Best Womanhood Poems
Forbidden as the fruit in the garden of Eden,
But is merciless as man's carnal desire.
Similarly ripe and succulent,
And provoking instantaneous salivation,
A desire to taste.
The oasis in a desert of heat and sand,
Quenching the instinctive thirst of man.
The bearer of fruit,
Giver of life,
The garden in which man plants his seed,
And grants the world mortality.
Once a symbol of purity and innocence,
The most beautiful of flowers in a field of many.
Harvesting of such a blossom does not result in decadence,
But instead marks fertility,
And the renewal of that virtue.
Dawning of all existence,
Fulfillment of all desires,
And the divine being of all creation,
Eternally unaware of the power it possesses.
R ita was deflowered
A gainst her will. Ravished. Her
P light, a torture, that
E nsued a trauma
I t is a degrading abomination to
S exual assault a women
A manifestation of madness. For
N o rational man shall intend this atrocity
I t is despicable and selfish to rape
N o to rape! It's our plea
D iscontinue sexual assault
I t is a foe of a happy womanhood
G uardians, and parents, do
N ot assault your wards and off springs
I t is an indignity to woman hood
T reat women with worthiness
Y earningly, we reiterate
T ime records myriad cases
O f sexual assault
W hen shall it go extinct?
O r die for eternity?
M any a women
A re with a trauma
N ote,
H ousing headaches and fear
O h, Alas!
O h! The pain, how
D espicable rape is!
Wisdom wild wavering wyrd, wonder of winsome ways
Ostentatiously opportunistic, Orpheus oneiric orchid,
Marvelously mystical mirth maker making man amaze
Ardently argumentative, and artistic accenter; avid
Nymph. Naturally nurturing nostalgic nidulation days
How do I praise the sweet excess in you, the grace
Oozing milk of kindness, compassion that bore me
Obdurate beauty more profound than the pretty face?
Dance dear dreamer devoid of drums drizzled memory.
A Monoku - To Embrace Womanhood
WHEREFORE, A girl’s womanhood should not be negated by today's women desires for power that manifests privileges not given by God.
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Verlena Sexton-Walker
07/30/2016
A girl just on the verge of puberty
Unaware of the pain her body could incur
Excited on a train with family
Smiling at the countryside
Cows grazing in sunlight
The train stops at their destination
Many getting off- bodies against each other pressed
From somewhere, a rough hand grabs her breast
Her eyes fill with bleeding tears of pain and consternation
Why did she deserve
To be groped by a stranger
Was her manner wrong?
She now walks with elbows crossed
Hiding her bruised womanhood
Written on:08/30/2016
Contest :'Challenge-Write One' by Broken Wings
Four Things
Four things in any land must dwell,
If it endures and prospers well:
One is manhood true and good;
One is noble womanhood;
One is child life, clean and bright;
And one an altar kept alight.
Epochs of womanhood
1 VIRGIN
With malar flushes,
Causelessly she blushes,
In solitude, to herself she smiles,
While walking, aimlessly she tarries.
With a startled look,
Whom does she seek?
2 YOUTH
Her blue eyes,
Reminiscent of skies,
Her golden hair seem,
Akin to a bright solar beam,
Her limbs tender,
Her waist slender.
Nature bares the Truth
Of full-blown-flower of Youth!
3 MOTHERHOOD
Her grown up face,
Bears a thoughtful grace.
Her warm bosom,
Awaits to welcome,
A wanted guest,
On her laps to rest,
Restless, though happy she seems,
As her heart broods fairy dreams.
Her speech sweeter from the lapse of years-
With a wife's love, and a mother's fears!
4 MENOPAUSE
Rapturous youth and tranquil prime,
Withered with a weird dream!
Her gray hair and lusterless skin,
Fading from her eyes a resplendent shine,
Her flabby shriveled breast,
She walks with waddling and antalgic gait.
Alas! It's dusk of her womanhood,
It's menopause! A hush in solitude!!
Dr.Hemant Vinze
How
would you
have explained,
the red small stain
which came from your girl.
Only thirteen; too young?
Either way hurry to her,
she will not understand; prepare.
Let her calm down and turn her around,
womanhood doesn't come easy; father.
The calendar is no longer a friend, its messages are clumsy
numbers working with the clock to drift her from men’s fantasy
that’s all she thinks of, life’s self acclaimed orphan
with a lonely heart, she curses every evening and bellows
everything romantic is now a sent agent of her torture
a kissing couple, the obsidian of her own eruption
others in her league, happily live beyond this need
matrimony is just one viola-type in the pancy garden of life
she values their strength coming from whom are her spoil-sports
but a dwelling is without walls, if not blessed with marital affection
age is marking her as late, for the time to reproduce
“I need a man” she screams it, this vacuum is inflatable
the edges of her circle come closer and are almost in contact
it’s time for the right person to be her hero and unbend her lines.
