Best Feminist Poems
Lucretia Mott
The meeker sex, she was not!
At the convention in Seneca Falls
Showed men aren't the only ones with balls!
1/26/19
For Educate Me with Humor contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
(for Virginia Woolf)
She wanted to buy some flowers but drowned Herself instead,
drifting along the ebbing flow of time, with warm
water cracking Her slim figure and airless lungs.
‘will I freeze the river?’ She thought, wondering if the trees
would still rustle in the wind if She wasn’t alive to notice it,
thinking if Her man’s heart would still beat if She could
no longer shock its rhythmical thump-thud-stop with kisses.
the wood was chopped down around Her home. The
veranda from which She surveyed the world was but
deafened by cruel hacking chopping and sawing at the
hands of men whom took Her feminine beauty away.
She became the water as She died, became the weeds,
became the bark that broke her own back, the pen and the phallus.
‘this isn’t purgatory’ She realised, ‘this is revenge and reward’.
‘I am a sacrifice to literature. I am a sacrifice for the word’.
from writer to death to glory to ink
to the lies under rocks uncovered,
to god to me to the taking of Her own life,
She is the paper in our very hands.
I am not responsible
for the ache that blooms in others
when I place my name
above their expectations.
I have spent lifetimes
softening my voice,
shrinking my needs,
turning myself into a bridge
everyone could cross
while I remained unseen.
No more.
I refuse to apologize
for setting boundaries
where I once offered blood.
I refuse to carry guilt
that was never mine to hold.
My choosing myself
is not cruelty—
it is survival.
It is the long-delayed breath
of a woman who learned
that love without self-respect
is only a slow disappearance.
If my growth unsettles you,
let it.
If my no feels heavy,
place it down—
it was never meant to live in my hands.
I am allowed
to protect my peace,
to bloom without permission,
to walk away from rooms
where my silence was preferred
over my truth.
I choose myself
not to wound the world,
but to finally heal
the woman I abandoned
for far too long.
And that—
that is not selfishness.
That is coming home.
We do not listen
or learn,
sing
or dance easily
when we do not feel safe
When we are not sure we can trust
the voices not speaking and listening
with us,
but speaking over us,
around us,
against us,
beyond us,
without apparently caring about us
Our Lose/Lose
through Win/Lose
neurosystemic imaginations
are triggered by toxic anxieties
Trauma anticipations
infilling vast lands
and oceans
of omnipresent win/win uncertainty,
win/lose insanity
Reinforced by capital investment
and patriarchal LeftBrain dominance
in our would-be deeply green
sacred GaiaFeminist
compassionate listening
learning dialogue
in-between cooperative thought
and compassionate feelings
Longing for healthier
safer
more resonant
and resilient
educational support systems
Engendering the robust trust
that builds
and maintains healthy democratic
nonviolent communication
for restoring EarthJustice
inside/outside classrooms.
everyone thinks yours is just another Eve story
the first woman
punished for desiring knowledge
and for disobedience
but people forget you were created by the gods
as a gift of revenge for men,
all beauty and mischief–
no, not ‘and’
but ‘therefore’:
it’s boring to be bait:
after a minimal amount of effort and imagination
to maximize god-given qualities
(the male sexual response being far from complex,
this was far from challenging)
what is there?
it’s not easy to be satisfied with attracting men
as a raison d’être–
so that’s why.
__
As a punishment for the possession of fire, Zeus ordered that a beautiful woman be made and given to mankind–she was named Pandora, ‘the gift of all’. Each of the gods had given her some quality that would prove ruinous to man. In one version, these ‘gifts’ were her incredible beauty, her goodness, and her youthful, shy, demeanour, which alone destroyed man for their power to distract and delight. In another version, the gods put the ‘gifts’ in a box and forbid her to open it.
He says –
“Your place is in the kitchen,”
I say –
“My place is wherever
my thoughts can reach.
No curtain will confine me,
no wall will surround me.
My words will become swords,
my steps will rewrite history.
I have learned –
to fight without fear,
to live without bowing down,
and to turn dreams into reality.
I am not just a woman,
I am a revolution –
that neither time can halt
nor society’s chains restrain.”
Anita Solanki
Can't tell us can't
For our immense pleasure of a broad recant
Cause we know we can walk on the ceiling
While we know just what is the feeling
As it may be a scare if too many are up there
As life squirms and men fall under exposing inferiority fears
No longer "king of the mountain" or "big dog on top"
We're moving upwards and we'll never stop
Our flock will sing on a mountain high
As small as it may be, we'll rejoice with a sigh
We'll claw our way up the ladder
While we know just what is the matter
Is it wrong for ladies to have ambition for the race
To ask for a raise and command praise
However so, we know the lovely birds will follow
For our life we never let a man swallow
By Susan Mills
(Inspired by all the Adams, but with special mention to Frank,
Dr. Ram, and Christopher)
For being a lazy head, see what you reap. . .
