When a Man Loves a Woman
A man who loves a woman in the way
a woman wants him to will love her true.
He’ll hold her close, and never will he stray.
But there is so much more this man will do!
He’ll build her up because her self-esteem
should matter, and a woman valued can,
in turn, fulfill her husband’s fondest dream.
How fortunate, indeed, is such a man!
When generous with kind words and his time,
the man who loves his woman heart and soul
will find himself enjoying life sublime
because he will have taken on the role
of not just a provider! He will give
his heart, and like the king of hearts he’ll live!
When a Woman Loves a Man
The woman who adores her man will be
his greatest fan; she will not criticize
his faults, and she will pledge fidelity,
for life with him is something she will prize.
Her tender love will be her greatest gift
that she can give to him, and she will show
appreciation. Always she will lift
him up so that the man she loves will know
beyond a doubt she always will be there.
When times get tough, she won’t give up on him.
Who doesn’t want some tender loving care,
especially when things are looking grim?
The woman standing by her man this way
will be his queen, and happy they will stay.
Written Jan. 5, 2016
For Mark Massey's Two English Sonnets Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
Oh that female beauty, form of goddess
a dreamers dream come true on the screen.
Mine adornment of that shape, that actress,
arousing image of a beauty queen.
Bosom! That luring shape of female form,
irresistible softness of arched curves,
luscious hips and thighs, bodily lusts warm,
feautures of ginger; eagerness serves.
Not only beauty, but vision of flair,
an alluring image of a film star,
being entranced by manner debonair,
to kindle the imaginings bizarre.
The fancy formed a desire to pursue,
love of beauty; in disguise so untrue.
Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015
I feen for the calm, docile placed fire,
The ex in extra before an exit starts,
The urge to add dark, sultry desires,
An encore for vibrant, unsettled hearts.
I yearn for a jury’s continuance,
The exposed touch of Eve’s verbs repeated,
the safe flow of spirits, live tenderness,
I’m jealous of the crave undefeated.
But there is no end kept at this doorstep,
There is only the feint death of memory,
and while we may write love, and then forget,
We are the melted cry of symmetry.
Now there is unfamiliar morning that seeks,
And passion on hold, for dual minds to keep.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2016
WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN
He knows not why or how the reason left
nor why the whisper of each night brought heat
He knows not when the time of hour past
but this he knows, she's awfully nice and sweet
He sings her praise with song then does his part
bringing flowers dressed in green and solid gold
He woos with song and music from the heart
then clothes her with a kiss both new and old
He brings her flowers of the rarest kind
with genuine affection of the mind
a rarely thing is love when found anew
he will solidify then stick like glue
He brings her love and the most precious kind
She brings him truth and that, is never blind.
WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A MAN
She knows not why they struggled for so long
nor why their eyes refused to greet
She knows not when the first kiss turned to song
but this she knows, he swept her off her feet!
She dresses just for him in black lace style
then draws her liner carefully sublime
She drinks the elixir of his sweet smile
and runs into his arms a hundreth time
She brings him little gifts and cards with hearts
with little I love yous, consigned in red and blue
She listens carefully and always does her part
to make him understand, she loves him too
She brings him love, the most precious of kind,
he brings her truth and that, is never ever blind.
Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2017
She is the bravest my eyes have ever seen
A lion bows, in shiver and fear
I am on my knees for I can not believe
A woman so beautiful, among us she breathes…
I offer this world and everything within to her feet…
I say proudly that I will protect her with fists…
She smiles, then gently she says to me…
I am a woman, strong and I do not need
Protection, for I may seem fragile
But I am stronger than steel…
I do not know what words to speak…
For I desire her love, and love her miserably…
But I have only my heart to offer
And she deserves better than me…
It does not matter that I love her endlessly…
She lives in a world that the devil dreams to flee…
And yet she stands strong with a smile shinning through her lips…
With a laugh musical, poetry to my ears…
She is a brave woman…gentle and free
Copyright © Zeki Majed | Year Posted 2015
Thee, are my deepest emotions; taken beyond; my control.
Thou do express love; sweeter; than view of sunshine.
One single touch, from you, feels so fine.
