Writing Woman Poems

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Details | Concrete |
                            She is                                          He's                             
                          a woman                                      a fine man
                       with a pretty                                  within his big
                        face and an                                 head, he has a
                         attitude of                                     simple plan. 
                            purity                                          To woo her
                             and                                                 and to
                            grace.                                               soothe
               She has strong shoulders,                         her as much as
            where you can rest your head                     he can.  He gives
           between two succulent boulders.               from his heart as he
          She has wit and charm. With such                has from the very
          grace       she is surely        armed.             start. It's all in his
          Your        heart she will         take.              nature to reach out 
            But     she'll be your best      mis-            his hand and take her.  
             take. Her hips sway as you feel                But somehow as you 
                  your heart carried away.                  have seen, there's much
                  In no time at all you will      standing in between. He knows
                   feel her heat from your      he must alter his approach, gets
                      head to your feet.                          her a golden broach. 
                      When you're amid                           His legs start to
                      fleshy        thighs,                            quiver as her
                       you'll          emit                                 thighs                        
                       sexy          sighs                                make him
                       but             you                                  shiver. 
                       will             see                                  Yes she
                       what           they                                 yearns
                       all do          see,                                  him so,
                       a girl           that                                  but he
                       is so            very                                  might
                      womanly.       A woman in                      never        
                       three letter     high stilletto.                   know.                   
                        t                   t                                 because
                        o                  o                          she has to go.
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Copyright © Rhoda Tripp | Year Posted 2017




Details | Limerick |
Cross eyed woman had a nasty fall after running into a brick wall she was hit over the head with a big loaf of bread while trying to play basketball. Copyright Cynthia Jones Sept.23/2004

Copyright © Cynthia Jones | Year Posted 2015

Details | Romanticism |
I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
... I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive... happy... romantic,
... till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013




Details | Free verse |
I stared in the eyes of Beauty, and she was...
Everything I thought she would be
But when I saw her I was speechless
She noticed me I noticed her
Her fragrance was beautiful 
She smelled like frankincense & myrrh
We made eye contact she gave me a lil smile
And kept walking 
Then and there I knew I had to have this woman
I wanted to smell her beauty
I had to feel her touch I want to 
Fall in love wit her not lust
I want her to fall asleep in my arms
Not just have sex & bust a nut
I want her to be my everything
I want her to take refuge in me
I wanna hear her say that she misses me
When I'm with her I wanna feel like I'm free
So I call out to her and I say...
I been looking for you 
She says I been waiting on you 
We converse in a conversation
And all the anticipation is thrown out the door
You see this woman just makes my heart soar 
And her personality just makes me crave for 
Her love even more 
We exchange numbers and we go our separate ways
I know she's different from every woman I met 
Because I ain't thinking bout gettin laid
And all I keep thinking bout is will we last 
Or just be another fling 
But a couple minutes later my cell phone rings... it's her

                                     "TO BE CONTINUED"

Copyright © Corey Ross | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
Kiss her like you are The safest place she has known The brightest star she has seen The best of herself she has felt Kiss her like You are her messiah in her world of pain And she, your place of retreat.

Copyright © Shruti Pithadia | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
The writer I am in my dreams
is more sophisticated than I am
and sees the world as an untold story
I mainly see the footsteps behind me
        Where I stepped softly so as not to call attention to myself
this writer conjures volumes about the man on the bus
who has a scar on his face five inches long
she elaborates on his life with gifted prose
he is a pilot shot down in Vietnam
guerillas gave him a scar and set him free
he used to be a lion tamer
that one is self-explanatory
I simply cannot stop staring at his scar and wonder
does it bother him to have such a mark?

The writer I am in my dreams
has perfect time management
goes to work, attends class
has a beau
        moves from day to day
        finds time for friends and play
        hobbies and exercise
        dance class and likewise
the writer I am in my dreams
her words are clear and precise
they don't feel like empty thoughts on a page
they don't sound immature
her words and statements work
they don't get in her way and make her mind spin
and conjure up thoughts of self-worth
they whirl around the room and
whisper about the unimagined
they dialogue with rhyme and wit
and they always converse graciously

the writer I am in my dreams
I wake up and pray to be
and sometimes my prayers are answered

Copyright © Elizabeth Udeschini | Year Posted 2009

Details | Verse |
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Thatcher’s dead.

Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Thatcher’s dead.

Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Thatcher’s dead.

Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
Thatcher’s dead.

Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |
Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words

Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
It's no secret behind it
my feelings for you I mean
and God couldn't have sent 
a more perfect woman for me I swear
and love was in the air
before I ever noticed it 
before I ever noticed you
as far as love with another woman,
I didn't know what I was gonna do
but now... it's so crucial, so neutral
I found a woman so emotional, 
so sensual and... That's Why I Love You.

I felt is so deep in my soul
this is the type of love 
I just gotta keep on hold
I'm feeling like a concrete rose
that withered away with the
changing of the seasons
because now I realize why I went
threw what so much with other females
there's no more temptation
because you are the reason.

Three years of waiting,
my angel has finally come to pass
I love you, I want you, I need you
yea I see you, I close my eyes and
your smile is all I vision
me and you together for eternity
Lord Willing, you inspire me to never
stop writing what I've already written.

You're honest, respectful, affectionate,
Godly, virtuous, dedicated, and I love 
how your so impatient when it comes to me
I thank God that he sent you to me
and at my darkest moment four days 
before the new year he blessed me 
with your presence, and I don't care
about where we are, as long as we're 
together we can make the setting
and true people may wonder 
how could we love each other 
and just met, but honestly they
really don't have a clue.

You're my everything 
and baby "That's Why I Love You"

Copyright © Corey Ross | Year Posted 2008

Details | Romanticism |
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.

Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.

Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.

Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.

What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.

My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.

Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
Long walks,
cosy talks,
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.

-10/6/2013-

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Romanticism |
Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.

The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.

"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.

Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart 
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.

The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.

Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
without you.

I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Where I'm from we don't do debts, fronts, or take tabs
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
Put that money on the head, you don't need a mask
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash
How is a broke fool gon' try and smash
They don't understand nothing but stashing cash

Money on my mind like bread on a sandwich

I run the city, they're the lights, I'm the switch

I stand for what's mine, never see me slip and fall

I'm runnin' the race, you're a baby with a slow crawl

My cash stay on point, like a sharpened pencil

Try 'n' copy my style, you gon' need mo' than a stencil

I don't be's in the trap, buy my workers put-in overtime

Feds can't catch me, never see me committin' crime

That's why from time to time I shoot 'em a raise

And tell 'em to stash cash for those rainy days

If money talk, then there's nothing to say

If B.S walk, none of ya' fools can stay

My money talkin' for me, betta' yet, it's in a conversation

Ya' look like money; make money, nice observation

They say the love of money's the root of all evil

So how much money will it take to really love people

Copyright © Arcene Janvier | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
My physical lusts each and every cut, rip, and peck on his body my intellectual craves his thoughts, opinions, and charisma, my emotional wants to laugh, cry, and embrace his deepest feelings. Yet my emotional abundance does not captivate him, my intellectual determination does not appeal to him it is my physique alone that attracts his mind, body, and soul. It is the complexion of my skin that caught his attention, it is the reflection of my smile that made him acknowledge my presence, it is the kink in my hair that preserved his interest, the seduction in my eyes that tempted his spirit, the curves on my body that infatuated his sexual desires, and my forbidden fruit that took his whole being into euphoria yet my mind and soul is yet to be explored! My physical body has been pleasured time and time again but my emotional and intellectual elements remain untouched like the footprints on the moon!

Copyright © Nicolette Holness | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
I am a heart full of love
that shook the pilars that held her colussium up
her heart filled with sorrow,
I swing such fury toward her heart and soul
she cowards away from me,
in fear of falling in love and not knowing what is in black
and not searching what is in the light of pure white.

I am a heart full of love,
she runs and takes the long dirt road,
through the raging mountains of the quiet countryside,
as the meadows of lilacs slowly die when Spring comes,
the blooming of the rose,
like the blooming of my heart,
a blossom on a cherry tree fall and harbour in the wintertime.
I swing toward her, she falls in fear of wanting attention and love.
Lost in the midnight twilight,
the flaming torch guides her through the dark holes of meaningless souls.
and like a frightened hummingbird,
she flees away from the secrets of falling in love.

A heart full of love ready to love,
it is diffcult to feel and to show,
but as if a rose that blooms in Springtime
my love is ready to bloom.

