Femme Poems - Poems about Femme

His mind was made up Opinion unchangeable Irreversibly fixed Until he met a femme fatale With wily tricks He came around as easy as fiddle sticks...

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The trumpet cries beneath the neon glow, a golden wail that haunts the hollow night. The bass line walks where lonely spirits go, its heartbeat steady, low and laced with bite. Her voice is velvet, dipped in smoke and sin, a lullaby for hearts too torn to mend. She sings of love, of loss, of what has been, each note a ghost...

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she enters with a sly smile red lips curling like the edge of a blade she is the kind of woman you can't refuse even as you sense she will undo you her words weave like smoke soft and shifting they draw you close until you lose sight of the snare her face changes like the tide one moment familiar the next a stranger you...

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I'm not an 'ingénue' anymore - that’s been vitiated. I'm not innocent, pure, naive or vulnerable - which are technically, 'ingénue' requirements (I don’t make the rules). That being said, if no one has an objection, in terms of narrative trajectory, I'd like to be considered a 'fémme fatale' until further notice. . . Songs for this: HEATED by Beyoncé Hysterical Us by Magdalena Bay ...

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Ode à Une Femme Sauvage The sun drank the water From the leaves below the flower While the moon tore the flesh From the roots that made that day But living past the dream From the slit of eyes did gleam The bloom called the barren queen Now her prize did give away In the stall of pig and mire In the nightmare...

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I leave the auction sick, my mettle frayed A ghost, I fear, in oil clutched near my side No doubt, a ghost for which I've dearly paid! How best to next proceed, I must decide The painting I have bought portrays a man laid out upon a bed as if he sleeps A woman stands beside the low divan Offhand, I'd guess...

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The phone's ringin', gettin' louder and louder, As it gets closer to her ear. She rolls over, tryna clear the haze, And sees a name she ain't too clear. "Femme Fatale," it says, and she's confused, Wondering who this person could be. A text comes through from the same unknown, Saying "agoraphobiac" in a message with a pic of her, but she...

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Femme, dans mon calendrier Chaque jour est ta journée Tu es mon âme, mon pilier Je te chéris tous les jours Et je t'aime, mon amour. Femme, ma chérie, ma beauté Tu m'épates toute la journée Tu occupes le centre de ma vie Tu es ma princesse, m'amie Tu es ma reine, mon envie. Femme, cœur de mon âme L'étoile de mon ciel et de ma...

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Agony of a broken heart When will it ever mend? Arrow shot a deadly dart Blindsided I did not defend. Betrayal was unexpected Wonder, did I do wrong? Sadly, he became infected To female singing siren song. Some broken hearts never mend Poetry Contest Sponsored by Faraz Ajmal 25/02/2022...

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In my bejeweled night sky gleaming seamless, you glitter like the glowing full moon, I soar in stardust on the wings of yearning to get suffused with your sapphire hue. In the rhythmic rhapsody of enticing wind, the feathers of my fervent longing flutter enthralled by the moonbeam of passion within your halcyon halo mesmeric. You make within my heart’s firmament a turquoise...

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A black widow spider spins a silk thread into a near-transparent dream catcher; filling her with joy and her meals with dread. A very cunning, deadly flycatcher ready to pounce and mummify her food; she lies in wait like a body snatcher. Any damaged web gets quickly renewed with her sticky silk, resetting her trap; so struggling insects remain firmly glued. She secures victims...

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I found my soul a mile away from where I left it last, it lay in shreds on a bed of thorns to where it had been cast. And no amount of golden thread could fashion it back together, so, soul-less I must wander now these barren lands forever. Along with it you took my heart and cast this...

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[Paraphrase-translation of the song from Lady Snowblood.] Bright dusk buried in snow Only the sound of a baying hound And my wooden geta break the silence I stride with the weight of Heaven on my mind I embrace these nights My paper umbrella is more than it seems I have walked this path of a woman's life But my tears will not again Damp...

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She wasn’t thinking about her time and tomorrow She broke out without a rendering word Nothing sat well or sits well within her In fact, she would rather pillow the past then paint a new picture She still couldn’t hear the sounds that she borrowed So she wept out a rhythm with words Anything would work if she knew how...

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The tempest kiss of seaweed miss. Her temper heard ~ his heart stirred. His ship astern and fast. The siren’s scorn lambaste; Blind youth’s reality is blurred. The satin hair of Whitney bright A pearlescent veil, the tide ~ Calm! Calm! It’s all a lie! ...

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