brave woman stood.
She left her sons in the care of her mom, and
told them both, soon you can come. I know now, 
God gave her wings, but from us they are hid.

Copyright © Christy Hardy | Year Posted 2007

Details | Narrative |
"Don't stand there,mouth agape
Staring at the lines on my face,like a map
It was you who put me out of shape
You,who always make me snap.

What you once felt for me is all gone
Sometimes I've an edge to pick up the phone
But I'm afraid if I call the police
The bruises and scars,they might not notice.

It's something I accumulated over the years
Judging by the rivers and oceans of tears.
Extinguish from your eyes that distant light
After all these years you have no right.

It hurts like hell
Withdrawing into a shell,
Seeing all those women in your life
When I'm supposed to be your wife.

There are many things that I miss
I've forgotten the taste of your kiss
And the only thing that I remember
Is that we were married in december

If open to my wish lay all nature
I would command time to rub its signature
Off my back.Maybe young again
I would learn to fall in love again".

When a woman cries
Something in her eyes
Tries to swim but dies.
Is it hope,faith or maybe lies.

Copyright © malvern chirindo | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |
On a moonlit night he saw her,
a vision of beauty unlike any
he had seen on his many walks.

Her sheer gown sways in the
evening breeze as her hair dances.

Her poised and voluptuous figure
makes his heart race like a stallion
on an open field; it craves her!

She glances over her shoulders,
a sublime smile signaling a welcome.

With unsteady yet wary steps
he begins his journey towards her,
eager to be embraced by this maiden.

As he nears her she extends her arms,
ready to receive him into her bosom;
but his quest is then abruptly ended
when awakened by his clock's alarm.

Copyright © Angel Villanueva | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |
Their paths cross on his way home,
and though no words are uttered,
in silence their eyes speak volumes.

Dressed in red, her vivacious walk
is entrancing; her hips sway a
most coquettish and sensual dance.

It is difficult for him to ignore
such outward beauty, though he also
wonders if her inner beauty is just
as mesmerizing.

As they silently sail pass each other,
a telling smile paints her lips;
his soul dances, but he scolds it,
keeping it from betraying the one he loves.

He glances back for one last look;
pleasing to the eyes is that woman in red,
but not as delightful as the one who stole
and forever holds his heart.

Copyright © Angel Villanueva | Year Posted 2017

Details | Narrative |

  She was going to visit her old auntie at 91 years
  The sweet old aunt lived in her own home
  in the town of Ostrow Lobelski in Poland
  On the floor she found her body lifeless and cold
  Her heart did not beat, and she was not breathing
  Medical and police were called
  The old auntie Janina Kolkiewicz was declared dead
  After she had been in cold storage at a mortuary for 11 hours
  she ensured that the employees got themselves a real shock
  Body bags began to move - she was not dead
  The niece says that when they came home
  Janina asked for a hot cup of tea
  she felt cold all the way into her body and soul

  - This is a true story !!! - 

   A-L Andresen :)
   Copyright © All Rights Reserved 


Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |




Copyright © JAMES HEATH | Year Posted 2006

Details | Narrative |
6 a.m.
I saw your pain compressed in
Tourniquets and plungers.
Memories condensed to tears.
Cooling your hand holding bottles.
Dripping in puddles that flowed,
With white wind down glass tubes.
When you pressed for it,
I asked you;
Why you wanted too
So badly –
Maybe you did not hear me.
Then I asked -
For the attention?
But you were done talking.
“The affection is still free”.
I should try not to waste sentences.
At the hour of mid morning,
I remembered when I first saw you.
Walking up the sidewalk,
And I thought to myself:
Yes, I would - So I did.
Smiling ghosts made perfect faces,
Dancing off cigarettes on my front porch..
Yours ran to catch you.
As I watched with mine,
You walking home.
I pass a year and you in a store,
I heard you don’t cry the same,
Not like you used to.
You looked happy - I guess,
Or maybe it was, I hope you are.

