Femme Fatale Poems

Femme Fatale

For you I’ll paint them red, she said
my lips my toes my fingernails
yet know I will remain unwed
it is the fate of most females

Abandon All Grace Here

I wore my sins like velvet lace,
Then set your garden all ablaze.
I never once said I was kind--
I only promised not to mind.

The chandelier you loved? It fell.
I laughed and called it “doing well.”
Your rules were quaint, but far too tight--
I loosened them with fire and bite.

Abandon all grace here, my dear--
The wine is sharp,

If you meet the right Femme Fatale

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

Midnight Blues

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

Femme Fatale

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

ingenue

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

The Death of Merat

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

Femme Fatale

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

Femme Fatale

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

Femme Fatale

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

Femme Fatale

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

Femme Fatale

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

Flower of Carnage

[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

Femme Fatale Nonpareil

She enters the room, sipping blood red wine,
             Work of art, all competition fades, outshined,
            Well spoken yet vulnerable, designed to attract,
          

The Private Eye and the Femme Fatale

Through his door she wafts, all eye candy and cigarette smoke. Feigning fear and need with a promise of earthly delights in trade. He, standing strongly alone, listens attentively but always sees more than is shown. Seemingly he melts in her warm, feminine hands, to be molded into someone more useful but easily discarded. Each

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