No thoughts of your face would ever console.
Desires; that when I see you, I fight to control,
My heart; is blinded by numbers more than nine.
My soul is bound to you with more than twine.
Thee taketh my senses, beyond, compression of coal.
My blustery habits; are taken; when I see thee, with him.
Coal contracts to brilliant diamonds from pressure, we are told.
My heart aches for thou, under the pressure of seeing his kiss.
No brilliancy of any treasure shines; only a full moon goes dim.
My desires are real; though they have no growth; in gold.
Thee, shall be my dream forever, though I shall have no bliss.
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2013
It’s a dimly lit, darkly entombed spot
Here sits a lone black weeping willow tree
Night encroached leaving nothing you can see
Its cold, nothing about this place is hot
Not a ray of light surrounds to get caught
Evil basks within the nooks quite empty
She sits, there on a stump she sits flatly
Devoid of emotion, hope isn’t brought
Expressionless she stands with great power
The tree bows right to her beck and call
She stands mighty and tall like a tower
Grove seems to be protected by a wall
All who happen to see her would cower
All she sees is hate, her soul crushes all
* Left over Halloween poem, I forgot to post this, enjoy!
Copyright © Russell Sivey | Year Posted 2014
A granny I might be
A granny I might be
But I can always see
My hair is growing grey
My shape is quite okay
I still love my fashion
I guess it’s still my passion
I always look quite smart and dressy
And very rarely I look messy.
I’m older, but I'm still a lassie
Sometimes me, I do look classy
I would not change a single day
Not ever, not in any way.
How the years they will turn out
Well who knows, I’ll wait that out.
Vera Duggan 13 September 2014
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
I’m Virgo, playing music tranquilly
in this self-portrait. The clavichord I chose.
It denotes fine education; the black clothes
I'm wearing prove I value chastity.
Dark as a shadow, to the left of me
is the face of my governess, which shows
I am dutiful. My face fairly glows -
lit with love for the arts and poetry!
See me in this latter portrait, still in black,
a high collar at my neck. A strange disguise
my face is now; I'm nearly taken aback
to see my sagging jowls! How dim my eyes,
and how thin my lips! But never did I lack
for love! I have lived long and have grown wise.
*Sofonisba Anguissola, who called herself Virgo, lived
from 1532 to 1625. She was a female artist known
for her great grace and modesty. I chose to write of
her using the Petrarchan Sonnet to honor her Italian heritage.
The two self-portraits described are from when she
was both young and old. I thought it interesting to
see how she changed with the years. If you copy and
paste my link, you will see several self portraits from
her youth and the two on the bottom are probably
close to when she was in her 90’s!
Please see http://bjws.blogspot.com/2013/01/1500s-woman-artist-sofonisba-anguissola.html
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
If interviewed on the subject of the sonnet
What man has brought me endless cups of tea?
They’ll say I’ve got a Queen Bee in my bonnet
The male groupies will not type my poems for me.
What golden mother lives without inspiration?
What sister can be truly herself, and tackle
The canon in the patriarchal cold, the purgation
Of miles of libraries with the truth a hackle?
The worst thing is that there’s no male muse -
I don’t feel the marginalisation or the neglect
Quite as much as the possibility I might lose
The reader in the absence of his call-collect -
And I must be very careful with my man -
I lose a husband if I kiss a fan.
by Rosemarie Rowley
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2014
SONNET – BEAUTY OF THE FEMALE FORM
In the minds eye seeing nature’s consent,
in sighs of delight for new awareness,
beauty in the female form to ferment,
change a young man’s desire to eagerness.
The image of a hallow, firm bosom,
covered mound of Venus, shapely buttocks,
a woman like a flower in blossom,
tantalizing feelings in waves and shocks.
Allures burning loins of newborn fire,
to feel the passionate needs of the flesh,
and change a sheer adolescent desire
into throbbing heartbeat and flailing thresh.
Nature’s gift to young men for ever more
beautiful female body‘s to adore.
Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2015
THE UNREPENTANT VIRAGO
Named for a man, my treason’s not my own
My tantalising tales tame his temerity
As I cling to the cliff-hanger
Of my own biopic, my to-be-tested verity
He claims I am inevitable as the ocean
And my head will roll, be beached upon the sand
And he will come and take me by the hand.
I will scream loudly history’s muffling cry
Show female slavery, oppression till he wonders why
The goddess in him was quenched, and died of thirst
He thinks then that I will be the first
To bandage up his Achilles heel with Elastoplast!
Published, I’ m not damned, but live with gumption
I’m here to fix his arrogant presumption.
By Rosemarie Rowley
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2014
Symphony is playing softly in the background.
He seems to be out more now.
He calls me regularly telling me his whereabouts.
Then he comes home after his workout.
Our relationship is on the up and up.
The heights we reach states we are a perfect couple.
Our talk about the day brings a closeness.
As the clock chimes late, we both sigh for a mental release.
We find each night of intimacy to be quite fulfilling.
This time we have together, we cherish.
Our wedding vows were written by each.
We both play our part.
Our happiness is based on love and trust.
PENNED ON AUGUST 28, 2014!
Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014
Sitting with calm you know I'm a psychotic love
bewitching I watch your entanglement affair
going insane my voice in my mind gives a shove
playing around my wrath has made you unaware
Treachery and your sweet talk with my loyalty lost
hysterically I laugh outside her window 'Dear'
my sting will be swift like a lonely hornet wasp
giving her all your promise and affections I sneer
To the play you say to see 'Madam Butterfly'
your twinkling eyes lusting into the room she glides
relish your moment with the pleasure of your prize
The dagger awaits in my dress tied to my waist
tonight's biggest performance your death as I pace
then mine at the end the dagger I slide with grace.
10/18/2015 Contest Sponsored by: John Lawless ' Mad as a Hornet'
( 12 syllable ) 4,4,3,3
Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015
To subdue passion and to veil her soul
She dresses cravings sweet in bland disguise
A righteous life to live does take its toll
And brings the tears unbidden to her eyes
A woman bowing down to culture’s norm
Must be demure and coy, not fierce and bold
Forbidden her desire in wanton form
And so the flame dies out and life turns cold
Yet deep within her heart the embers lie
Their savage smolder felt through tortured night
Her sensuality she must deny
Though from her play and sway it shines out bright
Her soul succumbs to this hypocrisy
A woman vowed to "moral" chastity
In parts of the Middle East young girls are still circumcised to prevent sensual cravings....I've written a poem about this for Richard Lamoureux's contest a while back. His contest was entitled, Girl Rising...and my poem was entitled, "Not too Late for Tears." This poem was written for another contest, but I did not enter it. I deleted it and am now reposting. It makes me sad when people don't understand the restrictions woman face due to culture and other factors when it comes to issues of their own sensuality. I wish people would be more understanding.
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
To a woman
(In this traslation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : « A une femme »,
I have retained the rhyme scheme to the letter, I hope. T. Wignesan)
To you these lines in faith must console I address :
A sweet dream laughs and cries in your large eyes through
The purity of your soul which is wholly good, to you
These lines from the depths of my turbulent distress.
Just that, Alas ! the nightmare which haunts me hideous
Allows no respite and furious, mad and jealous continue
Multiplying themselves like wolves in a funeral retinue
Hanging on to my fate which at their mercy they harrass !
Oh ! how I suffer, I suffer hopelessly, so mean
That the initial whimperings of the first man
Banished from Eden a mere eclogue to the cost I wean. !
And the minor discomforts you may endure in comparison
Are like the swallows in the sky on an afternoon
- My Dear – make the beautiful warm September day a boon !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2013
How many gentlemen have chased your myth?
How many captains and how many kings?
How many have heard of your legend fell?
How many poets and how many priests?
How could they resist your tender mercy?
They'll never deny the world at your feet.
How many gentle ladies dread your myth?
How many mistresses, how many maids?
How many have known your calamity?
How many nurses and how many nuns?
How could they ever dare compete with thee?
They'll never deny the world your beauty.
How many people, both women and men,
Meet the measure of The Perfect Woman?
*Michael Dom, sonnet for Nette Onclaude's Take Two contest.
