Best Ladies Poems
He walked with her a good mile
and talked with increasing smile,
with wonder he sat,
for the gladness in her heart;
...spent her days with wild hope ---
that he was in her eldest dreams,
from the beginning smote her monsters
and eased her deepest fears...
Now he rode with her again on his great white steed,
'til the edge of some mystic dusk;
and turn they could though too darkling
the winnowed wood, and chasing with shadows
the misted nite path, and she finally bade him
and his hidden forest hideaway;
so quaint and annointed with its little beds,
and bruin skins 'ere the hearth
and lordly portraits above its mantel;
and he lit it alive with warmth,
and the moon had come swift through the garland window
And in her hand he thrust the dearest of wine,
with nectar lush for a goddess,
and dearer her heart for him more they dined;
yet he pressed no closer ---
and gazed delicately glancing her bosom,
remained mostly her lunar eyes...
and bade her a fine warm shawl ---
But the wine and fire...his eyes...
his eyes upon her though brief ---
stroked her where they fell,
and smiling she was longing his lips,
but caught her lust...
her heart! she could hear it drumming desperate
" I am almost too warm for your fine shawl..."
" Too warm? " said the lord ---
" no wine could simmer so, and the fireplace
too slight for such heat... your eyes undress me... "
And no nite they had ended...
nor any morning come betwixt them,
(but a kingdom of love in some forest green)
When asked to write Limericks about ladies
I said, "Oh, no. There's no way in Hades!"
Too many are my friends
I'd have to make amends
Not even for a brand new Mercedes
Then, I gave the matter a bit more thought
And chose women closest to my heart
The ones in Milton Creek
Five who are quite unique
All lovely women who are very smart
Jan holds ownership of the Manx Saloon
Where two lovely ladies sing a fine tune
It's where Milt played poker
But do not provoke her
Jan has been known to throw a mean spittoon!
Tania now runs the bakery in town
Her Whiskey Whoopie Pies are world renown
Come to Kitchin's Kitchen
She might let you pitch in
to help her make the best pastries around
Deb manages the Manx with extra care
No outlaws allowed, so you'd best beware
If you're packin' a gun
Or maybe on the run
She'll call the lawmen and they'll be right there
Two recently hired ladies fit right in
Caren tends bar, pouring jiggers of gin
Anne-Lise is the town flirt
Servin' drinks in ruffled skirt
Fine ladies, living at Aces with Lin
There's a few others at the Bordello
I hear one's sweet on a certain fellow
Maybe just a rumor
A tale told with humor
The Creek's calm enough to hear cows bellow
Residents will keep it free of all spats
No bad hombres who'll be wearin' black hats
More ladies will arrive
Our little town will thrive
Mayor Tom will have more to say 'bout that
My bladder behaves through the night
Each morning my flow is just right....
But throughout the day
There is hell to pay
It's bursting; I cross my legs tight
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Ladies and gentlemen please feel free to join in, send me your limericks by soup mail or in your comment as I will add them to the poem
In order to keep all my friends
I refrain from doing the bends
No trips to the loo
I hold in my poo
And strap on a pair of depends!
WRITTEN BY T S POETRY
10/10/19
Super Girl she had buns of steel
Clark wanted to make them a meal
He played them like a flute
Until she let out a toot
Then he couldn’t seal the deal!
Written by Richard Lamoureux
Half an hour since her last patter-pitter,
and she’s facing the next bladder-splitter.
If she runs or she leaps,
something critical seeps,
and you’d better stand back if she titters.
Written by Nina Parmenter
While driving I often need to pee
When bathrooms are miles away from me
I step harder on the gas
hoping my urge will soon pass
While speeding towards the nearest tree
When out golfing and ready to tee
I sometimes feel a strong urge to pee
with no bathrooms near by
I throw my golf club high
while I run to find the nearest tree
written by Tania Kitchin
From dawn till two I’m on that loo
Black lace ‘n silk won’t see me through
Need porous panties
Huge knicks; no scanties
In need of help ~ what should I do?
Written by Ann Gilmor
When I go out I hate to drink too much
Because I'll have to go potty and such
On a day I don't care,
It's plastic underwear
Lace with thick liner, to catch water rush
Written By Alexis Y
Poet Destroyer is such a good friend...
On and off with chatting and e mails we send...
Each day I check for all the new entries..
Thanking all for comments that are always friendly..
Raising stakes each day by such talent shown..
Your site has helped, for this poet has grown...
So to my friend Wilma across the pond...
Our partnership in crime has formed a nice bond...
Until my Jersey Girl stops her sweet ways...
Poems shall continue to roll all of my days...
Poetic picture of PoetrySoup contest
News flash
Huge bash
Big fight
Last night
Clyde's Bar
Bizarre
War zone
Chairs thrown
Snouts poked
Gals choked
Eyes blacked
Ribs cracked
Hair snatched
Backs scratched
Throats slashed
Heads bashed
Tossed stools
Blood pools
Ears chewed
Tossed food
Knees kicked
Knives pricked
Low blows
Stomped toes
Dames sprawled
Cops called
Clyde's closed
Foreclosed
Its halloween my favorite time of year.
Grown women running around half naked.
Makes me wanna awake the spirt and grab a beer.
Boy i wish my last nurse dressed like that.
My recovery would have been so much fun.
Oh please miss witch cast a spell on me and turn
me into your loving puddie cat.
oh miss sexy police women ya can handcuff me.