Pettles lay along a darkened atmosphere
lit up only with four wax candles
a portrait of a woman hung over a mantel piece
in honour of my one true love.

As the twilight shine though my bedroom window,
I show a heart full of love,
to take and to hold for eternity.

And as she slowly moves forward,
she takes me home with her,
and opens her chest and shows me her heart
with a glass of red wine and charming cigarette.
She sheads tears of pain and sorrow on my broud shoulder,
I curise her hair, silk laced hair,
shining against the twilight and the moonlit sky.

My heart full of love,
so divine, so original
a one of a kind.

We make love in the midst of the twilight,
as my dream girl is now reality and my pain is no more,
her pain is no more.
Too show such love makes a man feel free
and his soul lighter.
She holds him there,
as the sun rises over the mountains.
The birds sing a tune of cheerfulness,
and they talk about everything beautiful and kind,
that is still left in this cruel and empty hearted world.

Romance and love shared
with a heart full of love,
smile and kiss upon smooth lips,
feel me against your tight body,
and love me till the morning
when Blue eyed Death is staring us in the face.
and we go with him,
and play a game of risk,
and together forever,
onto a diffrent world
we shall love each other forever,
for you and I both have a heart full of love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic |
There's an issue with people trying to deal with their sexuality and gender. It's been
like that since the day one man had pretended to be a woman and one woman had pretended to
be a guy. It seems that he or she is either gay, straight, bisexual, or a transsexual, and
their parents are trying to help their children deal with their sexual identity and sexual
orientation. These people would've dealt with this type of identity crisis without the
help of their friends and families. It's bad enough that one man is being trapped in a
female's body and one woman is being trapped in a male's body, as well. Everybody's
talking about it, even on the news. What other people should do is to deal with the fact
that their friends are gay, bi, or transgendered. And even if these people are going
through an identity crisis day in and day out, they need help and everybody's acceptance.
And for assistance and whatnot,  he and/or she (who are gay, bisexual, and/or
transgendered) can always go to one of those LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and/or
Transgender) centers for group therapy and stuff. The ones who aren't confused about their
sexual identity should also be for gay rights. But if these people continue with trying to
deal with who they are and what their sexual orientation is, there's no telling what bad
thing might happen next.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |
He says he loves me then he says he loves me not
He loves me today but by tomorrow I'm forgot 
He runs from my love but returns wanting more
I guess I'm to blame for letting the traveler explore, 
See travellers just wander and are never here to stay
They admire the scenery and enjoy the display 
They tour the land and ride the attractions
So memories become their only subtractions,
They search for an experience that is what they yearn
The condition once they leave is none of their concern!
So how can the land be devoted and true 
When travellers come and go out of the blue.
The present is now and where he's travelled to,
But the past he calls home so he must return soon
Most likely just a visit although time can only tell, 
But what he lusts is in this land and he knows it very well
He may call that place home but its this land that he seeks
Travellers on a mission never realize until they hit their peek
He continues to damage this land down to its core 
So what's left to offer when their is nothing left in store?
The resources were depleted and the land left bare
He comes and goes as he pleases it doesn't seem fair;
See this land has been abused time and time again
Seeds that were planted, were means to an end
But pleasure and satisfaction was always accomplished
Because this land provided where the homeland was disadvantaged!
But despite the history and despite the trust
Submit to his urges is something he must.
So this time around his departure is permanent 
Lack of faith and loyalty was the final determinant.
The damage he caused cannot be rendered,
So his visitation rights he has surrendered!
So leave this land I say and never look back
This is the path you chose I hope you can stay on track,
Cause travellers have memories of the lands they have stained
But the land only remembers the one that remained!

Copyright © Nicolette Holness | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Things get bad, then they get good again.
You can write yourself angry.
You can write yourself sick.
But never
ever
should you write yourself sorry.

The world, to me, is many things:
A canvas, a movie, a place to store
everything you are and will ever be,
but never a bell jar.

As long as your hands can shake
and your voice can quiver,
never close the door.

Love the ground under your feet,
and your only sadness 
will be that a blanket of sky 
can't keep off the cold. 

Smile with every breath you take, 
and you'll realize that, 
no matter how much you weep,
you will never fill an ocean.

Look inside your heart:
There's answer there.
You'll find,
deep in an oblivion of night,
there is a light somewhere.

