Best Ladylike Poems
You think this is quaint, a case of the blues
A handkerchief for a dainty cheek
But I want to howl, I want to shriek
I want to tear the world in two
As you safely stand
In your well-dressed land
Handing out ornate soliloquies
Like pennies
yet neglecting to understand
The poverty of agony
While my dark demeanor
is dismissed
I will burn buildings
If you insist
On painting glitter
over rage
On labeling my pain
a phase
An inconvenient rite, a blight
On your ladylike
well-mannered path
My wrists bleeding
As you correct my math
My words are not petty, not obscene
I am not a robot, not a machine
To defuse, deprogram or debug
Or merely lock away and shrug
In your placid belief
that compliance is peace
What is prison for
If not release?
When I am tumbling through
Unstable skies
And need a roof
To calm my eyes
Bring me more than
A structured reply
Just sit with me
And ask me why
6/24/22
Often at midnight, she jumps on my bed;
she comes to me then on her four small feet.
How softly on my blankets she does tread.
So beautiful is she - genteel and sweet;
she reaches out her paw - her way to greet.
It soothes my spirit to be petting her,
for dulcet is her lullabye - her purr!
This green-eyed feline beauty is all mine.
Like black and silken midnight is her fur.
So ladylike is my cat valentine.
Oct. 10, 2020
For the Dizain Poetry Contest of Emile Pinet
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
Our Mother, in a fit of Pique
At Susie's antics with her Beak
Said, "Right my girl"
And in a whirl
Grounded Susie for a Week
Resenting her fate, in bed
Rebellion sparked inside her head
When all were asleep
She'd dress and creep
Though the window and escape instead
A branch near her window hung
Which to its foliage she clung
The branch was weak
And with a shriek
She fell into a pile of Dung
The house woke up only to find
Poor Susie in a dreadful Bind
She looked quite a mess
In her state of distress
That our Mother went out of her mind
"A School for young Ladies, I'll choose"
One, her wildness, I hope will defuse
And instil, at a pace,
Deportment and Grace
To refine the coarse ways of our Suz'
Packed off to be 'Finished' she went
Determined to never repent
Despite all opinions
It's just like 'St Trinians'
And for Susie, was quite an event
Susie boarded at ‘Saint Eloise’
It was there she got covered in fleas
Once she dived in a ditch
To be rid of that itch
Oh, you should see the state of her knees!
When in the first deportment class
Poor Susie fell straight on her ‘ass’
When she exposed her behind
The other girls were unkind
So Susie began passing gas
They had to open the windows and doors
Crawl about and move on all fours
To get rid of the smell
That came straight from hell
Staff told ‘Susie’ no more encores!
Her Classmates all thought it a Hoot
When she lit the gas that she'd shoot
She then vented a Storm
That Blew up her Dorm
Which got our poor Susie the Boot
She believed she should never have gone
From the ones she depended upon
With her Mission, complete
(And a Cork placed, discreet)
Susie's Home where she'll always belong.
20th January 2016
Collaboration J Allison and R Bettridge
Oh I thank heavens they're all gone now
My perfect holiday dinner, yet somehow
I managed to shut my mouth ever tight
When all hell broke loose Christmas night!
"This turkey is tough," I heard them all say
It's important I smile in a ladylike way
"Oh and did you hear that our Laura is gay
and Bonnie announced she's pregnant today!"
"Bill's running around on wife number three
he marries for money but none does he see!"
The kids they keep tossing their toys at the door
and their mother just sits, pretends to ignore.
Like I said they're all gone and I'm grateful indeed
Should you choose to host Christmas beware take heed
You'll not be appreciated not even an ounce
and all the freeloaders upon you will pounce...
But this is my last holiday greeting to host
Of this I am sure and most anxious to boast...
NOW STOP! Who is that? knocking on my door?
No you can't come in! You're placed on ignore!
open up let us in.....
you must be crazy...
get thehelloutta here.....
6/19/15
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!)
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
I fondly recall the innocent days of my childhood,
playing hide and seek among the backyard boxwood,
and life as I knew it then was sweet and good.
Country life was always fun.
I treasured Christmas tree lights glowing in the dark,
family gatherings each summer in Audubon Park.
In my younger years I was as carefree as a lark,
enjoying days in the sun.
With my little sister beside me we made mud pies
and didn't see anything wrong with little white lies
or that dancing like ballerinas in the rain wasn't wise
until our pirouettes were done.
I enjoyed having an allowance that I could spend
and sharing whispered secrets with my best friend,
wishing our playing time outside would never end.
How I loved to run!
In sweet memories I recall swimming in the lake,
helping Mom in the kitchen when she would bake,
and eating more icing than I had put on the cake.
Having fights with a water gun.
How wonderful were my days spent as a child,
Dad called me a tomboy because I was a bit wild.
I was happy and content with life, always beguiled
with everything I'd done.
My braided pigtails were yanked by a silly boy in school.
He giggled like an idiot thinking he was so cool,
til I fought back with a fist and called him a 'stupid fool.'