**I had thought of shortenning this poem to fit in 'The Perfect Woman' competition, but I could not do that without destroying the original vision. A pity I wrote the poem before reading the competition rules! Nevermind, it's all good! mt_dom
Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2013
Man needs woman to fill the empty space.
To comfort without hesitation.
To share gentle hands and their tender trace,
And love without wanton adulation.
To stand strong with their own thoughts, defiant
And be independent with their wishes.
Give their heart, never their soul compliant,
And end the soft lighted day with kisses.
Yes, man needs a woman of inner strength,
A companion to walk each road as one.
Travel the dire way no matter the length,
And measure each day under the sun.
To hold a woman of strength through time,
For her to find your love worthy, sublime.
contest Trashed 2 ..sponsor Broken Wings
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015
THE AMAZON MEETS THE GREEKS
When life was thick with possibility,
Before the written word and the weighing scales,
Your definitions held too much probity
In the rich seamless embroidery of our tales.
Our vanished mystery, which your history sealed
Up in the libraries of the planet’s scar.
So what way to better wield a shield?
You men just skirt the theory of war!
Words became deeds – there were forests to lop!
Hard iron entered body and soul
I cherished my child as a cosmic tear-drop
Bound to osmosis in the ocean’s roll,
And took the sword, and chopped my source and dower
Because you underestimated female power.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
Copyright © Rosemarie Rowley | Year Posted 2014
Wherefore gaze thou from yon high balcony,
O fairest Juliet? Search thou for one
that loveth thee 'neath heaven's burning sun,
that son of Montague--'tis felony!?
Thou lovest him! True. But loveth he thee!?
'Ere long thy love for him wilt be undone
by poison and, alas, thou wilt be gone
and we shall mourn--both houses!--yea, all we
and Montague! I beg of thee, instead
be mine: for I'm thy kinsman, Capulet.
Be mine! and, like that Romeo foresaid
I'll worship thee as divine and forget
that thy wayward heart almost left me dead
hadst thou eloped with him, mine Juliet.
02/01/2014, "Juliet" Contest
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
I'm tired of you becoming just words,
On every page when I write at night.
I saw you as a pretty face at first;
I wouldn't mind if my ink pen dried.
I say it because you're a human being;
These situations are not my type.
I want "I love you" to mean something,
And you stay right by my side.
Honestly, when I write poetry,
The feeling is unconfirmed, undecided, undefined.
You are worth more to me
Than words written down on every line.
I'd prefer to have you in my arms;
Paper and pen will not tear us apart.
©2013 Honestly JT
For P.D.' s "Any Poem Goes #6" Poetry Contest
Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013
Being an Aries woman, I enjoy freedom
To follow my hobbies, have little changes now
And again, let life get me down very seldom
Somehow through my birth date optimism endow
Could this Zodiac Astrology chart be right
It list enthusiastic as one of my strengths
Maybe really don't understand my inner light
Possibly something along way broke my wave length
Courageous is on list as one of my strengths
A person with mind or spirit to face danger
Or difficulty without fear, could this be right
Don't see myself as this but a cringer
Maybe one-half of the strenghts correct good
Work on the other half to line up I should
Contest: Zodiac Zones
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Written by: Sara Kendrick
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
There once was a man who lived in a castle,
Who longed for a girl so he could love her.
He searched far and wide, from Prague to Yorkshire,
But he found no such a dazzling damsel.
He dreamed of a woman of so special:
Kind and sweet and graceful and beautiful...
The type of woman not concerned with Wealth.
And he would rescue her from some reptile
Both great and horrid, a nightmare made real.
Like Tarzan saving Jane from a crocadile.
They'd kiss and their wedding would be ideal,
Full of flowers, jewels, and high style.
But it was just a dream, completely unreal.
Copyright © Del Phil | Year Posted 2013
What lies behind those mysterious black eyes?
What happened to our paths why did they become tied?
Nobody spoke to you, why were you alone?
After seeing you smile my heart has fondly grown.
In the middle of nowhere you're from my home town?
This cannot be real I realise with a frown.
Maybe it's time to put these mushrooms down.
