Strength Women Poems | Examples
These Strength Women poems are examples of Women poems about Strength. These are the best examples of Women Strength poems written by international poets.
event
shot put
spinning fast
the shot is put
strength
My God is good all the time, he sends me love when I am down.
My God is like the shinning sun, he warms my heart and makes me feel love all the time.
My God is everywhere like the air, he is moving around in every time.
My God I love you every day, you make my moments feel so much joy that it makes me smile all day.
My God is like magic, he calls me up in my dreams, I feel his presence all around, yet I do not see anyone.
My God is like a parent that watches us like we are children.
Making me think that this is trap or a test to see if we really belong to him.
My God made man from the dirt, and warned us that we will return to the dirt if he wants.
My God made women from the man, the man that each woman can depend, for love and strength and all of life’s ups and downs.
My God guides me through this life making me feel I am not alone.
Thanking God, today and always for all of life.
He says –
“Your place is in the kitchen,”
I say –
“My place is wherever
my thoughts can reach.
No curtain will confine me,
no wall will surround me.
My words will become swords,
my steps will rewrite history.
I have learned –
to fight without fear,
to live without bowing down,
and to turn dreams into reality.
I am not just a woman,
I am a revolution –
that neither time can halt
nor society’s chains restrain.”
Anita Solanki
She is a Muslim
you notice the way she dresses
a hijab wrapped with grace
her body a sacred space she guards.
Like the wind
she moves with quiet strength
dignity woven into every step
her faith not a burden, but a choice.
It is her right
to cover what she holds dear
her body, her soul
a temple shaped by devotion.
So in the interview room
see her mind, not just her veil.
In the office
respect the fabric of her belief.
powerful juno
roman queen of strong women
your song we still sing
as we escape twinned clutches
of crushing weeds to flower
she avoids crowds
too many feelings
chaos and dissention
She does better with positivity
Negativity takes her strength
Zaps her energy
Throws her into a terrified state
She does not frequent stadiums, carnivals or festivals
Waitresses stay and talk
Telling her their life stories
As her annoyed family shoots mean looks
Which the waitress usually does not notice
Strangers on the street love her attention
She tries to not make eye contact
Some follow her home
It is rare to find an empath and everyone wants one
She walks with caution, her gaze cast low,
In a world where danger lurks, where can she go?
Her body, a battlefield not of her design,
Her dreams shattered, her innocence confined.
Must she live her life in silent dread?
Is freedom a right, or a luxury instead?
Her soul cries out beneath the weight,
Of abuse, of fear, of a cruel fate.
Bruised but unbroken, she yearns to be free,
To live without fear, as human as he.
Not a shadow, not an object, not prey—
But a child with the right to her own way.
What will it take for the world to see,
The girl child as more than her misery?
She bleeds, she breathes, she dreams, she feels,
Her humanity silenced, her freedom appeals.
No, she is not a victim by choice,
She has strength, she has a voice.
Let her rise, let her soar, let her be,
For the girl child is human—just like you, just like me.
There was a girl named Clemency
who walked with me to college every morning.
Neither shy nor outspoken.
Her face was always concealed by a mask.
I have never seen her smile,
only heard her muffled voice,
soft and distant like a whisper,
lost in silence and sorrow.
She ran faster than the wind,
her footsteps echoing strength.
She could have been an athlete,
but she said, “A little fame is not enough."
One day, I asked about her mask.
She paused, between breath and thought,
her voice trembled, like a fallen leaf,
she removed the mask, and all I heard was, “Elder brother.”
I never saw Clemency again.
They said she had moved far away,
where no one would question the mask on her face.
Left in my letterbox was an old bottle of acid and a whip.
A tapestry of strength, a vibrant hue ,
On women's Day, our hearts sing true.
From dawn's soft blush to twilight's gleam,
A legacy of courage, a powerful dream.
For every hand that guides , and every voice that rings
For wisdom shared, and joy that springs.