That battle I had won.
If memory serves me well, I remember not liking boys.
Always wanting their way and making too much noise.
I preferred playing house with many of my stuffed toys.
Boys were creatures to shun.
I was very competitive and wanted to win every race,
and didn't care much in those days about ladylike grace.
I recall being angry with myself for falling flat on my face
and not talking to anyone.
I've photos of me since I was born and it's plain to see
that my childhood was a very delightful time for me.
With a loving family like mine, I grew up quite esprit.
I love them all, a ton!
October 8, 2022 - A Constance La France Contest
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - "T" Forms Poetry
They rode the bus with me today
From our town to the big city
she, so dainty, hands crossed, old hands.
Ankles crossed ever so slightly,
so very ladylike.
He had his arm aorund her,
Protecting her from the cold window
when the train went to and fro too.
She would look at him
with such love and trust.
He loves her too, ever so much.
How many years they have been together
he seemed to say.
With the good years and the bad
we have each other still.
Yes she said to him,
Rosa and Klause rode the bus with me today.
i am my mother's daughter
a little bit flighty
kind of a tomboy
feminine and ladylike
when you want to be
counting on my hand
the times i saw you in a dress
or put blush on your cheeks
and reddened your lips
or caught you at your very best
i must confess
i like you better laid back
in comfort
in a t-shirt and jeans
and the way you're always
happy and laughing
at the funny life you've seen
or the way you smell
of double mint
old gold cigarettes
jovan white musk
puts me in a nostalgic
angelic spell
and how we started out rough
but stood strong and gruff
because old mule skinnin'
grandpa jean
built you tough and
gave you a streak of mean
and you with little kylie marie
brings pools of old
thought forgotten memories
of you and me
in a little wagon red
telling me stories
before time of bed
tugging loose your hairs
of grey mixed with
blonde and brown
that grew on your head
when your hair was still long
and mother lets
always keep with us
the hurts and sorrows
you made me discuss
after school,
when i cried and weeped
long sobs hard and deep
but you always gave me hugs
that helped my carry on
even when i knew
i did not belong
put myself together
when i was a mess inside
wipe my tears away when i cried
all the times i fell down
you picked me up
you brushed me off
dragged me to a safe place
no matter what kind of disgrace
i've brought upon you
you've tested true
showed me the good things i can do
thank you mom for the life you gave me
fought with me and for me
the way that you raised me
and made me
accepted my quirks
and how in so many ways
we are alike and different
but more the same
i am your daughter
and proud and glad it's true
a little flighty
with a tomboy's grace
pretty green eyes
and heart to match my face
soft feelings i can hide
with my tough irish pride
all i can do is say thanks
for doing all and everything it takes
to make me just like you
i am my mother's daughter
so proud and glad it's true!
love you momma
cheer up, this too shall pass
your daughter,
jenny lynn
Super grandma girl, in her long green cape,
took a quick ride on a golden grape;
she slipped, greased lightning like, over the floor,
gunned her girl motor and flew out the door.
A piercing scream out on the front lawn . . .
a grandchild in trouble???? No time for a yawn.
Like all super heroes she was there in a flash,
with a dash and a clash and a ladylike smash.
Her darling was bloodied,
pink ruffled dress muddied,
(the one she had just worn to church).
She had taken a lurch and fell from her perch
way up high in the old apple tree,
a place she was not meant to be.
Only grannie superheroes can give healing kisses
to cute little, sweet little, bad little misses,
but that is exactly what grandma's will do--
grab you up quick with loud hullabaloos,
and before you know it, you're better! It's true!
Just because super grandma really loves you.
But--one thing all grand kids need to remember:
grandma will love you the year through--to December!
You don't have to be bad and fall from a tree
to get super kisses from super old me.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, August 3, 2014
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
14TH January 2016
There was a time, not that long ago that was sad,
A time when a woman's purpose was to please men;
Since childhood taught to dress a certain girly way,
To be ladylike in manners with perfect make-up.
Obeying ruling fathers and superior brothers,
Conceited boyfriends and domineering husbands.
They were taught to be cooks and clean and do laundry,
To have children well dressed and obedient to father;
Perfect bodies and perfect hair no matter what,
Columnists advised them on affairs of the heart.
And how to keep your man and other junk,
They read romance about men tall and dark.
Then World War II happened and women went to work,
Working in factories and offices and so much more;
Jobs once filled by their men and they liked it a lot,
And they still managed to do the cooking and housework.
When the war ended, women never went back,
They were equal to men and the rest is history.
