Long Femininity Poems
Long Femininity Poems. Below are the most popular long Femininity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Femininity poems by poem length and keyword.
The rain pelted around me and washed away my purity
Leaving me bared, exposed in my femininity
Now, instead of puzzling over my reclusion,
The whole world shall gape at my vulnerability!
Why, if only I could just die out of combustion
I would have saved myself from this ruination
Always had I been rapturously involved with faith
How am I to live when deprived from its elation!
But then, life forced itself into my breath
Pray, it said, love when true and pure is my strength
Meant it is, to be celebrated as a boon of mercy
Fight not, let the rain guide you into a most exalted rebirth!
3 July 2017
In riming realms
of crystal contemplations -
frozen water-vapor meditations
and chilled flutes
filled with zodiacal-light musings
of ancient cosmic dust
dancing in the arms of Sol..
windswept operatic reveries
rise and fall
as her stirring soprano
tickled by the chanting of icicle chimes
gathers momentum
in strengthening sprays
of frosted musical notes adrift in broken chords
she bestrides
a clouded steed colored mother-of-pearl
flowing with fury
within which beats a blustery heart
surging at jet stream speeds
on the clattering beat of hailstorm hooves
from streamer-skies of the northern dancers
they fly aloft
on arctic gales of lyrical laughter
igniting the imagination
of her freezing fire
burning now with a blistering whip
and a frostbite nip
that sinks its tingling teeth deep
sailing
a supernatural stage
amplifying—
her aerated soprano soars
in polar vortex arias
as an avalanche of glazed trinkets
—descendants of her fertile femininity
skydive
in shivering sixfold symmetry
falling
in fierce flights of fancy
as she cyclones on consecrated currents
with wild abandon
escalating
in twirling trills
of glass beaded squalls
swirling her iced eiderdown skirts aflare
baring tempest thighs
storming with a Siberian sting!
..and as her electric eyes spark
luminous with lightning
she buries you in a blizzard
of opalescent mistletoe berries
and wanton whims.
Love is a blank canvas, a phantasmagoric fantasy,
to pucker up with glossy lips, the subtle soft brush
against the opposite sex, with eye-shades drawn.
Love doesn’t know the body yet, still sizing it up.
It doesn’t know the femininity and masculinity of art.
O Leonardo…O Romeo…Ah Juliet…O Venus!
Love craves the parts that match up, some the same,
others staining the cheeks, straining and draining strength,
magnetic and quaking, erupting and earthshaking.
Love weakens knees, draws attention from the whiteboard,
sharpens the brilliance of the sun, dots the i’s with hearts,
Nearly breaks the blank canvas with its passionate volume.
This canvas sans focal point. Bubblegum pops, primroses
afloat with ribbons and strings, ponytail tugs, pastels and
honeysuckles. Swings way too high - the girl, the guy.
MARRIAGE OF DIAMOND AND GOLD
~ Scented honeysuckle heaves from her pillow ~
Her chest rises and falls, a strong and gentle ship
Her lips tinted pink with luscious femininity
Her laugh pulls joy from the the thunder of his heart
~ His strength, as the ship anchor, keeps his marriage grounded ~
He will lasso the universe, reshape the moon and stars for her
She holds his shoulders, looks into his eyes, certainty of blue
Their minds, like an intertwined road, meld, separate, and kiss again
~ Their rings clink together like champagne flutes ~
Diamonds and gold fizz, exuberant in their lives
Sensate flesh and size perfect, imperfect, paradise
His arms cloak her shoulders, a raiment of dreamy content
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Femininity - Anima
Sweet femininity was formed in Eve,
before thrown from the Garden for her sin;
engrained in souls by God, I do believe...
the essence of true womanhood within.
These female traits present themselves in me
through love, emotions, tenderness, and sense
of being led by creativity
in ways that show compassion deep, intense.
Imagination and perception stir
beyond the realm of mere creative art:
sense of aesthetics in all things occur;
a yin and yang of balance must take part.
Maternal instinct lodged within my soul,
the need to comfort with devoted care
my family, as well as to extol
with love, God's earthly creatures everywhere.
Romantic love of sweet and gentle kind
that speaks commitment and fidelity,
with friendship and relatedness combined;
these are the gifts of female traits in me.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Any Poem Written In April 2016
Sponsor: Laura Loo
Judged: 07/15/2016
Sandra M. Haight
~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Animus/Anima--Part 1: Anima
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
Judged: 05/17/2016
“You can’t make homes out of human beings.”
— Warsan Shire
Wishbone
He appraises me as though my bones
were fashioned for breaking,
two limbs diverging from a sacred centre,
his hunger already choosing
which half it intends to keep.
There is an unfeeling felony in such looking,
the way desire can undress a person
until even personhood becomes superfluous.
He makes an altar of my anatomy,
then calls appetite reverence.
He would tie me to his tongue
and still not know the aptitude of my name.
He mistook possession for intimacy,
lust for fractured divinity,
my body for some reliquary
he might prise apart for providence.
His eyes of penitence arrived too late.
Beneath fractured halos,
what hollow absolution resurrects
a woman reduced to portions:
mouth, waist, thighs,
the convenient mathematics of flesh?
He had already tested where I was weakest,
where the bone would give,
how much wanting could be mistaken
for tenderness before it became cruelty.
That was the anatomy of absence:
to be entirely present
inside a body someone else
had already erased me from.
I was no omen for his wanting,
no little bone upon which
he might wager a wish.
Yet he still broke me.
But he did not know what wishbones remember:
that they once belonged to wings,
that fracture is a hinge, not an ending,
that some things split
without surrendering themselves.
He expected two obedient halves,
a clean division,
something small enough to possess.
Instead, the fracture disclosed
what his hunger had failed to comprehend:
I had never belonged to the bone.
And if time turns,
will scars stain the sky?
Let them.
The larger fragment in his fist
never meant he won.
It was only proof
that possession leaves evidence.
He had to break a thing that flew
to believe it was his.
What makes an ordinary lady stand out
of the moving crowd walking too fast:
is her elegance, how she dresses;
how her unique attire effects others!
What you are after is not deception,
breaking somebody's heart is evil;
your intentions are simply noble
beyond any realistic perception:
you had yours broken and won't tell!
Femininity is the noblest virtue
that only a few women pursue,
what God assigned to a female
to do makes many turn pale!
A lustful woman who goes
on a wild chase knows
the desires of men that
have little or no restraint!
Yes, they know how to take
advantage of her, giving her
what she eagerly looks for;
not realizing her mistake!
I admire the femininity of a sweet woman
who's charmed by the smile of her man,
and in his strong arms she finds Heaven;
isn't her main role to stir up his passion?
How dare you spit upon his garb!
This peaceful bredda who by nature only loves,
When you should have been his Rasta queen
Your ghastly behaviour drew a scene
And I- woman just like you
Hang my head in shame
As you defile our name.
Selassie-I know seh di Rasta man took a deep breath
To honour his philosophy,
But like a lamb to the slaughter,
he was reduced
In front of the whole community.
He sought calm in his Rasta chant
Swallowed his pride,
Turned the next cheek, and with human dignity.
Yet that pouncing Jezebel
Delilah,
Demon picknie,
Shameless femininity
Minimized her king,
Cared nothing that he is masculine.
She is no empress
and certainly not a Ital-dawtah!
She mocked and cursed him
Bullied him and sullied his character.
Vilified him as the on-lookers magnified
Scorned, mistreated and humiliated.
But when upon each other their backs were turned
The fury in the lion roared
And in that moment, he went against his Rasta chant
And knocked her out flat on her face.
I won’t apologize for feeling appeased
For you are a disgrace to the female race!
I cry for the boys who just need to be left to be themselves
To play and explore, take risks and learn the hard way
With peers, and fathers and grandfathers
Getting the role models they need and deserve
From actual males and not the nurturing females
Who are now head of almost half of all households
And more than three quarters of all teachers and counselors
Females who all may mean well, but end up
Raising something that too often really isn’t a man.
I cry for the girls who just need to be left to be themselves
As tough as that can sometimes be
To slowly and steadily fill out
To become a woman whose whole is greater than her parts.
To celebrate and respect their femininity
Safe and secure to excel as females
Protected from males in sports and social spaces
To embrace being female, instead of copping out
To try and be a male, while ending up neither.
I cry for the children who just need to be left to be themselves
To play and explore and grow
For the few short years it is to be young
To keep their innocence as long as possible
And a child-like sense of wonder forever
Even if it remains hidden in private beneath a maturing face.
To be cherished and protected, nurtured and empowered
By the adults in their lives, and to know their elders
And the love that only comes from generations of experience.
(7/12/24)
Black woman, beautiful black amazon
I was once on a photographer's walk in Edgware. It's a nice part of London. Edgware is a pleasant memory of my life, as I lived there - Colindale - and was a photographer.
I like this place.
I have a nice memory.
I was walking there, in a cemetery. I was there to take photos and found a beautiful church.
Now I look back on the World Wide Web to see which one it was.
Moment. I search, I search.
St. Margaret's church.
This church is beautiful, the architecture is wonderful, a beautiful imagination coming from a great past into the present
Reality, eternal life
I was walking there, looking at this beautiful building, the cemetery that surrounded this building
I strolled, looking around
I was looking for the details and the necessary positions to take pictures
I was standing in front of the church entrance, there was mass inside, and a beautiful woman came out of the church through the door.
She was a black woman.
High goddess.
Her body was beautiful
His blue clothes stuck to her
As soon as he left the church, he immediately looked at me
Found
She dropped his coat
She asked me to take a photo
She gave me his phone for her request
It has a good picture
This woman will never forget me
Me neither she
As soon as she left the church and showed herself to me, I immediately felt tension
Yes, she saw that
This black woman was hot
She must have been fifty years old
Confused, I looked down at me
She saw this
She was looking at my pants
And she looked at me like a woman
I wish I could have my lives
She was perfect
Perfect personality
I wish I could kneel before her every night
Black femininity
I would kiss your feet and hands.
She was American
She came to the church from the USA for a celebration