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears

Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
She works
She cleans
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
The house 
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth 
I’m giving you

Despite of all the stress 
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman 
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Extraordinaire, he raised the ice.
He told me this when I was a child.
He said he heard his neck pop.
He laughed and said, “That stopped my dare devil’s persona.
As you see, I am short.
I liked to participate in a dare devil’s sport when I was young”.
He went further into his exploration.
He said he worked at the ice house and was challenged.
If he could rise up ice with teeth, he would be paid graciously. 
He would not disclose the amount.
However, he won the challenge.	
Therein, his neck snapped.
The ice was hoisted to the sky.
I asked what happen next.
He said he drop the ice and it hit the floor like a brick.
Herein, the ice splits in two.
How is anima doing?
He was rushed to the Emergency Room.
Maybe he became paralyze pro tem.
What he shared is what I have given.
He died in nineteen hundred and eighty-three.
This is in remembrance of anima.

Down the alley’s road stood an old stucco house.
In the yard stood a fig tree.
Adjacent to, was Aunt Donnie’s home.
Both lawns were kept by nature splendidly.
Beautiful flowers grew during the fall and the spring.
Summertime was buzzing.
I would visit anima and often see Aunt Donnie.
He loved his Wild Irish Rose.
Even more so, the Depot was where he went for shade.
He would say he needed to stretch his legs.
True to his inner self, his moniker statured him among goliaths.
To put it another way, would be a lie.
This is written as a celebration of life.
Penned April 18, 2015!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
I can’t change/You can’t change/We are Two separate/ people with Two separate  hearts when did this road shred apart/ 

I can’t force this love anymore/ I am lost in deep thought / Emotional pain hurts/ but  when you Add mental games/ and a teaspoon of lies/ It’s just ugly as a newborn cries for help

 This broken heart lingers woman/ I am tired/ Trying to piece this love hate relationship  together/ it’s so torn in  pieces I can’t pinpoint the location/ we are too far apart / Now  longitude and latitude can’t place us together/broken hearts/ Frustrating tears/ 

Now it’s  two separate lines/ two different directions/ do you see my reflection/ reflect off this glass mirror/ Now look at my torn face as sweats falls off my face/ Tears in my eyes a whale can swim/ It’s frustrating to find a answer/ At first I couldn’t sleep/ lonely night  became very dark / but now start to feel like Morning’s  are my best sunshine

Copyright © christopher michaels | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
Up on a hill there was an old house and in it lived Abigail, a young lady without a spouse. One day her doorbell rang and she went to the door. There stood an old man, his head to the floor. He appeared scared and weak so she let him come in, for if she didn’t it’d be a sure sin. The old man smiled and gave his thanks, and she said, “Not to worry, there’s no need to thank.” Abigail and the elder talked for quite a long time. Sharing story after story, and soon drinking wine. The two became very good friends and laughed, and laughed, ‘til night came to end. When the next day dawned, they went for a walk, down at the pond they decided to stop. It was frigid and misty, but they enjoyed the stroll because their friendship was warmer than the wind’s dreadful cold. As they stood in front of the calm, cool pond, Abigail asked, “Where do you come from?” The old man laughed a deep, dark laugh, “I come from the boneyard, the place of last breaths. I am the man which many name Death.” The creeping old man then pulled out a knife and slashed Abigail’s throat before she could fright. Her life left instantly, her body grew cold, and the elder’s smile sparkled like gold. The pond was hungry and the old man knew that Abigail’s corpse would have to go soon. He tied a brick to both of her feet and tossed her away into the deep. As her body sunk into the watery blue, the elder stood there and felt renewed. Back on the trail the aged man went. Not a worry in mind, no remorse ever meant. He did what had to be done, to the grave his soul belonged. The elder approached another ol’ house. He rang the doorbell and waited, innocent as a mouse.

Copyright © Bruce Coates | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
All by myself again,
peering through my open window.
I watched a familiar solitary, silvery moth,
diving, flicking, rising, falling, haphazardly flying,
drawn to my hot naked luminescent porch bulb.
No longer threatened by his mere erotic presence,
I methodically snapped off the switch.
He slipped back into the darkness,
just as he had done last night and the night before.
Once more I regained control but will he return?
Will he bring others?

For "CHOPPED II" contest.

Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Betty was bonafide crazy. She had shot her husband after a night of drunken quarreling, and was in the state mental hospital instead of being in the slammer. She'd shot the louse in the stomach and he had lived, fortunately for her. I never tired of hearing about Betty's attempted escape and eluding of the police in the aftermath. Over the river and through the woods she ran, but not to grandmother's house, sadly; she didn't know where she was going; all she knew was that she HAD to get the hell outta there.