I came from your ribcage while you were asleep!
I’m second but best, and I’m looking fly,
so get with the program. Wise up, silly guy!
Don’t get all riled now that I’m not your type.
Have you seen a mirror? Talk about hype!
Go look in the stream then and see what I mean.
I’m needing a king because I am the queen!
You can’t lay down laws, for Eve is my name.
And as the First Lady, rule-breaking’s my game!
And neither to me does size matter a bit.
I’m after a man who has style and great wit!
Around here you won’t find a 7-11.
What did you think? That we’d gone to heaven?
Inside this here garden, with plenty to eat,
I’ll cook, but you catch it. . . And bring me a treat!
If being away from my voice is your wish,
then go to that stream there and catch me a fish.
I’ve already trained all the parrots to talk
to entertain me while you’re out on a walk!
Go be by yourself whenever you please.
I’m woman, and I’ve put the creatures at ease.
The mammals already have found me so grand,
I’ve got them all eating right out of my hand.
Because of my wisdom and my patient ways
I think we’ll be living here millions of days.
So don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.
And maybe we’ll even find “fun stuff” to do!
A doctor named Ram in a garden nearby
is looking for someone who digs a smart guy.
He says that he needs the “intellect’s touch”
I might just go there if you hassle me much!
And off somewhere else I heard of another
named Adam too. Could he be your brother?
I might like to check him out, though his Eve
has told me he fancies himself with a Steve!
And don’t think I’ll leave for your telling me to.
There’s only so much you can get me to do.
That snake tried to give me an apple. The fool.
I rarely eat fruit, but a roast sure sounds cool!
So gird up your loins and catch us a lion.
Then I’ll don my leaf apron and begin fryin’.
And just you remember, in sex’s sweet war,
The one with nice “melons” is surest to score!
For Deborah Guzzi's Eve in Eden Contest
& for P.D.Slam contest (thanks Deb and P.D!)
Bake sale for equality
Power to the people
But its true nullity
Its not for all people
"You've heard the complaints...
Now its really happening"
Equality with which you must reacquaint
The irony is saddening
One dollar for man
75¢ for a lady
Aren't we all human
We seem divided lately
Im not a feminist
But i hope you don't mind
Im a humanist
I believe in all of man kind
i am the wordsmith
son of the verbalist
my expressions flows
in clicks of my tongue
like the San of the sands
the only strange thing about me
is my cliks and twists are softer
and sincere
but fearless...
I am the very woman
who will live by her offspring
and voice her dreams
because she could care less
who shuns her because
even then, her skin and
state of beauty
still sets their tongues wagging
Call her strange but
she is the very woman
who would put her foot down
and swear in the eyes of the beast
that she has had enough
The very woman
who would live until the very end
so that she sees to it that
all she loves stays well
The very woman who would
halt the habit of a man
who solves his financial crisis
with the back of his hand
and resolves to the toxic green bottle
for refuge
The very woman who would
live seven lives just so that
her will gets done
She is the very woman
who measures her worth
by the count of heart beat
her essence
has its own calibration
greater than man
She is the very woman
who would be quick to get up
after greatly falling
and heal her bruises with time
then follow the sun
for her home is where it sets
That woman is me
you
her
them
caged in these little girls
waiting to be unleashed
so they could rule!
Come join the three for another cheap, meaningless day in their lives
They consider themselves to be hip, part of the same sex marriage, Burly the
husband, Flo and Mary the wives
Their day always starts at the breakfast table bashing the males that exist
They wish the males could be on the endangered species list
Sometimes things change among the three, as the estrogen level rises in Burly
Once a month, she wants to be a wife and act very girly
As for Mary and Flo, they think Oprah is hot
Burly thinks Rosie O'Donnell has the goodies she so much has sought
They sip their Busch Beer out of Nascar Coozies
There is no more room for anymore women within the circle of The Three
Floozies
From their point of view, all men should be women's slaves
Burly has a strong scent of Old Spice after shave
They love watching domineering women type movies
The popcorn is shared by all Three Floozies
They go out to only all girls clubs
They cheer on the under dogs, their favorite one is the Chicago Cubs
Their closets are full of clothes by Dickies
They leave each other love notes on little stickies
Mary likes champagne on a store brand soda budget
Flo likes Butterbeans with cumin to make them smell pungent
Burly likes Pickled Eggs and sardines
Burly's favorite movie line is In space no one can hear you scream
Flo's favorite movie line is Go ahead, make my day
Mary's favorite movie line is My name is Chucky, do you wanna play?
