Best Femininity Poems
TRUE BEAUTY
To the eye of the beholder,
True beauty rarely seen,
She captures none with flirting eyes,
Her attire does not demean.
Her presence, soft, as of a dove's,
If you're careful enough she'll stay,
Few there are that recognizes,
her worth this very day.
Her words though few, her silence speaks loudly,
Never deceit or lies within,
Her Angels are there and walk beside her,
For one tear they will defend.
A hidden Truffle, rare to find,
An oyster's treasured pearl,
Her love, more excellent than wine and riches,
This very precious girl.
The prideful man may never find her,
and know the loving ocean in her very kiss,
For few eyes or lips will ever taste and see,
True beauty such as this.
A woman of God, woman of virtue,
blessed is the man to add her to his life,
He has received great favor from God,
An ornament of true beauty for a wife.
“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”
— Warsan Shire
Wishbone
He appraises me as though my bones
were fashioned for breaking,
two limbs diverging from a sacred centre,
his hunger already choosing
which half it intends to keep.
There is an unfeeling felony in such looking,
the way desire can undress a person
until even personhood becomes superfluous.
He makes an altar of my anatomy,
then calls appetite reverence.
He would tie me to his tongue
and still not know the aptitude of my name.
He mistook possession for intimacy,
lust for fractured divinity,
my body for some reliquary
he might prise apart for providence.
His eyes of penitence arrived too late.
Beneath fractured halos,
what hollow absolution resurrects
a woman reduced to portions:
mouth, waist, thighs,
the convenient mathematics of flesh?
He had already tested where I was weakest,
where the bone would give,
how much wanting could be mistaken
for tenderness before it became cruelty.
That was the anatomy of absence:
to be entirely present
inside a body someone else
had already erased me from.
I was no omen for his wanting,
no little bone upon which
he might wager a wish.
Yet he still broke me.
But he did not know what wishbones remember:
that they once belonged to wings,
that fracture is a hinge, not an ending,
that some things split
without surrendering themselves.
He expected two obedient halves,
a clean division,
something small enough to possess.
Instead, the fracture disclosed
what his hunger had failed to comprehend:
I had never belonged to the bone.
And if time turns,
will scars stain the sky?
Let them.
The larger fragment in his fist
never meant he won.
It was only proof
that possession leaves evidence.
He had to break a thing that flew
to believe it was his.
Femininity - Anima
Sweet femininity was formed in Eve,
before thrown from the Garden for her sin;
engrained in souls by God, I do believe...
the essence of true womanhood within.
These female traits present themselves in me
through love, emotions, tenderness, and sense
of being led by creativity
in ways that show compassion deep, intense.
Imagination and perception stir
beyond the realm of mere creative art:
sense of aesthetics in all things occur;
a yin and yang of balance must take part.
Maternal instinct lodged within my soul,
the need to comfort with devoted care
my family, as well as to extol
with love, God's earthly creatures everywhere.
Romantic love of sweet and gentle kind
that speaks commitment and fidelity,
with friendship and relatedness combined;
these are the gifts of female traits in me.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Any Poem Written In April 2016
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 07/15/2016
Sandra M. Haight
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Animus/Anima--Part 1: Anima
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
Judged: 05/17/2016
You were voluptuousness, innocent and pure,
the personification of beauty and pleasure.
And much like Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of love,
you knew how to fuel the dreams and aspirations of men.
A vestal of promiscuity and femininity
your sexual attraction was undeniable,
and on that night, I instantly fell in love with you.
My throbbing heart started beating wildly,
and my pulse began to race.
I was in a place of euphoric bliss,
a magical dream filled with laughter and whispered wishes.
You took me to paradise, gave my soul wings,
and taught me to fly!
And ultimately soar
among angels in the realm of heaven.
I've never felt like this before
and shall never doubt love again.
There are no words to describe how you affect me,
all I can say is, I love you and always will.
Like the missing piece
of a puzzle,
you complete me and make me whole.
(Free Verse)
6/21/2018
irresistible
batting eyes worth a bashing
intoxicating
***
By Stanley Collymore
If words are the trumpets of the mind and the
eyes the telescope of the heart could it be
that silent thoughts, transmitted yet not
openly disclosed, are the engine to
provide the start of what we
hope to find?
Like an elegant goddess borne loftily
on the stalwart wings of chance
you swept in unexpectedly
but oh so majestically
in a unique, feminine
ballet de dance –
your welcomed presence creating a
charming and exciting situation
replete with its own magical
and tempting expectations.
© Stanley V. Collymore
20 June 2001.
with this powerful weapon
she makes us weak
and we can not fight against her
because we are just toys in her hands
men at her mercy
but by all the gods from heaven
how wonderful is that!...
(Shakespearean sonnet form: ABAB CDCD EFEF GG)
If there exists in your vicinity,
Presence of Toxic Masculinity
Give many thanks to your divinity
For this male fortunate proximity.
T’was men created engines, made the wheel.
Now look around, and all that you can see
Was made by toxic men who smelted steel
And conceived by male creativity.
You’ll find Ms. Curie heads a tiny list
Revealing gifts of femininity
A list so small that often it is missed.
Search if you will into infinity.
So ladies all, you should be grateful then,
That we are blessed with many toxic men.
Touches Of Femininity.