Down a steep embankment she had tumbled, right next to the highway. As she attempted to orient herself, a car slowed down, it's lights blinding her as she tried to pick off the brush, debris and twigs that clung like glue to her hair and muddy nightgown. The car stopped, two cops sprang forth and yelled, "FREEZE!". The jig being up, Betty did as instructed, was cuffed and read her Miranda rights. She never bothered to elaborate how she wound up in the loony bin instead of staying in the pokey, but I can only imagine it was due to her obvious derangement.

Betty was a hoot; funny as could be and an excellent card player. She had long, shaggy salt and pepper frizzy tresses that looked more like a Halloween wig than an actual coiffure. She was well into her fifties but seemed much older with her deep smoker's wrinkles and heavy, sunken eyes, like a soul that's known too much wear, tear, pain and heartache and aged prematurely. On more than one occasion I questioned her actual insanity, but on one night, when the moon was full and all the crazies were, admittedly, much more maniacal than normal, my doubts about Betty's "playing possum" dissolved. It's true, you know, what they say about a full moon and the impact it has over the mind; I've witnessed it first-hand too many times in different psych wards to discount it as "old-wives" folklore. Nurses never fail to mention when there is a full moon; they know it to be true as well.

I don't know what set her off. I was enjoying a game of rummy with Angela, a paranoid schizophrenic with a penchant for identifying supposed conspiracies within the hospital, when I heard Betty screaming furiously and cussing up a hurricane. Well, something didn't suit her, obviously, and she was having none of it. This is when I began to wonder if Betty was not part "Bionic Woman". Next thing I knew, she wailed like a banshee, took off sprinting down the hall at incredible, breakneck speed that defied her rather plump figure and stubby legs, and drop-kicked the heavy, locked steel door that barred the exit of ward "Grag". Nurses hit the panic button and made urgent phone calls which signaled the goons and heavy muscle to race toward our ward to subdue the unsubduable. Soon as Angela heard the nurses all in a frenzy, she yelled, "CONSPIRACY LEVEL UP! TOP FLOOR!" ("Top Floor" being the ward that housed the most violent or dangerous loons.) Paranoid schizophrenics are such a suspicious bunch!

As Betty raced by, Angela immediately stood up, cheering her along, chanting "GRAG STYLE, BABY; YEAH!". In total astonishment I watched this Wonder Woman drop-kick this barricade (which was most definitely designed to keep us confined) in total kung-fu, samurai, ninja style with such force that it burst wide open! Talk about jaw-dropped incredulous! By the time Betty the She-Hulk nearly drop-kicked her way to freedom, the goons (as the big orderlies were dubbed) descended upon her, but she fought with such ferocity that for just an instant I thought she might break free, given that she had picked up a nearby chair and was using it to fend them off with the skill of a lion-tamer (or so I mused). But poor Betty was helplessly and hopelessly outnumbered and the whole incident must have happened in the span of maybe two minutes, but time has a funny way of slowing down and stretching in instances such as these, when the eyes and mind are trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. She was tackled on all sides, but not before one of the stooges took a whack upside his empty head. Nurses rushed forth, syringes in hand, and gave Betty the usual knock-out serum of hefty doses of Haldol and Benadryl (don't ask me how I know this!). Then, as was the procedure in all such cases, Betty was strapped down on a gurney and wheeled away to the "Quiet Room" where she was to be closely monitored by some muscle.

As one of the orderlies passed, carting the drowsy Betty past us, Angela barked one of her customary insults of, "YOU SMELL LIKE ASS AND NACHOS!" which never failed to tickle me to no end. The excitement over, Angela and I went back to our game of rummy and she accused me of cheating when I won, flipped over the table, and stormed off (but she always did this whenever she lost.) Ah, Angela; what I'd give to play rummy with you again! 

A few days later, after a two week stint, I was finally released and never saw or heard from Betty (or Angela) again. Whenever I see someone fly into a rage, I am often happily reminded of Betty, Super-Woman of ward "Grag". Why was I there? I'll never tell!

Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
uncomfortableness, and hesitation arose that you might reassess a possibility for friendship or.... whatever with me.