I'll go commit a crime just to be guilty.
Yes it's this goblins favorite time of year.
Where women dress like naugthy little vixens.
And instead of candy I hand out cheap pickup lines
and beer.
Boy that chicks hot but wait.
Didint I just see her in the guys restroom.
Doing something standing up straight.
Hey man whatcha going as hell who cares.
Im more interested in what your hot
wife wears.
From a sexy school girl to a smokin french maid.
It's like going to the worlds biggest strip club.
No cover charge need be paid.
Who cares bout Freddy and Jason and other worn out
monsters from the eighties.
Cause all i got say it halloween ladies.
Know a nice fellow his name is Tim Smith
The rumour that he's female is truly a myth
He's hearty and strong
In Hollywood he belongs
To young ladies of the Soup he's surely a gift
© Jack Ellison 2015
Invisible ladies! You see them ev’rywhere,
In sensible raincoats and Margaret Thatcher hair.
Standing at bus-stops, watching the bus go by:
Waiting at crossings,
Letting the traffic splatter mud in their eyes …
Invisible ladies, all in their “middle years”.
Invisible ladies:
No hopes, but so many fears …
SO polite! So ladylike!
Just don’t mind us, don’t make a fuss … Wouldn’t be right …
But deep inside, there’s such a rage …
You’ll catch it too, this vanishing plague
Called MIDDLE AGE!
Invisible ladies … shopping bags all akimbo:
Moving like zombies, each in her private limbo.
Pushing a trolley at ASDA or Sainsbury:
Examining prices,
Searching for bargains – ever more desp’rately …
Invisible ladies, choosing the longest queue …
The one with the baby:
Babies, they’re visible to …
SO polite! So ladylike!
Just don’t mind us, don’t make a fuss … Wouldn’t be right …
But deep inside, there’s such a rage …
You’ll catch it too, this vanishing plague
Called MIDDLE AGE!
Invisible ladies! When somebody barges by,
Instead of complaining, they always apologise!
They oughta get angry, and maybe get pushy too:
Say, “HEY! Look AT me!
See, I’m a PERSON, really very like you!”
Invisible ladies, everyone knows one …
They live in our houses …
You probably call yours “MUM!”
(This is an anthem for all fifty-somethings - Chaps too!)
Today I write for the women, of the Poetry Soup.
Tuesday’s poem of the day was more like bigotry goop.
More hate was spit out by an imbecile’s rant.
I would love to shut your mouth, you’re just lucky I can’t.
Your words aren’t appreciated nor will they ever be.
You don’t speak like a real man a coward is what I see.
Why would you attack women? That’s just pathetic and weak.
Would your mother approve of the words that you speak?
You’re entitled to your opinion as I am to mine.
But bring your hate to this platform and I’ll speak up every time.
A woman gave you life and wiped your worthless rear.
Mothers do a lion’s share of the work, not you my dear.
You need to reboot and think before you boast.
You show your intelligence by the words that you post.
I’m sorry dear ladies you don’t deserve any more pain.
You have my love and respect, no matter what this fool claims.
Women of a certain age
Pour hearts out on the written page.
Tarnished by a tangled past
Now silence gained a voice at last.
Between raising kids and husbands too,
And survival, jobs, free moments few,
Recording life behind their eyes,
The chores got done and families thrived.
Beauty wanes, youth’s spark subsides,
But a women’s wisdom steadily abides.
She stares out from her quiet home,
May the drumbeats of her heart be known.
Her favorite pen is close at hand
The fiercest sword within the land
For the woman who lived the fullest life,
Tells truth of human joy and strife.
Beware they say, she’s old and wise
No longer concerned with outward guise
She’s just as likely to boldly slay us,
To cut us down,and coldly play us.
Unshackled now from mediocrity,
Beware the woman who's been set free.
So polite. Wearing gloves. And hats. Hair in Easter colors.
Church ladies; prissy, smiling, crackling in their perfumes.
Flowered dresses, sitting primly on the hard wooden pews,
Singing in loud overtones songs they have known for decades.
Smiling at the Easter bonnets, and the tiny white lace gloves
Worn only by them and the toddlers now, everyone else in
Blue jeans, plaids, regular street clothes,
Sunday best no longer applies
Still they come, in their lavender hair, wearing their Bibles
In sheaves and satchels, letting their slips hang a bit in back.
Not as lively as before, but still with sparks they throw the
Way of Old Bill, the only bachelor over eighty, the reason some still come.
Footsteps fade where sidewalks end,
stories told in weathered skin.
Cardboard kingdoms, borrowed ground,
a life unseen, without a sound.
The city hums, its lights embrace,
yet shadows slip between its grace.
Hands once held, now pockets bare,
eyes that search, but find no stare.
The wind knows names the world forgets,
whispers woven in regrets.
A resting place beneath the sky—
another night, still asking why.
I read their words and stand in awe
Poetic words that have no flaw
For an old sailor who has seen his day
These ladies still take my breath away
They write with passion and hearts of gold
And as they write, new worlds unfold
Their legacy will be carved in stone
Each has a style all their own
I read each word and dwell on each line
On a dreary day, they make the sun shine
I sit at my computer as another day closes
I feel like a thorn in a bouquet of roses.
Lovely
little ladies
in frocks of colors bright;
tulips swaying in gentle breeze,
delight
6/4/15
For Sara Kendrick's Cinquain contest