"heroines" poems
You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
Like a meme of activism
This women's coalition
Mothers
Sister
Friends
Pioneers and heroines
There's courage in their convictions
A guild of collectivism
They hold luncheons in their kitchens
Talk of abolition
Mysticism
Feminism
Of heroes and magnetism
Seduction
Love
Eroticism
They scream like banshees at a crucifixion
About injustice
Dereliction
Terrorism
A tradition underwritten
With symbolism
Drums
Violins
Musicians
They may be sitting
They may be knitting
Baking muffins
Folding linen
Running errands
Stuffing chickens
A juxtaposition to their ambition
Of inspiring the unwilling
Turning derision to optimism
Their fire and brimstone
Will have history rewritten
Freedom of reproduction
Liberalism
Animism
They have wisdom
Intuition
Rhythm
They are fearsome
This women's coalition
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.
A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.
Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.
Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
"Unsinkable"
was a myth;
which no-one ever said.
But she was beautiful,
the most advanced,
the biggest,
the "floating city",
the greatest ever made.
This magnificent vessel
which slipped out
from Harland and Wolff,
it cannot be denied,
was a fine symbol,
of hard work
and Irish pride.
****************************
That fateful night
truly was
a night to remember.
A night of heroes,
as men willingly
threw their lives away,
that women and children,
may live another day.
A night of heroines,
as women
gave up their lives
to stay with their men
as lovers and wives.
A night of honour
as Thomas Andrews,
whom Titanic designed,
and Captain Smith, stayed,
to their fates resigned.
A night of cowardice,
as J Bruce Ismay,
took a lifeboat place;
from a woman or child
stealing a space.
A night of tragedy
as more than 1500 died,
and of miracles,
that so many survived.
*******************************
One hundred years on.
RMS Titanic lies
broken on the sea bed.
At peace, in pieces,
she lies there
as broken as the dreams
of those who built her.
The survivors
who numbered 700 and more,
have now joined
all those who went before.
But Titanic,
gives new life today,
as she is being eaten away,
In bizarre irony,
this beautiful lady,
who caused death and strife,
is now teeming with life.
Microscopic life
feasting on this tomb
has sealed her doom;
as into the mighty hull they bore,
By 2030
Titanic will be no more.
Gone
but not forgotten,
neither Her or her victims;
that no-one can deny.
The great RMS Titanic
shall not
cannot
ever wholly die.
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:05 PM UTC
Where are the Eleanors
And Godivas riding
In power and insight,
With spirit and mystique.
They aren't in jewelry
Or splashed on jeans.
Vishti refused to attend
Her drunken Lord;
She is no mirror for Isabella,
So inexperienced in love.
Anne H. fought for liberty,
Bella likes to shake blonde ringlets
On her shoulders;
The nervous Anastasia,
The clumsy Swan,
So modest
And ill-spoken
With downcast eyes.
Katniss is no Palla Athena
Or Garibaldi, though there's promise.
They are bound, timid heroines.
Malala never shot an arrow,
But spoke like Rosa, like Golda.
Yet, your childish sword-bearers
Are still desired by the men
They encounter;
Not as Susan B was courted.
Do they understand
How the chase ends,
These self-depricating heroines.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC
Freedom isn't free, my friend.
It is those who choose to serve their country, on which we depend.
Freedom comes with a very lofty price.
It should make us all stop and think twice.
"One nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all"
It is those who fight for liberty that we should recall.
Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers.
We should applaud those selfless others.
These women and men are determined and brave.
These heroines and heroes, their services they gave.
The children of today say, "Let freedom ring!"
This is the song our proud nation sings.
My home is this free nation on which I stand.
This is my country, this is my land.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
A call goes out to America for
heroes but what they're getting are
modestly dressed professional
women; which is cool, after years
of men in suits & ties; so, soon
the millennial girls coming of age
will go **** & perform *****
graphic real *** up close onscreen;
heroes & heroines are things of
the past; it's all about the money
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
We are the terraced women
piled row on row on the sagging, slipping hillsides of our
lives.
We tug reluctant children up slanting streets
the push chair wheels wedging in the ruts
breathless and bad tempered we shift the Tesco carrier bags
from hand to hand
and stop to watch the town
The hill tops creep away like children playing games
our other children shriek against the school yard rails
‘there’s Mandy’s mum, John’s mum, Dave’s mum,
Kate’s mum, Ceri’s mother, Tracey’s mummy’
we wave with hands scarred by groceries and too much
washing up
catching echoes as we pass of old wild games
after lunch, more bread and butter, tea
we dress in blue and white and pink and white checked
overalls
and do the house and scrub the porch and sweep the street
and clean all the little terraces
up and down and up and down and up and down the hill
later, before the end-of-school bell rings
all the babies are asleep
Mandy’s mum joins Ceri’s mum across the street
running to avoid the rain
and Dave’s mum and John’s mum – the others too – stop
for tea
and briefly we are wild women
girls with secrets, travellers, engineers, courtesans, and stars
of fiction, films
plotting our escape like jail birds
terraced, tescoed prisoners rising from the household dust
like heroines.