It may not be much light,
but it's brighter than darkness.
Follow it.

If you seek, you will find 
yourself always involved in 
something,
and as long as that door never closes,
whatever something will be enough.

I promise.

Copyright © jes russick | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
For nine months
With love and pain
With joy and suffering
In her womb she carried me
A mother she is 
And a woman of virtue.

When there was no one, she was the only one
Even left alone, she never leaves me alone
Indeed, she’s a mother 
And a woman of virtue.

When toddling, she cared
And still directs when I could run
She is a mother of the child and the adult
In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come
Many names will I call her; “A mother of all”
And a Woman of Virtue.

Copyright © Francis Twumasi | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |
I am dead without my love.
It is simple as that.
I cannot breath without her,
I cannot eat without her,
I cannot write without her.
I cannot live without my love,
I am dead without my love.

I cannot prosper without her warm embrace,
I cannot think without her by my side.
always thinking of her, sharing her love I once had,
with another.
My heart breaks,
and my mind is gone.
I weap... I weap...
I cannot handle the betrayal of my once love.
I am stuck, sitting in dark corners of dark rooms,
staring at blank walls, thinking of what once was.

Her beauty,
her smile,
the laughs shared, and the tears we weaped together.
Holding hands, you and I, walking down sandy beaches,
and beautiful highways, full of love.
How we sat on park benches and kissed the night away.
I cannot believe you are gone, with another.

I did what I could,
I loved you endless time on my hand.
Our time spent together was special and near to the heart.
Do not expect for that happiness to come again.
For that has sailed, to far East, to the rising of the new day.

But, I cannot live one more day without my love.
For what I had with her is unexplainable and beautiful beyond definition.
I have seen the wayward signs point me to the direction of you.
But when we see each other, you don't spare a passing glance,
as if I was a ghost, an invisible man, like air.
That is when my heart breaks, torn in two, I cannot see me without you.
Walk with another, shall I go, now this without you.

For she is my everything, beauty and nature.
She is my rose, my violet, my nightingale singing her songs, in the twilight.
She is the sky, the sun, the moon, the trees, the grass.
She is everything to me.
She is even the summer storms and Winter blizzards that roll in and destroy,
beauty and harmony.

I cannot live without my love, for she is my one and only.
I do not like to beg, but love me once again and live with me forever.
For you know and I know, and the world knows,
That I cannot live without you,
I cannot live without my love,
For I am dead without my love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A single kiss from thy lovely lips,
so sweet and so divine,
yet I taste posion upon your tongue.

Your beauty so glorious,
like a blooming rose so beautiful,
yet, why do mine eyes go blind
in the sight that you walk along with another?

Yes you, walk with another,
arm under arm,
lips touching lips in romantic kisses,
it makes my blood boil,
for mine lips are dry.

For mine eyes have seen your glory,
yet no one here listens to my story.
You are evil, yes you are,
don't try to deny,
Listen to a man of experience,
you might as well save some expense.

I write of our long romantic walks
we took together, under the shade of olive trees,
how we went apple picking in autumn time,
and made love in the foyer.

Nomore of that sweet and passionate love,
nomore silent kisses in the night,
when the wind blows hard against the branches,
that tape violently on my windowpane. 
Nomore somber tears shed, when you got sick,
and nomore warm embraces when you shed tears of betrayal.

Betrayal now is a game played by a fool,
such as I,
to think I'd have a happy life with you?
Huh, only a fool would think such a thing,
but now I sit, looking at the foyer,
where we once made sweet, passionate love,
nomore will that foyer be filled with exotic pleasure.
Nomore will you be filled with smiles and exotic pleasure.
I've done my job, as a good man shall do,
now pack your things and get of my stage,
the spotlight yawns for anew,
and the audience grows tired and restless of you.

Now I live life anew,
you too shall see life in new eyes,
walking hand and hand with the blond, blue eyed devil
you call your own.
Shall he take one kiss from your lips,
and die of the posion he tastes on your tongue,
shall he go blind, when he sees your true, black beauty?
He will see the ugly soul, covered up by white rags,
and cheap makeup,
and then he will come to me,
and shake my hand in condolence
and say, "You were right!"