Through trials faced, and battles won,
A spirit shines, like morning sun.
With every step, a path they pave,
For future blooms, the world to save.
So let's rise, with hearts ablaze,
And honor women, in countless ways.
For strength and grace, and boundless love ,
A gift bestowed , from realms above.
On women's Day, we celebrate,
The power within, that seals our fate.
I am vulnerable, confused, flawed, twisted
I am what I am.
I don’t want to cook,
don’t want to clean.
I don’t want to be
A wife or a mother.
I choose what I will not be.
I can wear a six yard
or a two piece
I can shun style
And chose comfort instead.
I decide to look how I feel.
I may soar, I may burrow,
I may sail smooth
Or dive deep with in
I steer my life as per my wish.
Do not give me names
nor assign roles,
do not set standards
and place me in boxes.
I am not a commodity.
You are not the creator.
We are but children of Nature
Unbound by roles,
Both wild and free.
Let us embrace isness
and create some harmony.
A mother's energy
cannot be created or destroyed,
only transformed or transferred;
always there in full,
meeting the challenges presented
to her at that time.
From her prenatal care-
then long nights without sleep;
attending to her family
at home those days past birth-
she balances those other chores
which also must be met.
She handles whatever comes
through all the changing stages
of her children's growth;
energy is transformed
meeting new challenges transferred-
from birth to adulthood.
Then in those years beyond,
often as a Grandma-
a strong mother's energy
continues on and on;
it cannot be created or destroyed-
only transformed or transferred.
For all those women who are alchemists. We take the Darkness and transmute it to the Light.
Women who are alchemists
By Michelle Morris
07/12/2024
May you be blessed to meet them
Those women who are alchemists
They take the Darkness from the planet
And transmute it to Light and Blessings
They've lived in the Dark Abyss and Hell
They've faced their own demons over and over again
They've battled demons for the multitudes
And risen like the phoenix from the ashes
They're Empaths and Earth Angels
They're Healers and Lightworkers
They help by shining their Lights brightly
Even when they're tired and weary
May you be Grateful to them
Their Love and Light and Grace
For the Hope and Faith they inspire
To the entire Human Race
© Michelle Morris, 2024
Silk scarves, whispers,
a tapestry of ambition,
woven with threads of hope.
Sunlight through stained glass,
a kaleidoscope of dreams,
each faces a story untold.
The air was thick with anticipation,
a silent symphony of ambition.
Red paint bleeds
a splash of defiance,
a brushstroke of courage.
The canvas stretches,
a battleground of ideals,
a fight for the right to speak.
The echo of a thousand voices,
a chorus of dissent.
A crown of thorns,
a victory forged in fire.
The weight of expectation,
a burden carried with grace.
The echo of a thousand voices,
a chorus of dissent.
A cracked mirror,
reflecting shattered dreams.
The weight of silence,
a heavy cloak of defeat.
The echo of a thousand voices,
a chorus of dissent.
The sun sets
a fiery kiss on the horizon.
The women walk,
their steps firm,
their voices strong.
The world watches
a silent witness to their journey.
The echo of a thousand voices,
a chorus of dissent.
The day out,
a day of struggle,
a day of hope.
The Day of Women,
a day of change.
Women just love photography
They love to project on camera
They always on the mirror
They like tiktok
They like selfie
They are in ads
They are in reels
They are in galleries
They are in fashion
They are in museum
They are subject for painting
They are in vogue magazine
They are seen in corners, in neon lights
They are in the streets, in business, in politics
They are everywhere.
The world has tried to cast her down,
To bind her spirit, with a frown.
To dim her light, to hide her grace,
Beneath a veil, a hidden place.
But she will rise, beyond the veil,
Her voice will ring, her spirit prevail.
The veiled gaze, it cannot hold,
The fire that burns, the story told.
She breaks the mold, she takes her stand,
A woman strong, a helping hand.
Beyond the veil, she sees the sun,
Her journey's started, it's just begun.