Pennyanne Windsor, from Poetry 1900-2000 One hundred poets from Wales
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
for the friends i have loved and lost...i am not afraid to say the last thing i have to say to a long time companion...for i know that they have and will hear me...that it is the right and perfect thing to say, because it is me and all of my heart...singing as i go along so that i do not break...
she raised me, as much as my mom and sister did, and i thought i was different...that i wouldn't crack and divide...but i suppose sometimes i am that girl...who falls apart into a ball of tears...because my nanny is like the nervous system for my family, she's just too interconnected, just too big to fail...to fall...
and we always want the fall of our heroines to be graceful and gorgeous...but sometimes it's just bleak and plain...sometimes you watch your mentor, grandmother, caretaker, great friend, nanny die slowly...though it kills you and you fight for her with all this nervous frightened energy, this what will i do without her...
so i let my heart sing...because it hears her, it knows her, it is as much in tune with her as anyone else it loves...i let it be happy to honor what she wants...it's the closest i can come to praying...letting my heart sing and joy and bounce...letting it loose to the terror of my own embarrassment...
i will miss this, i will miss you...you kept the light on in the last homely house...i know that this will break my heart into so many pieces i will never find them all...there will always be holes the size and shape of you...
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
Scholar gypsies are wandering as nomads
Like the yuppies of 1960s with guitars....
Singing as romantic heroes and heroines!
Men and women are living in singles......
With children too fostering like the birds
Learning about life seeing various cultures!
Gypsy life is a free life they feel in world
Having education but loving freedom more
To live independent life ever till the end...!
What a life this scholar gypsy life to live
Sans a family as even the animals like
Elephants and lions too like to live in forest!
Independence is needed to stand alone in life;
But can one live a complete life sans culture?
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
If I listened to every advertisement
hollering through the static
of my cable-hooked television,
I'd have a mammoth bottle
of Hidden Valley Ranch
sitting with the ego-quenching sheen
of recommendation in my fridge,
a Weight Watchers membership
(it told me to join as soon as possible
with the speed of a steroid-devouring treadmill),
Children's Tylenol
(despite being situationally barren),
and a Bowflex-shaped elephant,
ivory tusks slumping uselessly in the corner.
My living room would be the fraternal twin
of the American Smithsonian,
a faux-genuine quilt
of our Founding Fathers'
present day descendants
draping over my popcorn ceiling.
I return to the latest
sacred cow in the flea store
cartel of Lifetime Movie heroines;
it's "Vengeful Vixens Sunday"
and Elizabeth Berkley shooting men
and stabbing women in the back
all while eating buckets of Ben and Jerry
and getting addicted to crystal ****
The dialogue is as freshly
packaged and slovenly edible
as the Minute Ready Late Night Dinner
with a cartoon grandma plastered on the logo,
all to remind you of down home,
or in the case of this Lifetime screenplay,
a time when the brain wasn't fully developed.
Same difference.
We all hide our guilty pleasures
as if our tolerance for the
secondhand existence of these favorites
were deemed malignant
by a cardboard kingdom
of young adult sophistication,
but I ask you:
who hasn't slipped into the comfort
of a mind turned to mush?
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
Batman in his belfry
Robin at the all you can eat buffet
Batgirl in my bedroom
things going, all my way
Riddler plying his prose
Gordon on patrol
Catwoman in my trousers
happily, loosing all control
Joker playing the saboteur
Penguin relaxing at the shore
Harley-quinn in my shower
as golly gee and will-a-curs
I can't ask for nothing more
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
Poet chicks
Odd, indeed
Every race, every colour
Every creed
Some of us daughters
Some mothers
Emotions intense
Especially when we're lovers
It takes great courage you know
To do what poet chicks do
Serving our feelings up
On this screen for You
Heroines of words
World's in which we live
Poet chicks are rarely greedy
With all the emotions we give
I raise my glass to you
Poet chicks around the world
Never drop your pens
Or forget, that you ROCK girls
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
We are everything
They told you about
We are the beautiful dream
They wish to have again, and again
We are the fairytale characters
Who always win in the end
Heroes and heroines — beau idéals
We are the good people
Nothing can divide us;
Politics, tribe, trade, doctrine, greed, religion
Brave men and women
Who fought to be free
Red for their brave blood
That stopped flowing for our sake
Gold for our mineral wealth;
Diamond, gold, bauxite, manganese
Green for our rich forests
Which give us herbage and food
And the Black five-pointed star
For our emancipation from the British colony
Because our lives matter
Just like all free nations
Building a strong foundation of love
And high pillars of culture
Strength. Love. Peace
We are everything they cannot be
The four corners of the nation, not just part
Are as proud as we can be
We are GHANA!