Now you are all alone,
looking for another, as you did many times before,
Now you are alone, walking an open road,
spying on another,
fear of being alone.
Now, you see when you play games with a good man's emotions,
don't try it,
because a good man is not meant to be toyed with.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
My name is “Maryam”, the name of the Prophet Jesus’ mother.
Alhamdulillah I’m a wife of a medical doctor.
I was born in Saudi Arabia in nineteen eighty six.
The language I use, since birth, e’en with my parents is English.
Alhamdulillah with them I’ve traveled to many countries –
From Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the Egyptian pyramids,
Cool countries like England and France, Denmark and U. S. of A.
Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia where we once planned to stay.
I believe in Allah, I always seek knowledge of Islam,
I love reading Islamic books and teach Islam when I can,
I too enjoy poetry –have been writing since my early teens.
Had a few writings published in a Saudi Fun Times magazine.
I’m friendly in general. I don’t start fights for no reason.
You can tell I dislike someone when I snub or avoid them.
I’m against suicide bombings, against all acts of injustice.
I love the Messenger Muhammad (SallAllahu ‘alaihi wa sallam) and all of God’s Prophets like Jesus and Moses.
I believe that silence is better than constant chit-chatting,
And that enjoining good deeds is better than simply sighing.
I believe that when someone is rude to you they’re just jealous,
And sticking to Islam and good manners is always a must.
If my friends from school were to see me they’d think I’ve changed so much –
Many things I’ve abandoned and wrongdoings my limbs once touched.
I am Maryam –a Muslim and a friend you can always trust.

© Mariam Mababaya.

Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |
I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby... 
You are my...
My heroin...
My ecstacy... 
My cocaine...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...
YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

Copyright © jaremy mount Jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic |
There's no fury like the wrath of a woman scorn. Every woman will have known that they
will have been lied to, cheated on, and deceived by their husbands/boyfriends and will
have driven them over the edge. It seems that these men (the boyfriends/husbands) have
been taking these women (the girlfriends/wives) and what they've done for them for granted
and it's not right. It also seems that these women are not good for the guys and the women
are angry about it. Some of the guys (the husbands/boyfriends) think that other women are
way more intelligent and way more attractive than their current wives/girlfriends,
especially when these men are having multiple affairs behind the backs of their women. A
woman's scorn means that all of the ladies have had enough of being lied to, cheated on,
and being belittled by a bunch of womanizing jerks, that includes the loser boyfriends.
And for a bunch of women scorned by infidelities and lies, there's such thing as bad
karma. What these bad guys did to their women will happen to them in the near future, and
when they pass on, these womanizing fiends will meet their judgment day and God will
punish them for all of the misdeeds they've done. The men may lie to their women and they
may lie to their family members, that will have included their parents, but they can't lie
to Him. He sees everything that's going on, and the men (husbands/boyfriends) are going to
pay for what they did to their women (wives/girlfriends). And like the saying goes:
"there's no fury like the wrath of a woman scorned." These men better be really careful
around these women because if they take them for granted, there's going to be heck to pay.

Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Haiku |
Some love is stupid, 
Some love is fake and unreal, 
But our love is true.

Copyright © Christian Guild | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |
A woman in black
She follows the gravel 
Disheveled from 
dirt 
rocks
and the clattering bumps
of holes as followed
surrounded by death
the woman runs past 
closing her eyes
tightly shut
to afraid to play her little game
of peek-a-boo
they thus consume her thoughts
uggghhh
there are voices
the voices
why….
Her hands grasps her head
The voices they begin to whisper
You deserve death!!
Go to Hell with me !!
Plaguing her sanity 
Rebelling such a mere religion
Such As Christianity
A devil ready for the play
The woman reaches for her bag
She grabs the knife
Her eyes filled with tears
Thus A woman in black
She who followed the gravel 
Disheveled from 
dirt 
rocks
and the clattering bumps
of holes as followed
surrounded by only death

Copyright © Fullmoon Sway | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.

She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.

The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.

It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.

A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.

Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.

She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.

Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.

Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.

Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.

The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.

Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.

She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.

As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.

I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.

The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.

Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?

All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.

The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.

I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.

Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.

Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.

She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.

We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.

Love everlasting,
everything everlasting,
cigarettes smoked together.

