Her Voice Poems | Examples
These Her Voice poems are examples of Voice poems about Her. These are the best examples of Voice Her poems written by international poets.
Yesterday, her words were stolen,
carried off by a world that would not see.
No ear to listen,
no place her voice could root,
a voice borrowed by shadows.
They took her courage,
the freedom to move unafraid,
to let her voice soar.
She spoke.
The world twisted her words
laughter shattering over her
like shards of glass.
She learned to watch their eyes,
to shield herself from sharpness,
from the ever-turning circle of judgment.
So she poured her truth into her pen…
it alone could carry it.
No hand could seize it;
her pen held her truth,
where reality breathed.
She is imperfect, simply a woman.
Yet she pardons those who hurt her,
and cherishes those who stayed,
however briefly.
Time passed and her pen became her fire
not simply refuge but a clarion call
rising bold unafraid completely hers.
Her words live on, unbound, indestructible…
bright as sunlight breaking glass.
I always looked at people doing wrong
And said I could never do that
But look at me now
I saw people lying and said
I could never do that
But look at me now
I saw people hurting themselves on purpose
And said I could never do that
But look at me now
I saw people fighting to get
Every day, and said
I could never do that. I love my life
But look at me now
But now I look at myself every day and wish I couldn't.
-GHD
.
i once did kiss
uh girl
fromg her neck
unto
hern
just peek
peak'd
and she
giggled
'til
down mine kiss'd
hern couldn't
see
lo
she
doezn't giggle
whilst her'z
scream'z
Heartbeat of my soul
Oh, simplicity come unto me
Flow through me that I may be enlightened
That life’s complexities be rendered helpless
Be not dismayed and be not in awe of me
For what I say I heard from you
For our souls are one
The voice I hear within is you
And all that would enlighten me
Like love, that touches every increment of our souls
For truth unescapable, we will all stand
Entranced by her beauty and completeness
For her it was a quiet act of rebellion
To the world it was just a girl dancing
The smile on her face magnetic
The way she swung her hips mesmerising
Her rhythm hypnotising
She was proud of herself for letting go
Of choosing her freedom
Instead of being trapped in a room full of her own demons
Instead of wallowing in her sadness
She danced in joy
Celebrating a part of herself She had hidden
She celebrated her blackness
She was the epitome of beauty
Not just her looks but her beauty within
To anyone who'd ever be so lucky
To witness her glory
Would be enchanted by her smile
The type that reaches her eyes
They way the sun danced on her skin
Sprinkling a glow so golden
Like a sunflower In the garden
This intimate act of self care
Was a moment so special
It will forever be embedded
In her head
The day she decided
This joy She would never forget
And as she danced away
She promised to not let regret
Keep her hostage in the past
But to soak up every moment if happiness
And to live in the present
after still I Rise by Maya Angelou
They said, "too loud, too wild, too much"—
so she learned to burn with a softer touch.
But thunder lived behind her face,
and silence wore her fiercest grace.
They carved her worth in smaller space,
then crowned it "grace" to know her place.
But she was made of deeper things—
not ribbons, rules, or borrowed wings.
She didn't rise to please their gaze,
or fit inside their staged displays.
The ground they gave was false, contrived—
so she rewrote it just to survive.
Now every step is storm and flame,
they whisper wild when they say her name.
But she's not theirs to dim or tame—
She rose. She roared. she burned the game.
~hira ~
They told her,
"Words are just air".
But air can bruise,
and silence can tear.
She learned to bleed in quiet tones,
Each syllable a crack in bones.
They carved her name in crooked lies,
They laughed when truth leaked from her eyes.
Words were chains that held her tight,
sweet on tongues, but edged with bite.
They dressed their hate in honeyed rhyme,
And jailed her voice in scripted time.
But one day,
she picked the pen.
and wrote not for "them"—
Each verse she wrote broke through the bars,
A language made of wounds and stars.
Now every word she dares to speak,
Is thunder rolling through the weak.
~hira~
In the debate between dubbing and subbing
I side with subs to savor the original
mellifluous French, Tamil, Korean, Italian...
Reading the subtitles assists the deaf
and hard of hearing although voiceovers
benefit the blind and vision impaired.
Historically dubbing was employed
by fascist governments to advance
the nationalist agenda. In our own time
the tendency to consider dubbers dumb
implies reading’s the indispensable skill.
My wife reads her mail while watching movies
so she prefers dubs. I admire her mastery
of two idioms simultaneously
but my limited bandwidth favors subs.
waiting for the train
a mother lifts
her anxious child
What are you afraid of
Look in their eyes
For now it's time
You've been soft for too long
Head on her knees
Arms wrapped around her legs
And just like a prisoner
For freedom she begs
For a moment they pray
The other she turns to prey
If she doesn't marry, she's faulty
For crimes she never did she's guilty
Each day every day she crumbles
Every step she takes she fumbles
Her lips are like sharp sword
But she's forced to never say a word
Taught to be humble, always calm
It's the way you live without any harm
But when they've lost all the humanity
Why are you afraid to do the same
When they've abused all their right
Why are you afraid to still fight
What do you have left to lose
Why do you fear
You can steal words, not ideas
You can steal moments, not feelings
If they do then let them
For they can steal bodies, not souls
His voice is buttery says a musician critic on TV
I have no idea what buttery means
She sings her butt off
This is also curious
If she turned around, I could see this
He can sing the phone book
Couldn’t we all?
If we wanted to.
If I did, someone would beg me to stop singing
No.
Everyone would beg me to stop singing
I am full of the world to come,
full of the world that has passed.
If I leak words
It is because of the language
that has ruined my mind.
My tongue is unstable
it will weave a truth within a lie,
in this way a fool may appear wise.
I met a woman once
who had the same disability as I.
she could only wrap a lie within a truth.
We drank well together,
but I could not love her,
there can only be one poet
in my past and future worlds.
What’s the reason to die, the wise know
In a thousand voices they confide to me
Their valued opinions, but I’m too slow
To capture the truth they can clearly see
One dies, two are born, and it doesn't matter
Who will they become, one may do
The same thing, another may do something better
Until the third comes to change the whole view
But these abstractions seem too grand for me
A new meaning cannot replace the old
I belong to my own, smaller reality
Where her paradise garden my love has grown
There I stay, listening closely to you
To the voice that I know so innately close
Realizing that death isn’t eternal, it too
Comes and goes, in the mess of its time resource
But aren’t we doing the same again?
Reiterating ourselves, we’re expelled
After the rest we are back somewhen
Hearing the voices we know so well.
Sour mouth breathes life into words like empty husks
Angry eyes beat the object of my obsession until he turns away
Asks, “If I'm ok?”
“I'm fine.”
leaning towards him as my eyes glare
bodies twisted in my mind
She has no hate in her eyes
I watch you move towards her
You can't see me through the hollow boundaries I've created
Angry eyes keep away any threat of getting hurt
Passing glimpses hold me together
Your eyes make the jagged edge go deeper
I feel ripped apart when you look away
So I can't be with you
I can't be without you
I don't know where to go
I'm sorry
My hellish love
I'm not angry with you
But at myself
For not being someone you love
Her voice
Was no longer a child's
How could it be?
Seventeen years had passed
Now it's a sultry message
On my answering machine
And I'm only a stranger
Who left her crying
By a white limousine
Holding a pink rose
Which was all we had left
Besides the memory