Mar 6, 2022
Mar 6, 2022 at 5:12 AM UTC
The heart breaks every so often
at the sound of closing doors.
The unstaying
(or even the uncoming)
drives its point
that maybe
it isn’t an option to settle.
One wonders
why yet again
love,
in essence,
is not enough
to bar life’s egress?
It’s a classic tale of hurting,
really,
where there are no heroes
or heroines,
only adversaries,
these hearts despairing,
accustomed to vacationing affections
that leave after the season’s end.
091615
for c.d.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
Hey crow! Where Venus infers such that glass is TheHollow shell of tortoise blossoms oozing the Nyrous tips of incredulous sorceries, felt from oozing blue tears. The shapes are scented for you, the wands of new beginnings that carry you on. Leopards. Sunrises. Footsteps and madmen. Blitzkrieg harkening the weather's ovivorous lightning bursts to shake one's ears. White-colored hermine heroines throttled and wet with shades of gear. Small ranchito shrubs goose-pimple my skin, my hide; and shake this moon. Sway, into the early sun. Burning close to me.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
I've been caught up
Devouring book after book.
Words have become my drug,
Fables, fairytales, and fiction my high.
Lyrical portraits painted in black on white.
Flawed heroes and heroines,
Wise master elders,
And the love-to-hate villain,
Have become more familiar to me
Than a close friend or relative.
And when I turn the last page,
My heart breaks a little
With the thought that their story is done.
But in the next breath
I cheer up again
As I plan my next affair
Full of stolen glances,
Secret rendezvous,
Discreet touches,
And late night trysts
With a well-written work of literature.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
"Every survivor of ****** assault deserves to be heard, believed, and supported."
Rainwater of
the Elysian fields,
you assuredly do
like to drown your winged heroines?
You write them as strange
bitter narratives,
spurious to the calling
or as a bit of
bloodletting go.
The history formed around either
her breaking at the seams
upon the witching hour,
and her own home village
pillaging her claims
in the bonfire;
Or the arcane notion
no woman shall give testimony
against a neighbor
on the occasion he's a man.
Yes, she cried 'no' at the temple gate
Yes, she repeated such entreaties
But she'd also been into the ale
and wore an overtly
fetching carousal dress
you incensed.
Let her dam break
Let her try and flood us over
you mocked.
She was only a wayfaring angel
one reckless bird of passage
What type of wounds
could she inflict?
How easily you lost sight
of her will & halo
becoming stronger than fright.
Down she poured in antipathy,
until covering your gaping mouth!
It wasn't rain that killed you,
for you were the rain,
it was her blood calling out
that finally did you in...
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 8:09 PM UTC
I am Tiana
On my feet until I can't go any longer
Promising myself everything will be worthwhile
And that all my dreams will come true.
I am Merida
Trying to find my own path
Desperately trying to evade my fate
Staying brave for everyone, including myself.
I am Rapunzel
A little bit conflicted sometimes
Dreaming of an adventure
But not to betray what she knows.
I am Mulan
Willing to be unconventional
And ready to protect her home and family
From dishonor and shame.
I am Belle
Making the best of seemingly impossible situations
Searching for knowledge and beauty within words
Spreading light to the darkest of souls.
I am Elsa
Who just wants to be free
To be able to use her gifts
Without hurting the people she loves.
I am me
The girl who sang into a pink-and-white plastic karaoke machine
To "I Won't Say I'm in Love"
Who saw these women as strong and beautiful.
I am a princess
The author, main character, and narrator of my story
Dancing to the beat of her own drum
Taking life's problems and turning them into lessons.