A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
my love.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Bio |
It's a hard pill to swallow knowing that something 
you worked and fought so hard for is just a lost cause 
and you can't put life on pause, all you can do is wonder
and think what a fool you are
now there's a handful of people who think they can change
who their significant other is or who they used to be 
love is blind and when you in love and want someone so bad
it's kind hard to see the light and everybody goes threw the b.s
but you try your best to make things right and you began to wonder 
he or she isn't even trying despite the fact how far y'all came 
they say their completely honest with but deep down you know their lying
and when you make time for them and they don't make time for you
tell me what do you do, what do you do when you think
every time you try to reach out to your mate the devils laughing in your face
and you finally realize all the time you spent trying to be the best man
she was never trying to be the best woman
you see you were looking for love but only found heartache in your left bosom
she was looking for a sex partner and thats whats real, but
behind this reflection in the mirror now after adding your relationship
up from it's ups and downs it get to be and seem so much clearer
she could never be the woman who you see yourself marrying
fact of the matter is she's just the woman with your child she's carrying
and the signs were there in the beginning that she was swimming in lust
and ashes to ashes dust to dust thats what the end of this relationship 
was made up of, a relationship that never should have started 
and now all you're left with is a broken heart thats dearly departed 
and a mind thats critically injured and all you can say is, its my fault
sometimes we have faith in something thats nothing
something thats not there, one living in despair and another 
just too in love to admit that despite of what her lifestyle has
always been like he's always forgive and forget, but in the end 
it was his heart that was gonna be a homicidal casualty, but 
thats just life I suppose and I'm just facing reality

Copyright © Corey Ross | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme |
Imagine a king who has many
Servants staying at his palace
It would make no sense at all if those
Servants do not fulfill their purpose


Those servants were ordered to work
And to respect that king at all times
While the king gives them a place to stay
They should always make his palace shine


Any slave who does not work may
Eventually be kicked out soon
Any slave who works improperly
May likewise end up without a room


That king has a right to command
His slaves to sing lovely songs of him
To choose the number of times to wash
A staircase, because he is 'king'


That king has a right to command his
Slaves to do well to his family
To treat his close friends with respect
And welcome his guests cheerfully


To tell them not to touch this and that
To disallow them from certain rooms
To do what he commands them to do
As he is the owner who rules


So when Allah gives a command
A command that must be obeyed
You must obey Allah's Commandments
Or else you might get yourself astray


So if Allah commands you to pray
To Him, five prayers everyday
Don't ask 'why? ' Don't ask 'why five salahs? '
Just listen to God, and obey


God lets you walk on the earth He made
God gives you fresh air for you to breathe
God keeps the clouds above you floating
And gives you drink and food to eat


God gave you a brain with which to think
And still you ask 'why should you pray? '
We pray to Allah, the Mighty King
Who lets us live each night and day


When you're awake, when you're asleep
The air you breathe each night and day
What you inhale and what you exhale
Are some things from God which you don't pay


The ability to taste is a
Gift from God which many just ignore
Imagine if you could not taste the
Food you eat, eating would be a bore


You eat fruits and vegetables that God
Created, from plants that Allah made
You drink water which belongs to God
And yet you ask 'why must we pray? '

--->PART FOUR

Copyright © Mariam M. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A love letter,
so full of words,
so full of beauty.

A love letter,
me reading alone on a park bench,
while I form tears in my dry eyes.

A love letter,
which takes me to a place,
of peace and brings joy to me.

A love letter,
that has no boundaries,
that shows a stranger's true feelings.

A love letter,
taken words put together,
to read a poem of glorious beauty.

A love letter,
that shows that someone loves you,
and it brings a smile on my face.

I go on home,
sit at my desk,
look at the sweet love letter
marked with a red kiss.

A named penned in curseve,
The "I" is dotted with a heart,
makes my heart leap from the chest.

I sit there,
light a cigarette and stare at an empty page
from a lonesome notebook.

I pick up my pen,
and I transfer all my emotions onto the paper,
to create love and art to show my love in return.

Then I shall go to a simple, but beautiful garden
and pick two roses that have already picked themselves,
and take them to the creator of this love letter.

A love letter,
so strong with words put together,
expressing true emotion.

A love letter,
so strong in its own world,
it brings strangers together and makes them love forever.

A love letter,
so sweet and so divine,
that any man prays for a love letter to appear on his doorstep.

A love letter,
beauty and harmony,
that brings people closer togther.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013