Short Feminism Poems
Short Feminism Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Feminism by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Feminism by length and keyword.
hen party
walk of shame
your worth in eggs
***
Keep not her voice—
Let. It. Echo. Free.
Watch her unfold—
Oh, how GREAT she will be.
She will rise to the top—
Shining, smiling, and full of glee.
The egg and I
In traction
Feminism is a rubber chicken
Oiling my feathers
Sounds like role play
07/10/2019
Collaboration Of Your Titles Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
Ilchee, the "Moon Girl".
She paddled her own canoe ~
Bronze gaze, heart of steel.
Featured: Poetry Soup homepage. Week of 12/10/23
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Colonialism,
Neo-colonialism.
Independence,
Donor dependence.
Westernization,
Modernization.
Feminism,
Gender equality.
Gay rights,
Human rights.
Murder,
Abortion.
Nothing has changed,
Except for the words.
Form:
“A fight of voice exceeds one of fists.”
Bludgeoned, broken, cast away,
Time devours, your name decay,
Ascend beyond the gilded throne,
Unsung, unrested, still overthrown.
Happy Women's History Month!
Never call a woman a wh-re. It may be insulting to wh-res. p.s. ladies, so-called, no need to worry about the dan-man. With many of ya'll I make sure to keep my hands to myself. With some contemporary attitudes it is a lot more interesting anyway.
Jinxed out
was the sex panel
on the honour’s integrity.
Deep water a fish
was found dead.
The destination
of your rival was
feminism. I was talking
of the moon
without gender.
Your fingers were probing
the dancing words,
in this strange event.
Darkness was falling
on my lips in morning.
Satish Verma
I like being a woman in a men s world.
The world think that.
the woman is weak and wan,
with no strength.
What an illogic logic,
it seems like it is a creep and cheap world.
How would they know that,
how it fells being bleeding five days every month
and still, they think
we have no strength.......
Your screams have been heard. Attention drawn
From all corners of earth. But like the parable of
Christ, it falls on rocky ground. Growth grounded.
The envisaged
Struggle,
Dissent,
All - risible.
Wait for sunlight if the moon doesn't
Provide enough light to see your path.
The sisyphean path of forlorn hassle.
Your seed
Of protest
Will end on
Rocky path.
Forget being an anarchist
Forget being a feminist
Forget being anti racist
Her body is swaying to the sound of music
A man holds her waist and they dance
His fingers go lower
She swats them away
She walks outside
He finds a new target
A drunk woman kisses her
She pushes her away
She puts her hands in her afro and says
“you are the most beautiful Black girl I have seen”
Shot in cold blood
Left to die
All for righteous feminism.
I’m the beast
Keep me at bay
Destroy my masculinity.
Soon I’ll be empty
A female clone
With male parts.
You’ll be sorry
If you aren’t already
Waiting for your Heroes.
I’ve been bled out
A husk
A blithering idiot.
You have your rights
Expensive price
You lost us.
Happy now?
[A necessary thought.]
She Does Not Chase Light
She does not chase light.
She is the myth
the men forgot to write.
The goddess of the long, slow burn —
hips like prophecy,
voice like a key dropped in honey.
She doesn’t beg for warmth.
She remembers the fire.
She is not the muse.
She is the mouth
from which the muses learned.
She does not chase light —
she waits
for it to ask her name.
Woman is a hole,
Soft with spongey walls,
Press the button, make her howl,
Crash through her virgin halls.
A newborn baby, little girl,
Fresh kitchen rag to store,
Waiting ignorant of the day,
When she too will be soiled.
Decades later, kitchen rags,
Sit discarded in a bin,
A loony bin for hags to talk,
And squeeze out salty drips.
Streaming semen pulling tears,
Out of ragged women,
In a circle all but holes,
Men uninvited saunter in.
My woman is
a sad French painting,
feeling.
A chardonnay and cheap red wine,
contradictory, yet refined.
My woman glitters like the chandelier of
an old world building, clear and bright.
Graceful, sensitive, secretive,
forgiving of much too much and
vengeful all the like.
Wild,
ever wild,
adventures à la mode.
Waxed in all the right places,
with hair I like to pull.
Sexy, sure of herself and confident.
Cheers to you, the other half of me
I am sure to never
find.