A disappointment set in place in the event that based on some facet of my being (inexplicable flaws within this corporeal human male), forecast that an about face (booked on charges inherent in this googly eyed, earth-linked, kool hotmail of a yahoo) would be un liked!

Juno what i mean? 

In retrospect, no matter that this average boyish chap desires enjoyment, he admits that ordinary punctuating various stages of development difficulty coping found him msn (miss sin, missin, missing, et cetera) on ordinary interpersonal experiences!

No matter yours truly usually finds me each morning, noon or night conjuring up maximizing temporary residence on this planet earth versus bemoaning those futile and essentially counterproductive mind games sans could a, might a, should a, would a...

today = the moment to cherish, enjoy, help others, ponder the remaining years
since fruitless to expend tears
for suppressed emotional, financial, grammatical, hormonal, physical, and spiritual angst
 that roiled mine inner sanctum - mainly from decades in the past
   which unseen scars with humor this fellow (who by the way likes you) wears!

Notice the sly inclusion of my comment per -- affinity, desirability, rhapsody for you
although just but a mere inkling prevails about an ye taelje john thru
a rather contrived manner - albeit an online adult oriented website - amongst a slew
which yields to this bipedal hominid a scant few
initial responses - as if a ghost app paired in the recipient email - going boo
which unwittingly seems to turn the ivy blue! matter a constancy of follow-up electronic communiques occurs from ye
bringing tears of joy, that nobody can see
while simultaneously delivering digital glee
a reality check restrains proclivity and predilection to let thoughts run wild and free!

Immense and immeasurable mounts in moi little rock
inducing an electric arc for myself to kin neck embedded in all this schlock
for a sixth sense arises that this holme body strongly suspects yar self 
 to generate sunny watts as an s spy she lee Sherlock

but, reticence to gush with ebullience reins in a cascade
of utter delight washing o'er this less than satisfactory mwm 
 who as a boy and youth happened to b a frayed
of his own shadow - while walking along the boulevard of broken dreams
 listening to the sounds of silence on a green-day.

Thus => the following from one 

Cerebral being ™ in the am and pm
This ordinary human
Finds himself a mystery
Within the terrestrial
Firmament and frequently
Feels in a feverish pitch
At his existence
That seers the temple
Mounted upon this slender
Frame - wrought by the
Combination of genetics
In tandem with exercise
Which latter helps to
Sublimate the coiled 
Tension wound tightly 
Like an indestructible spring 
Without a healthy medium at large 
To channel emotions fraught within
Me might find demise
That would rent asunder literate fellow 
And thus annihilate without a trace
One true valued father of two us special
Lovely lasses as just another statistic among 
The obituaries!
As the world turns (indiscriminately oblivious of the harrowing days per one simian), an agreeable, amiable, edible, immeasurable, likeable, pleasurable, sensible woman (such as yourself - predicated on a gut level intuition) goads more seriousness to share

Plaintive unheard heart strings o mine that wail
Displeased with this marriage fraught with travail
As if in a maelstrom whip-lashed vessel without a sail
Yet - averse to lambaste or rail
Against abby (whereby we pass like two ships in the night) who married this male
When each of us happened to seem more similar 
   And thought each ourselves to fail
At any endeavor, though now confidence 
   Buoys my heart while she doth ail

And exemplifies attitudes, beliefs, efforts, 
   Idiosyncrasies, pathos that life does rot
Ill suited to Matthew Scott, 
   Whose bon vivant manifesting faith in him
   Perhaps from herself deferring many domestic 
   And child rearing tasks not
Of course being boasting - even when scissoring the umbilical cord
   As a now beaming papa, whose daughters 
   Blithely ignore "mother" a lot
Thus necessitating this quest 
   For a counterpart to offer succor 
   To eden (age 16) and shana (14 on february 4th, 2013) 
   Yet accepts that i must dispel any dreamy fantasy even this ours - a mere jot
At this juncture knowing full well how unwise to set myself up for disappointment
   By thinking and rushing like a fool, 
   Where angels fear to tread
   Though "chutzpah" i got!

U r slowly filling my mindscape with joy
Thank you so much - for accepting without complaint how atypically words this writer wannabe 
   Named Matthew Scott Harris dozen ploy.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The Stranger and the Photographer
By: Inaam Al-Hashimi  (Gold_N_Silk)

Sunshine in his eyes
A smile on his face
Dust on his hair
And on his eyebrows

Like a lone ranger 
From outer space
Who crossed the desert
Riding the wind,
Not a horse!
And after his journey,
To rest his head,
He found a place.

Everyone was talking
Laughing and joking
And with their laughter
Filling the space

But alone he was sitting,
Drinking and eating,
In utter silence,
Minding noone else.

Like lightning and thunder,
On a hot summer day;
 She suddenly  comes,
To shatter his silence,
And cross his way,

"I'd like to take a picture,"
She said with a smile,
"Of you, If I may!"

Waited for no answer,
Took a picture,
"Thank you!" She said,
And went away.

 Then turned around 
And said with a sway:
Mind you stranger!
If destiny wants,
She'll have her way,

Your path and my path,
Will cross again,
Somehow, somewhere, someday!

 Inaam 1993

Copyright © Inaam Al-Hashimi | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
It was a cold and rainy night.
The stars were shining bright.
It seemed as if the world was at a pause and not a person was in sight.
I sat quietly in my car, 
the sound of music I heard blasting from a far.
I opened my door,
stepped out slowly and looked around.
Now suddenly the music stopped,
not a word is heard, not even a sound.
I turned my head, looked over my shoulder,
I saw a woman running.
She was wearing a white gown.
I couldn't help but wonder why this woman running
flaunted such a frown.
I followed her footsteps,
I listened for the sound.
Running through the darkness,
one question came to mind,
Who would leave this woman?
Who would be so heartless?
How can someone leave her when she is so obviously distraught?
Abruptly a sound was heard.
I came to a stop.
I listened closely.
It was a gunshot.
Now fearful I stood.
I began to run as fast as I could.
I ran so fast, I could hear my heart beating.
I came upon my car and noticed a woman bleeding.
She was gasping for air.
Someone had shot her and left her to die there.
It was as if they didn't even care.
She reached for my hand,
whispered softly to me
"never trust a man"
At that moment her hand dropped.
I knew her heart had stopped.
I looked at her white gown now dripping red.
I I cried to myself and pondered what she had said.
This could be me.
I could be lying here dead.
I will remember her words always.
They will haunt me for the rest of my days.
This moment I will never forget.
No man should ever be such a threat.

This was the day my life would change.
From this day on I would never be the same.
The lesson I learned here,
never have such fear.
Fear that will keep me from being free.
I learned that I can be happy just being me.

Copyright © Deeana Valencia | Year Posted 2012

Details | Narrative |
When I look down at this pen in my hand, 
I ask myself how much power does this pen have? 
Well it only has as much power as my heart allows . 
So my heart is guiding my pen. 

So here I go. 
When you left a piece of my heart left also. 
It seemed  like my words wouldn't come fast enough. 
I was screaming "PLEASE DON'T GO. I NEED YOU !!!!!! 
with my voice cracking and tears falling. 

I know your heart was  screaming
But I didn't hear. 
So the only thing that I'm left with,
are the tiny pieces of your heart,
that are now blended with the sands on the beach. 

But only God
can help me gather the pieces of your heart 
and put it back together,
because He created you with such precision .

I now look around; 
things are dark,
cold and no love. 
I miss your presence 
and still feel and smell your breeze.

I can still feel your touch ,
but for now,you only live in my mind. 
The pictures of you are blurry and
so your smile brightens the picture .

What I wouldn't do ,
to see you with my own eyes 
and not the eyes in my mind.

When I wake up you are not there,
I scream inside, 
but sometimes I yell silently . 
So then I ask myself" Is this a dream"? 
If it is, 
let me go back to sleep 
so I can see her again.

 Your cries of pain 
started out like the lightest drizzle of rain
to a loud rolling thunder in the sky. 
By the time I heard the thunder,
it was too late. 

The lightning had already struck 
and you were gone . 
Now all that is left
are your pictures in my mind.
Over the years 
my negative faces and words  
were very hurtful . 
It's like my words cut your heart
with tiny paper cuts, and as time went by 
the cuts got deeper. 

Now with every positive word I speak
from this day forward,
will fill the holes of your broken heart.
But by not giving you a voice
is like me taking air from your lungs . 
Your voice is like air
you needed it to survive.