An Era races towards me
My age, likewise, advances to meet her
Womanhood!
An epoch is come to me
I am with child
The child of my beloved
My heart throbs in sheer delight
I am in the family way
Months sail hastily
Along with my protruding stomach
Motherhood is near!
Immeasurable maturation profoundly
transformed thy Shana Punim
within whose corporeal femininity
gravitas resonates and doth hum
whose unbelievable transition, now
follows the beat of her own drum
approximately four years ago,
thee second and youngest born
daughter didst squawk and crow
aforementioned fledging eagerly,
instinctively, and naturally clamoring ergo
summoning unbendable biological
propensity to grow
which, she recognized
to this papa, a regular Joe
who realized, he did not know,
the painful necessity Brexiting
"FAKE" moors whar
family cows did low
aforementioned hyperbolic fabrication,
albeit this poe
whit did cavalierly usurp license to show,
(within the third eye blind mind's)
pace of autonomy a father cannot slow
as call of the wild for kinder
(progeny) chomps at figurative bit lest...
regret (like this papa), she will
like an albatross around her neck,
thus our twittering youngest
offspring experienced beck,
and call (declaration) of independence
from being shielded
(more so sunken) within dreck,
an abysmal living situation
(with me and the missus),
whose own respective impetus
to get away from hen peck
king parents, which crimped,
cost, and castrated, or effect
similar stunted growth on mine
body, mind and spirit thereof
until ultimatums got hurled at me
extremely unpleasant twee
mend us vitriolic bile lashed out hee
ping loathsome spittle at this free
damned sole Harris son, who overstayed,
and wore out welcome Matt, now re
vile ling forsaken opportunities
forever leaving my mental, psychological
social, et cetera state to atrophy!
The story of every woman,
They are not all the same,
They vary as their faces are,
No one author can have all written down,
Given his length of days,
Hidden in their chambers are untold stories,
Stories to be told may be in the afterlife,
Womanhood is a journey none has foreknown,
A triathlon of vicissitudes,
Womanhood is a walk
saddled with daring responsibilities,
The mind of a woman is as tough as nails,
A shape in the words they
utter is a bulldozer pulling down obstructions,
Platitude for the day is the
saying, “Women are weaker vessels”,
They are weaker vessels that sculpt stronger vessels.
August 13, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 12 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
I'm a woman
Yes, an African woman
Who knows her wants
And respects her deeds
I'm taught to respect
But I also deserve respect
To maintain my essence
And be the best me
I'm a reason
For multiplication
No woman
No generation
I make meals
To make it real
If they think it's a deal
Then I do have a choice
I'm born and will reborn
It's a beautiful thing
It's not just a story
Its my glory
Call me a woman
An adorable woman
An African adorable woman
A super African adorable woman!
#I'mawoman
#Anadorablewoman
#happyinternationalwomen'sday
i will write haiku
so that my big feelings don’t
take up too much room
i know well enough
silence wields no rejection
so i stay silent.
the feminine urge
to scream like a wounded beast
but i just say no.
i am seventeen
my mere age is poetic
just like a haiku
to be six again
is what the sky hears when i
wish upon the stars
i sleep and i dream
so many things left unsaid.
in sleep, we made peace
solitude my friend,
would you tell me if I was
meant to be in love?
love me tenderly
i asked, instead you left me
tender like a bruise
you were the wrong one
to give all my love to but
maybe you need it.
oh give me guidance
what do i do with this heart
that just falls apart.
god, when did i start
writing poetry like this
about you again?
Cruelty wears a crown in a cloaked place,
cold-blooded grins behind mirrored faces.
Remorse walks the halls bartering tattle while I fracture.
They crowned me in shame, but
within a queen still rises.
They buried me in a fire of hell,
But like ash-gray smoke, I rise and swell.
I am the silence of the crown,
gone through ups and downs
stumbled in the dark multiple times
but my spirit still my heart and mind.
I am a teacher, a child, a guardian and a shadow behind my past.
But a strong woman who will still rise from the stillness of darkness.
Inside of me multiply like smoke and breathe:
into silence of forgiveness and hope.
Yes, still I rise, a whisper stitched in storm-
a sovereign spirit-fearless and warm.
The tortured self becomes the flame
not burned but lit beyond their shame
like the shimmering star, shining bright afar!
This is me, a version of being a woman in time and forever be!