Burly dreams of one day wrestlin' steers
Mary is concerned that Burly one day will leave, that's her worst fear
Flo watches the WWE, she is such a loyal fan
Burly uses her forehead to smash empty beer cans
None of you are mothers, so on your peanut butter selection, quit being choosy
Mary, Flo and Burly are today's Three Floozies
Yuval Noah Harari
suggests that Nationalism's
Big Three Nemeses are fear of
nuclear holocaust,
degenerative climate trends,
and Business As Usual disruptions
of eco-politically salvific technology.
When I first read this list
of his global Three,
the one that stood out
at least for me,
to potentially
break through our tendency
to see through lenses
nationalistically
is Earth's great climate pathology.
Still,
all three are LeftBrain dominant,
StraightWhiteMale privileged,
Patriarchal-Capitalist nationalistic systems
of scientific reductive-rooted secularism
and defensive
extractive-infested
militarism.
Aside from a home habitat
in WholeEarth Crisis,
extinguishing all hope
of future peace health
is our cooperative multicultural wealth
regeneration,
our ability to distinguish
which of these three
is most transparently
exploitive and disempowering
our SunShine EcoSystem,
To dialogically determine
which is most polyculturally vulnerable
to inflaming
already repressive Patriarchal/Capitalism,
Which is most unenlightened
and monotheistically RightWing
StraightWhiteMale
LeftBrain dominant
May also be the unholy Fascist fascinated
demonizing ecowomanist healthy choice
and Earth as sacred Goddess
panentheistically denying,
Holy Nature/Spirit indigenous defying,
climatically degenerative Nationalism, yes,
but also, more fundamentally dualistic,
AnthroSupremacism
over ecofeminist healthy wealth
of fertile sacred Earth
Where monoculturing climate "change"
may become most easily defined
by Yanged out RightWing predation
fueled by a competitive economy
of hierarchical
from-above produced
and massively media marketed scarcity,
rather than from-within
ecological healthy robust wealth integrity.
Then again,
I could also see win/win opportunity
for health as wealthy polycultural activity
in co-immigrating away from global fear
of nuclear nationalistic hostility
Emigrating toward global polypathic thrival
post-secularizing revival
of sacredly uniting cooperativity
principles of Eartherapeutic Energy
as healthy integral international democracy,
NonViolent Communication fueled
by
and for
and with Whole
Holistic
Holy EarthTribal
win/win systemic
authentic
intricate
exquisite sacred global integrity.
Chloey was a concubine
By the time that she was nine
Gents who should have saved her
Said only she was mighty fine.
When Heard dared to question her partner,
men suited up in outraged armour.
Battling patriarchy,
this ‘feminist’ malarkey,
makes women prey and men the archer.
The cavern breathes.
Its walls slick with time, with damp, with secrets.
It has seen centuries of footsteps,
but tonight, it watches.
Above, the sky stretches wide—
galaxies shifting, burning,
too far, too indifferent
to witness what he has done.
She is beneath him.
Was beneath him.
Her breath stolen, her body cooling,
the fight long gone from her limbs.
He had taken what he wanted.
More than that.
Everything.
Now, only the cavern knows.
His hands, trembling now, touch the stone.
His chest heaves.
Guilt? Regret?
No—something deeper, something worse.
And then, he screams.
The sound rips through the cavern,
tearing against rock,
splitting the silence open
like a wound.
The walls tremble.
The ground shifts.
The cavern awakens.
For a breath, it grieves.
For a breath, it remembers her.
Then, it judges.
The air thickens.
The trembling stops.
His voice is taken,
flung into the void,
cast to the stars
never to return.
This is his punishment.
Not death.
Not solitude.
But silence.
The last tether to her,
severed.
Once, she pressed her palm to his chest.
Felt the hum of breath.
The warmth of skin.
The pulse of something real.
Now—nothing.
The cavern swallows the last echo.
Above, the universe turns on,
uncaring.
And the stars—
they do not grieve for him.
Reflection:
This poem is about justice—true, raw justice. The kind that human hands often fail to deliver. He took everything from her, stripping her of dignity, of breath, of life itself. But the world, the universe, does not punish men like him. They walk free, justified by excuses, shielded by silence.
But the cavern does not forget. It listens. It knows what he has done. And so, in a world where men take and walk away unscathed, the cavern becomes the reckoning. It takes the only thing left to take—his voice, his ability to be heard, his existence as something that matters. It does what the world refuses to do.
His punishment is not death. That would be too simple, too kind. Instead, he is erased, left in a silence that mirrors the silence he forced upon her. A silence that echoes forever, but never back to him.
And the stars? The universe? They do not grieve. Because this was never about them.
This is about her.