I now realize that by giving you a voice,
it's like a hot air ballon ,
it needs air to go higher and higher.  

I miss your voice, 
the softness of it 
and the sweetness of it. 
I would love to hear your smile again.
So I can hear the words in your eyes.
WOW ! You really know how to speak with your eyes.

Copyright © Mark Gravett | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
I see an angel fly across the sky.
She stops and haloes Rigel,
    and looks down upon me,
         with answers I already knew.

Have you come to tell me no?
You will obey me but not him?
Then you come to tell the end.
You know the river that flows therein.

It pours to and from a woman,
    from the dew of a million mornings.
It’s course is a circle and has no end,
    with the wakes of her vessel,
        drowning these eyes a deeper blue.
And as the benevolence of her intrinsics
    reach to touch perfection,
         they define my reverence,
                writing perpetual psalms.
She is as bright and profound,
     as the stars are in the heavens.

And she is just as far out of reach.
You waste these days chasing a ghost,
      and have traded allotted years in envious choices.
No life in these torrents of sin.
Its waters breach seeking itself —boasting,
      a season’s colors fallen from where they had been.

Because she belongs
     to a Libertine who’s infidelities
           run the gauntlet of durations?
Some possession to control and degrade,
      her heart he keeps in a box of lies,
            using the brine of soul and sorrow,
                 to erode grooves into her face.
Broken times before him,
    mercy he always denies,
          tell me he does not turn and smile.
Reprobated armor unscathed by the arrows of virtue,
    a given blessing sacrificed to the deceiver,
           in this season,
                  he has forfeited her to me.

You can decide what is negated,
     despite what you read in the living truth?
Righteousness is always it’s own master,
     never at the service of your exceptions.
You trespass into her covenant,
     with no regard for the sacred.
Have you forgotten David?

In her eyes, I know who I see,
     and that fool is far from Uriah—
          Give her back what I need her to give me.
How long must she suffer?
Hanged by this obligation,
     she is yoked to a corpse,
           and his weight is killing her.

The Father’s grace is more than sufficient,
      in the temporal trials that forge the soul,
           but you damn hers in every embrace.
Words that have her stumble into your bed,
    have taken days she will now not see.
You have tightened iniquity’s noose
      around her heart, 
          tearing her soul.
It is you who is killing her.

Tell me what I feel is not a truth piercing my forever!
Tell me I am not sincere in days and dreams!
Tell me that I would forsake her!
Tell me my tears are false!
Tell me I am a liar!

You lied to yourself in believing
     that love and the sins of another man,
         could make you righteous in yours.
You are a thief that has betrayed
     the truth fully convicted in your soul.
Before you filled your heart with the blood of this woman,
     the world and favor were placed at your feet.
Selfishly holding one while trampling the other,
      recklessly sacrificing your own heart,
             before this season’s end.

Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
Proverbs 31 Woman
by Sandi Hoot

behold she has unique eyes a smile one of a kind
though her hands are wrinkly and dated still beautify divine
each freckle on that face makes her more unique
but her inner beauty is what we all should seek
Proverbs 31 woman works with eager hands
so pleasantly involved and working with a plan
she wraps herself in humanity giving to the poor
she's clothed in strength and dignity never wanting more
she serves God with all her loving heart open mind and contagious soul
She seeks his will for her life and let's God have control
she teaches her children the ways of the Lord
patient and soft-spoken and living in accord
she loves her lads and trains them in the way they should go
Knowing that when trouble faces them they shall rise up and never stay too low
She cares for her body consuming healthy foods
she uses hospitality to minister to those around her she's always in good moods
Proverbs 31 woman is what we all should be
a virtuous woman for God's word stands the test of time and lives in you and me


Copyright © Sandi Maddox Hoot | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |
Gazing at the evening sky,
as though watching a soap opera,
her bosoms partially bare,
she waits for a superman to help her
on her two feet again.

She has danced with strangers
for long, taking glasses of wine
with them; men who only want to know
her in bed, rather than know her name,
where she lives, what she loves,
her history.

Gazing at the stars glowing in silence,
she waits for a special man to save
her from her own destruction.

She waits for superman.

(NB: This piece was published in Leaves of Ink.)