Copyright © Mr Jaybus | Year Posted 2014
I ride the wind on passion’s mighty steed
A Warrior Princess filled with hungry eyes
I take what pleases and I fill my need
My mane is raven black; see how it flies
I know desire’s lusty craving flame
And beauty is the weapon of my choice
I take as captive him with mystic name
A sultry siren with seductress voice
My captive I lay down beneath the tree
I ravish him all night and get my thrill
He’s bound and helpless though he’s been set free
He longs to do my bidding and my will
I smile up at the stars and sigh with glee,
For Warrior Princess name befitting me
Those of you who have been here for a while will remember the Warrior Princess title! It started when one of my students told me that I remind him of Xena, the Warrior Princess. I wrote a poem in that Persona and then another poet, Richard Lamoureux, wrote a poem honoring me. Here are the links for both poems for those of you interested in going back in time. Well...She rides again! I'm feeling invincible!
My Poem: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=487921
Richard's Poem: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=495978
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
Written By: D. Collins 10/29/14
She’s so ungodly gorgeous she should be ashamed of herself.
Possessing so much dominant beauty over everyone else.
The air stands still when she walks into a room.
She gives a winter chill to hot days in June.
She is nature showing off with near perfect design.
An anomaly created only once in awhile.
She’s ungodly gorgeous with tantalizing traits.
The envy of all women and their persistent hate.
She doesn’t wear make-up. Her hair and nails are real.
Her pearly white smile really enhances her grill.
She has a body that took the form of an hour-glass.
And, a personality gleaming with unparalleled class.
All traffic stands still when she’s in a public place.
There is instant paralysis in seeing her lovely face.
She’s ungodly gorgeous compared to others I’ve seen.
Without doubt, she is the Goddess we see in our dreams.
Copyright © Darrell Collins | Year Posted 2014
To love or not to love a woman? Which
is better? To love and love well is good
so long they who love love without falsehood
as their twain hearts so compel and make rich
love's treasures. As friend, she's best: never pitch
a lady-friend into a lover, should
her all precious friendship and lady-hood
be injured and make her a hateful witch.
But, alas, to love God is best! Not I,
but the aims of this life and Destiny
make it so that men like me must decry
love's ambit for a life of poverty.
Although, if God wills it, love will find me
in heaven's field,--in heaven's golden lea!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
See! Air is spotless. I give you its blood!
I impose Poetry´s Knife where you post
You who slept to kiss all and any Tod
A Prince for your home as a foolish host!
You had nerve to pull Arms against my Man
This Viking Armada waits your shoreline
It´s you who tried my song to scan
Go song! To Athen, London, back to Rhine
And when I wrote your Name in chilly air
I called you things you never really heard
Yet my melody hurts down to a hair
I´m no longer my tribe´s and line´s nerd
Sweden was a powerful Viking land
I take a blood-stained shield at my last stand
Copyright © Lis Lovén | Year Posted 2005
I watch her lipstick mouth; it never stops
its movement as she prattles on and on.
And now another famous name she drops,
her daddy’s latest client, known as John
by only his close friends! She widely grins
while spilling secrets all about that guy.
I swear the Gossip Girls had fewer sins
than Pretty Talker. How she loves to lie!
I catch her telling half-truths all the time,
yet all the kids are mesmerized by her.
To me, her pretty mouth seems filled with grime
each time I hear it spew a racial slur.
She has a straw between white teeth. A Coke
She’s sipping now. Oh, how I wish she’d choke!
Written June 28, 2016 for the Pretty Talker Contest of Skatcenter>
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016
PROVERBS 31 Woman
Who knows the woman, virtous today,
Her lighted candle, burning through each night.
Considering her vinyard meant to stay
For seasons yet to come, when time is right
Whose strength is in her arms, and loyalty
To each within her fold, yea, maidens all,
rejoice for being part of all they see,
and all they see is one who'll never fall.
In weaving of her tapestry, her gold
and silver thread in candle light's aglow
reveals her story all too seldom told.
and what each husbandman should know.
Her linen sold, with words of wisdom's charm,
There's never need, for causing any harm.
© ron wilson aka Ron Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015