I am a heroine in my own right,
Disney or no.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
If you’re new here
I don’t like my body
And I don’t know how many more ways I can say that
All I know is I haven’t found one that transforms me into a fairy
Haven’t found the magic words, that if I repeat three times fast and click my heels
Will melt away my visage
Make me ready for the ball
On nights like tonight,
When I really don’t like my body
I try to remember that the apples are poisoned
That taking a bite, instead of a dinner plate
Will not make me the fairest thing in the land
That running from big bad wolves
Is not about burning calories
That I shouldn’t look for big bad wolves to run from
Just to try and fit into a red cape
I don’t know how many ways to say
That I don’t like my body
That I feel fat,
Like my stomach has 7 little dwarves sleeping atop it
Like if a prince found me in the woods, I would be the beast
Not the beauty he was looking for
So here I am,
The incompetent one in the Disney movie
While the heroines and heros are drawn impossibly small
Jasmine with her tiny waist,
Mulan in her slim figure
Elsa with her narrow shoulders
The incompetent ones,
Ursula, all darkness and big body above her tail
Russel, with his house of balloons and naivete
The Queen of Hearts, crazy off with your head woman
Even a fairy tale metaphor, can’t bibbity bobbity boo
Away my torn up relationship with my body
I guess these aren’t the magic words
I guess I don’t get magic words
Maybe I would,
If I was small enough to be the hero
Nov 3, 2020
Nov 3, 2020 at 9:21 AM UTC
I enjoy the word "sweet," it accurately describes the succulence of your lower lip
I wish to ****
and bite, and bruise.
"Hard" is your body, lean and tough
and assumedly rough
intense
passionate, all those lovely sensual adjectives that cheesy soft-erotica novellas
(that I "don't read")
use to describe a Man on a horse,
or in a fireman's coat, covered in soot,
saving kitties and pleasing cougars.
You are quite the male that I crave,
absolute perfection in human form that tempts and tortures my guilty thoughts and heaving breaths
so that I feel like one of those helpless heroines who swoon over a sensitive, wounded man.
But God do I want to inflict wounds on you, and lick them clean.
You have been a bad boy;
go to my room.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
There are glory and victory in every battles
Yet there are more bleeding and suffering
Glory doesn’t bring back the dead to the living
Victory heals neither scars nor wound, let alone fixing the broken ribs
There are villains and heroines in every war
Yet there are more desolation and devastation
Villains are written in history by the side who wins
Heroines are what they call themselves after slaughtering the innocent
There are rebellion and revolution in every regime
Yet there are more poverty and misery
Rebellion is done by fewer people against jeopardy
Revolution is an act of people power against oppresive authority
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC
Girls
Everyone has an opinion
The mothers, the fathers, the feminists and misogynists
Everyone has something to say
and will spend hours doing so without a moment's hesitation
Girls
Worth the discussion
Worth the hours of endless theories, ideologies and “proof”
Girls
Have a million songs
both praising and ridiculing in their melodic tensions
that the plain eye may not catch
Girls
They have endless quotes to describe their entity
in its purest form
Just in case they didn't know
what they were made of
Girls
are expected to be so many things
Divas, Heroines, Princesses, Goddesses
***** ******* Primadonnas, ******
Girls
have laws made about them
enforced by themselves
in the cruelest irony
Have numerous codes to live by
Contradictory codes to live by
Girls
Worth the discussion
Worth these hours
Deny us not our femininity
The special something we possess
But exclude us not from humanity
For it is only equality that we request
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
I fell in love today.
With a man I'd never met.
He had a power over me, what can I say?
Oh, he's a hero, don't you fret.
He is tall, and witty, and debonaire.
He saved me from the bandits with his flashing swordplay.
All the while the sun glinting on his hair.
Then he took me back to his castle on page 109.
When he crowned me there was so much applause the walls shook!
I cannot wait to see what happens on the next line,
because my lover and I are one on the pages of this book.
One of the many realities I have escaped to in my time.
Reading, a pleasant distraction that cultivates ones mind.
It is so deliciously good, pleasure at its prime.
The characters I've met have taught me how to love and hate, how to be cruel and to be kind.
I have won battles, and lost friends.
I have made love with Vikings, and danced with mermaids.
And it almost always makes me weep when a book ends.
Then it's back to the bookstore on one of my story raids.
I can't wait to slip between the pages.
The ink to my mind like silk to my skin.
There I will meet heroines, criminals, and sages.
Between each set of covers a new life will begin.
Flip the pages and inhale the drug.
the fine biblichor that sends my head spinning.
A fine way at the end of the day to unplug.
A new book, the best way to get me grinning.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
Entrusted with sovereignty they set sail,
Prepared to face the threats that lie beyond the horizon,
Responders to the call of the weary are they who defend our fortress,
Mystics and heroines hoisted to battle at the drop of a flag,
An alliance to marvel by all in the land,
Legends are they whose sacrifices sustain our livelihood,
Its power vested in communion.
Mar 30, 2021
Mar 30, 2021 at 11:29 AM UTC