Strips of daylight
Emanate through blinds onto wooden floor
Wrinkled sheets and crumpled pillows from the night before
The perfume of two bodies after sleep lingers in the air
Pastel coloured walls vase of flowers on the bedside table
Fresh new clothes hung over the back of a panama chair
Discarded panty hose on bedroom floor
White terrry towling dressing gown
Hung on back of bedroom door
Wedding photos on display
Perfume and makeup on dressing table in array
To make up for the day
Music Streams from the radio
Playing old songs we loved from years ago
My woman singing in the bathroom next door
As the shower begins to pour
Sometime later naked she enters the bedroom once more
Looking even more beautiful than before
The fresh clean smell of her warm body
Awakens my passion deep within
As my eyes wander over her naked skin
Perched by the dressing table cross legged she takes a pew
Brushes her damp soft raven hair
In front of the mirror what a beautiful sight to share
Applies her lipstick and make up
Then picks up her coffee cup
I watch her dress from across the room
Captured by the wonderful sweet heady aroma
Of her newly sprayed perfume
We talk and laugh now ready for the day
Kisses me on the lips and tells me she loves me
Then turns and walks away
Touches of femininity
Evoke deep feelings of attraction2019.
Deep inside of me
She turned our huse into a home
The bedroom a love nest
When ever we are alone
She’s all woman
My woman
And colours my world.
Peter Dome©2019.
Let's do some skipping... one two three a-lary
Used to jump rope like a little wee fairy
Not realizing in those days
Masculinity guys should crave
Now femininity no longer causes stare-ies
My womb protects me, envelops me.
The curves along my waist, breasts, stomach, all value is derived only through extremes, never from ones being.
It isn't and will never be enough
to be average,
to be mediocre,
to be.
Instead, the individual is then morphed into the epitome of femininity, postured and perfect, or quickly discarded.
Yes, I'll play the role, fulfill my part.
Without the patented creation and dedication to the creation of a new life outside of your own where does your worth truly lie?
It will never be intellect, as we bleed and breathe to bear the world's sons.
Yes, I'll perform, dance and twirl at your beck and call.
Perhaps if you perform and perfect your body, sensuality, and femininity, that might be enough.
Yes, I have been properly managed, tamed, prodded at and molded.
But of course, there will never be a guarantee, because there is always the risk, the delicate balance in which there always lies the fear of forsaking yourself through violence, through anger and resilience that could never be accepted as "feminine".
A failed performance.
The crowd will still watch and marvel at your undoing.
A second-rate, consistently monitored existence.
"Being" will never be enough.
Better luck next time.
To You, My Loved Teacher
I will never forget you from school, love you. You
You walked into the classroom, oh best woman!
I have always admired your fantastic femininity
Perfect woman. Angelic mermaid. My teacher
I love You
Secretly
My life
Are You
Loves You
Your student
The fixedness of certain things exhausts-
like my own shadow, this old tree and the sun.
I climb out of my dream,
Put on my clothes
And do not turn back.
I still carry the scent of you though-
The warming aroma of spices,
Juniper and citrus.
I sense in me a rare smell of masculine freedom.
Behind, I feel your eyes blaze intensely,
I do not halt. I walk. Not the brisk early morning walk,
but the lethargic walk, drowsily stretching after a sleep,
the last sleep before waking in which dreams appear.
I still feel your shoulders,
my lips pressed against them in my dream.
We stood like two bodies dissolved in a song.
I must remove you, the last strains of you
that’s somewhere within me as close as breath
but I will hold on to your last whisper,
one last thing you whispered into my neck-
“You’re reborn. You’re never the same again!”
man of old
talking to himself
in this run down
watering hole
not crazy
just lonely
turns his head
and him I know
chief of police
when I was young
put me in jail
more than once
now he’s nearing
the setting sun
sitting in a bar
getting drunk
I can't take it
I buy him one
he remembers me
some things I'd done
harmless, really, just
"you were a wild one"
well, I guess I was
I had my run
all my thoughts now
settled on being settled
finish my beer and leave
there's somewhere
I'd rather be than... he
"Aja when all my
dime danc'n is through
I run to you"
quiet endless sea
of gentle femininity
my beautiful tranquility
she soothes and succors
every need
I don't know if she knows
how my heart bleeds
I don't know if she sees
the rough road in me
unwinding
in her soft eyes
just feels
like hard times
are starting to smooth
silky petals unfolding
sweet nectar flowing
she takes me in
somewhere it feels
I've never been
* "Aja" by Walter Carl Becker and Donald Jay Fagen for Steely Dan
Sitting by the edge of her sullen lake
Hands around her knees
Holding on to her worldly dreams
She dips her toes to test what was to become
Drawn like flesh to bone
The water wakened her senses
This girl-to-woman burst within her
Filled with gumption
Laughingly she tossed her curls
Behind her shoulders
Jumped wholeheartedly
Then plunged into the icy waters
She wanted to swim
To feel her body's bliss
As she crashed splashing out
Then dove beneath the waters
And swam farther and farther
Away from the oh so familiar shore
So alive with each gliding arms reach
She felt her fluidity and power surge
She breathed with such joy
Her rhythm never broke
Faster and faster she freed herself
From fear and disappointment
Affirming as she shaped her body to water
Matching her spirit to master her stage
August 23, 2020
Woman In Chains Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton