Long Woman Poems
Long Woman Poems. Below are the most popular long Woman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Woman poems by poem length and keyword.
This is a song for a man or a boy
It’s a song for a woman or girl
This is a song for the straight and the gay
It’s a song for the whole of the world
This is a song for the cheerful, the fearful
and those who must stand up and fight
This is a song for the brave and the bold
and for those who are forced to take flight
Tyrannical despots
marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek
To be conquering raiders
There’s no song… SO YOU CAN DO ONE!
The justice of peace
shall embolden our hearts
And we’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you
have no tune in their harps
So you'll just have to sing your own songs
This is a song for the black and the white
It’s a song for all shades in between
This is a song for the whole human race
And for you if you land and you're green
This is a song for the rich and the poor
Notwithstanding your hue or your tongue
This is a song for the peaceful at war
It’s a song for the old and the young
But this is a song to be sung with a smile on your face
A song to be sung anytime… to be sung anyplace
Where ‘Vive la difference’ puts the ‘human’ in the human race
And this song sings best when it’s sung with a smile on your face
Tyrannical despots
marauding invaders
Who see no wrong in what they’ve done
For those who would seek
to be conquering raiders
There’s no song… SO YOU CAN DO ONE!
The justice of peace
shall embolden our hearts
And we’ll face down your missiles and bombs
The angels for you
have no tune in their harps
SO, YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO SING YOUR OWN SONGS!
So, should you go forth with the dark in your heart
And your frown shows your mood to be black
Just sing for a while with a heartwarming smile
And you may find the world smiling back
For, this is a song to be sung with a smile on your face
A song to be sung anytime… to be sung anyplace
Where ‘Vive la difference’ puts the ‘human’ in the human race
And this song sings best when it’s sung with a smile on your face
Her instinct was to run
as fast as she could...
Her feet started to move,
Slowly at first, gradually faster,
But then she bumped into something
A wall,
layered with promises,
unfulfilled ones
one by one
she delved into them…
NUMBER ONE said,
“I will always love you”,
In little pieces it crumbled to the floor
NUMBER TWO had the words,
“Our love will last forever “,
Now scattered
NUMBER THREE echoed the words,
I would never hurt you,
a promise so fragile
NUMBER FOUR
“We’re in this together”,
totally distorted...
When she got to
layer NUMBER FIVE
a single tear
slipped from her eye
because there she saw
an image of who she was
Before his empty promises
And all she hoped for was
One last chance to be
“That woman again!!...
One last try
To fix the broken pieces
Before his footprints
Demolished everything
she was before him..
090620111350
Contest: Latest Poem On The Soup
4th Place
I woke up this morning
To quite a surprise
I had a 42 chest
And round shapely thighs
The hair on my face
Had been replaced
With voluptuous lips
And rosy red cheeks
Guess all the dreaming of women
That I always do
Went straight to my head
And changed a thing or two
I went to the mirror
As every man would
And thought to myself
That I look pretty good
So I searched my wife's closet
Found a little red dress
Nothing to fancy
But enough to impress
Off of the hanger
I pulled it down
Then headed out the door
For a night on the town
Dinning and dancing
In all the places I'd been
I break a few hearts
Cause I don't really like men
I tried to explain
That I woke up this way
Neither delusional nor crazy
And certainly not gay
I'm just thinking I think
Of women most all the time
It must have swirled in my head
Till my body fell into line
I'm not really sure
What I'm going to do
But enjoy being pretty
For a moment or two
Just when my wife
Was warming up to the idea
I woke up again
But this time back to a man
The one thing I learned
Out of all this craziness
Is I look good in red
So I'm keeping the dress
Writing with a blue pen
Want to write
but I don't know
What words to use
In describing brutality
I bleed with a deep pain
From a seen of wickedness
How can they
beat up my sister like dat
For no reason
They claim to be soldier
Of cos soldier of shame
Treating a mother
like a slave
I swear not to hate
But not with this
I glow in anger
As I write
Who is you that have a right
To dear touch a woman
Coward oh fool
Just becos you wear a kaki jacket
Makes you feel, superior
And above all other people
Oh fool of no sence
I wish I can beat you till coma
I wish you were never born
You do what ever evil that suite you
to the people
Blowing, kicking, flogging,
Above all jailing for no reason
I know the day
you where born
Was curse
And if you fail to change
You will die so curse
Here you see
is better you where not born.
Note
I saw my sister brutally beaten up, by soldier for nothing,
The brutality of police and army soldier in Africa got to stop.
That is the motive of this writing.
Form:
Once a free and energetic teenager from a good home with every reason to succeed, she was later offered promises of greater thrills but only given a long ride of deception and lies. Many years ago, Florence was a woman I once knew who lost her freedom.
I was a college student of 19 and worked parttime with a Drug Rehab Program. She was 52 when I met her but had lost the best years of her life before then. There were years of incarceration but that is not the primary freedom robber. She lost her freedom with that first experience with illegal drugs which led her to hard drugs and onto a never-ending path of destruction and captivity.
When I met her in 1969, heroin had taken everything from her except a broken down body willing and ready for anything looking like a remedy from the kingdom of heroin. She came into the program and kicked her addiction 'cold turkey' and soon after the withdrawals, she was sent hundreds of miles away to a more extended recovery program. The next months and years witnessed a great transformation of a woman once born free and full of smiles and laughter but later stripped and torn of peace and happiness.
She later became a mother and healing tonic to many young ladies bound as she had been for most of her life. Florence became the first of many with whom I was privileged to meet and give aid to their recovery. She was my first hands-on introduction to the hard-core street life of drug-infested America.
In the late '60s, with one eye I was witnessing the quest for civil and political freedoms, and with my other eye, I was deep in the trenches with people hungering and longing in a quest to be free from drug addiction. I learned my lessons well from the streets of Chicago.
03262019PoSoupContest, Freedom To Nothing To Something, Delilah Ventura
Star maker Woman made dreams for everyone for fun.
In her capable hands, they were a gloriously done.
Stars for health, peace, love, and fertility woes too.
She could create a star today for me and him and you.
Stars help the world be joyful, she explained to the masses.
They come in a variety of colors – they are perfect, none wearing glasses.
They have twenty-twenty vision and know exactly what to do
To create the best environment for your family and you.
It is not recommended that you put them out in plain sight.
If I were you I would place them in a dark corner, not light.
For they like to save their strength for when they are needed.
Starlight magic is delicate – already vetted and beaded.
I was not sure exactly what Star Maker Woman meant.
But I was determined to keep my star at a hundred percent.
So I followed her instructions from my head to my toes.
And the star she created has forever kept her sweet glows.
When I shake out my star for hope, she gives me hope.
She is ready and willing, and keeps me off all kinds of dope.
She warns me of trouble, and keeps me quite safe and true.
She is my best friend, and my muse, and I love her too.
I had a dream, and in that dream I stood
as if invisible and saw a thing
that made me shudder, for I understood
full well the horror I was witnessing.
I saw a woman brushing her long hair.
A man was creeping up on her, but I
could do nothing, for no one else was there.
I knew for sure she was about to die!
I could not see her face. I stood behind
this female and the man, who with a knife,
was creeping, creeping, and inside my mind
I screamed, "Poor woman, you will lose your life!"
I woke! Then later in that day I sat
to brush my hair and then came Deja Vu.
I was the woman of my dream, and at
that moment my horrific fate I knew!
If you remain here, I shall be your host.
At your own peril, close your eyes and dream.
Perhaps like me, you will end up a ghost.
I am the woman of the silent scream.
Written Oct. 5, 2018
For Tania Kitchin's Scary Or Spooky Poem Poetry Contest
it is one of those dinners
leaning in the doorway, she is working
to her, this is a simple one
spaghetti ala Carbonara
she explains it to me as she processes
pancetta is meat from pork belly
salt-cured in black pepper, other spices
made with egg, hard cheese
prefers to use the spaghetti noodles
altho other kinds of pasta are used
you may also use guanciale for pancetta
she fluctuates between Pecorino, Romano
for her hard cheese
before her, i also varied my cheeses
white and yellow American cheese
which soon disappeared in our marriage
leaning in the doorway
i am enthralled still as i watch her
years have only increased my ardor
and i do listen to her every word
upon the plate, it appears
garnishes with a grating of Parmigiano-Reggiano
topped with parsley
bread smothered in garlic, cheese liberally sprinkled
salad of spinach, kale, arugula, topped with
cherry tomatoes, black olives, her own dressing
sworn to silence about the dressing ingredients
at dinner, she explains the eggs
they feed the chickens marigolds to add yellow
the creamy is obtained by correctly emulsifying
eggs, cheese
using some of the water used for the pasta
i have heard every word
never taking my eyes off of her
now you may ask, hasn't she said this before
i will tell you, i heard every word
this is the woman
to whom i was reading poetry
on a park bench, a ritual in our lives
where love walked us to the aisle
praying Cupid would grant my wishes
unleash a quiver of arrows
suddenly streets were amok
full of beggars upon horses
she reached over and closed the book
then said, shut up and kiss me
my patience is at wit's end
love is mysterious in its ways
it is inside humor we share
over a plate of spaghetti ala Carbonara
outside the world dances in its din
the furnaces of stars churn away
and not once have the marigolds
at this table produced nostalgia
for my yellow American cheese
i have heard her every word
it has kept me on my toes
that life never presents her
at wit's end
3/5/19 Kismet
The man in the elevator farted,
The smell was like a rotten salmon fish,
He mocked everyone as the gas parted,
Since provoking our anger was his wish.
Alas, he stained his white pants with his mess,
He couldn't leave the smelly elevator,
Yet he needed a toilet to access,
He begged a shirt from a nearby waiter.
He refused because of his bad manners,
A woman gave him four menstrual pads,
That he used as a protective banner—
Like young children, he turned it to a fad.
Another kind woman gave him a skirt,
Had we not known, he would have claimed Scottish,
Still the skirt was stained with a little squirt,
We wish his foul manners he'll abolish.
Science and spirit,
Never separated,
Oppressive systems aside,
Divinity exists.
It used to be Twin Flames,
Once it was empath vs narcissist,
Tarot and deities,
Psychedelics as an exit.
Unsolicited esoteric knowledge,
Struggling to see straight,
A brain so active with no choice,
I chose this before I came.
Extreme choices while searching,
Deep in the polarity and duality of life,
Experiencing the opposites,
To one day experiencing humanity without shame.
Befriended Sikhs and Mormons,
Shamans and Catholics,
Hindu and Muslim,
Athiest and White washed Spirituality.
Religion was my chosen start,
Brief athiesm I encountered after,
Spirituality then all encompassing,
All rooted in control, what a catastrophe.
Twenties were the worst years,
Building foundations blindly,
Dying endlessly to learn the trade,
To hire myself again.
Embrace my physical vessel,
Use it to help not harm,
Face the darkness indoctrinated,
No longer excusing the choices made.
I hang with Jesus,
Also Odin and my passed loved ones,
Read Tarot and the Bible,
In the same reading.
Devil, human psyche really,
Experiencing light to the lack of early,
The wordly and most ethereal of myself,
Existence is provided when my soul I continue feeding.