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
True Valentine
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears

A lost woman the mirror reflects
Young; and it’s apparent
I can see it in her eyes
No focus and childbearing
Just ass, legs, and thighs in mind
No marriage

If she knew better
Learned better; and
Wanted better,
He would show her a better way of living
Instead of dealing with cowards
Seek a man with moral and merit
He’s stealing your joy
He’s bringing you pain
Removing your youth
He’s playing games

The truth at heart is
Reality should be your first thought
Loneliness is not your fault
It’s a part of life for most
Don’t let it destroy your values 
Just wait,
You’ll find a true love to treasure you.

Copyright © Nate Spears | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
When Miss Lily Jane Bobbit arrived in that Alabama town, jaws dropped; all eyes were riveted on her. The ordinary street on which she lived would be no longer common, for Lily Jane now graced it with her presence. Not everybody liked this sassy lass. The girls in town were jealous and some folks were bemused by this lovely and precocious child with long, dark silken hair who, fashionably attired and immaculately groomed, walked and talked like some sophisticate! Ever the lady and the epitome of southern charm, Lily Jane was often mocked behind her back. Due to her solemn demeanor and unusual directness, she seemed starkly out of place in that small backwater town. Yet not a soul who met her would remain unaffected in some way by this woman who inhabited a young girl’s form. Wise beyond her years and blessed with intuition, she had a moral compass the bigots were unaccustomed to. She would not back down to the bullies who would shrink when reproached by Lily Jane for bad behavior. Defender of the downtrodden, she shone with the righteousness of one who sees no color; she was just! And in her eyes, everyone was equal beneath the skin. Both tenderness and mercy she extended to the meek. After all of this, there was more. Miss Bobbit had a dream! In the quiet hours of her afternoons, she’d go to her back yard, where neighbor boys might spy on her from behind the fence. In such moments, her dream unfolding could be observed as Lily Jane lithely moved her slender body - swaying, bending, and pirouetting across the grass. She dreamed one day to go to Hollywood, but not just for dance. Another talent glittered in that girl. Lily Jane could sing, and she performed one night before her townspeople in a talent show for the community. When she started singing, everyone grew silent. She sang of dreams and of never giving up on what you want. With her beauty and her angel voice, she exuded iridescence. Mesmerized, not one person could deny that if anyone could do it, Lily Jane would reach her highest star. I now conclude my summary of this woman child, a character of fiction, Miss Lily Jane Bobbit, who was brought to life by the marvelous imagination of a master storyteller named Capote. I’ve met many people in my lifetime, some who exhibited one or more of Lily’s strong qualities. Since truth, they say, is stranger than fiction, I like to think there exist other people peculiar in their goodness, lighting up our world as did Lily Jane, the iridescent.
*See "about poem"

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative |

What beauty is to me It's the walk of a young woman in heels The swing and sway of her hips The uncertainty of her steps The vulnerability in her eyes As she feels all the staring eyes Devouring her beauty There is nothing more charming Than the little girl look in her eyes As she enjoys the attention But at the same time is uncomfortable In the role of a seductress What beauty is to me? The sweet woman smell as she approaches Nothing in the whole world Either natural or manufactured Can even come close to equaling This overwhelming potion that says love In no uncertain terms, the message comes at you Loud and clear without a word being spoken As males of the species We are uncontrollable under her spell What beauty to me? Woman! © Jack Ellison 2014

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
Her heart is so big, her love is so strong
Most of her life, she has been treated wrong
She has so much love, so much to give
Sometimes it took all she had just to live
What in the world did she do to deserve
All the pain that's been forced upon her
She's worked so hard to do everything right
But, when she'd least expect it, there would be another fight
For days she would hurt and walk around crying
If she told anyone, they'd think she was lying
How could this life of hers be so unfair?
Is it too much to ask just for someone to care?
It caused me such heartache to see all of her pain
All the times she was hurt, it was done in vain
Such a wonderful person with all of this love
Deserves more than anyone that I can think of
I'll always be thankful for all that she’s done
I love her unconditionally, unlike anyone
Who is this woman with such a big heart?
She's the beautiful woman who gave me my start
She's very special; she's one of a kind
She's like a rare diamond that most never find
She's my best friend, she's my Mother
I hope she knows how much I love her

Copyright © 2000   Shari E Davis

Copyright © Shari Davis | Year Posted 2007