___________________________________
June 23, 2015
Verse
For the contest, Patriarchy, sponsor, Thomas Martin
First Place
In youth I learned to jump
First off steps, then rooftops
Spirit of adventure
Nurtured in the heart of a child
Preschool acrobat twirling on my head
Grandma swatted my bottom
Repeated words like Tomboy
Never learned to be ladylike
Catholic school discipline
Uniforms, religion classes, daily mass
Never satisfied with any accomplishment
Even the nuns called me “perfectionist”
Blessed with storytellers in my family
Dad and sis would send me to dreamland
On the wings of a unicorn
Or Shakespeare’s amazing plays
Family and friends I hold dear
Each has influenced my thinking
I learned to offer support in troubled times
And to thank God every day for special people
Unable to have children
The most crushing blow
Accepted at a young age
But rued for a lifetime
Lover of Jack London, John Steinbeck
From Jack, I found adventure
From John, I learned compassion
Dickinson’s poetry touched my heart
If I can find a way
To make a friend feel joy
Then this is my mission
Comforter, nurturer
November 16, 2020
For Silent One’s “It's a part of me - Life and the perceptions and philosophies you hold Poetry Contest.”
I still have faint memories of the day
When in our small living room I did play
A toddler of three, spinning on my head
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?
Acrobatic talent was freely shown
But I was wearing a dress; grandma moaned
Swatted me, “Act like a lady,” she said
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?
My mother smiled, took a different approach
The acrobat skills she did not reproach
“You may take lessons,” to classes she led
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?
‘Cause mom insisted I take ballet, too
And just the very thought made me feel blue
Dancing on toes caused foot soreness widespread
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?
Eight years of lessons, but ne’er ladylike
Gracefulness failed to emerge from this tyke
To this day, I’d rather spin on my head
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?
*For Paula's Baby Boo's Shoes Contest
(What Susie Did)
My sister Susie loved picking her nose
To her chagrin her little finger froze
It was stuck so far
Doc used a crowbar
Finger up nose - not a ladylike pose!
Our Mother, in a fit of Pique
At Susie's antics with her Beak
Said, "Right my girl"
And in a whirl
Grounded Susie for a Week
Resenting her fate, in bed
Rebellion sparked inside her head
When all were asleep
She'd dress and creep
Though the window and escape instead
A branch near her window hung
Which to its foliage she clung
The branch was weak
And with a shriek
She fell into a pile of Dung
The house woke up only to find
Poor Susie in a dreadful Bind
She looked quite a mess
In her state of distress
That our Mother went out of her mind
"A School for young Ladies, I'll choose"
One, her wildness, I hope will defuse
And instil, at a pace,
Deportment and Grace
To refine the coarse ways of our Suz'
Packed off to be 'Finished' she went
Determined to never repent
Despite all opinions
It's just like 'St Trinians'
And for Susie, was quite an event
Susie boarded at ‘Saint Eloise’
It was there she got covered in fleas
Once she dived in a ditch
To be rid of that itch
Oh, you should see the state of her knees!
When in the first deportment class
Poor Susie fell straight on her ‘ass’
When she exposed her behind
The other girls were unkind
So Susie began passing gas
They had to open the windows and doors
Crawl about and move on all fours
To get rid of the smell
That came straight from hell
Staff told ‘Susie’ no more encores!
Her Classmates all thought it a Hoot
When she lit the gas that she'd shoot
She then vented a Storm
That Blew up her Dorm
Which got our poor Susie the Boot
She believed she should never have gone
From the ones she depended upon
With her Mission, complete
(And a Cork placed, discreet)
Susie's Home where she'll always belong.
(Collaboration with Jan Allison)
My ladylike mother, raising a blue-jeans daughter
No dresses for my back-to-school shopping-
After school shortcut with Amy, my friend
Grassy flowered path, trees and birds
For my autumn birthday, I give myself
the new Black Stallion book from the library
So eager to take it home, fall into the pages
Still, at the final bell, I wait for Amy
Best friends are supposed to wait...
But minutes lag as the yard empties
I am alone, as I leave
Our shortcut is deserted, silent
The birds do not sing today
A footstep crunches behind, then
A stranger, tall to my short self
His junior high days long over,
With a sour smell, a greasy smile
Immobilized, I feel my pulse beat
In my throat, clutching my Black Stallion book
"Hey, what's your name, baby?," he slurs
With drunken breath and crawling eyes,
Then his arm slides around my
almost-fourteen-year old waist, and his foul stink
Whispers in my ear, "Oh baby, what a body"
I don't think, don't plan
I just run
But he is there, pushing me down as his hands
grope my almost-fourteen-year-old breasts
From somewhere deep rises rage-
HIT HIM! HIT HIM! in giant flashing red letters
My fists, smashing into his arm, my voice, unlocked,
"Go away, GO!"
And he does suddenly go; my saving grace,
Being unladylike-
When I make it home, on shaking legs, my mother
scolds me for the tears in the knees of my new bluejeans
Which cost so much money! I say nothing
And my Black Stallion book is gone.
The next day, from school, I take the long way
The concrete streets of populated protection
I can't tell Amy why I won't take our shortcut
I can't tell even my own mother
So she finds other friends to walk home with
When the book comes overdue, the librarian chastises me
For my lack of caregiving and responsibility
I swallow salty-hot tears, and borrow money
To pay the fine, for I can not return
what is lost.
9/23/18