"womans" poems
I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden
I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say
forever or always
whichever tide ebbs first.
I speak of knowledge
when I say
the body of a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine
I speak of faith
when I say
nothing good
ever became
without an
inject of pain
I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave
© Qwey.ku
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
Grandma got run over by a reindeer
I'm sure you remember that song
Well that was my grandma who was hit
And again, they got part of it wrong
See, she really was run over by reindeer
But it was nothing like they said
Those deer were driving a milk truck
That left my poor grandma nearly dead
My poor grandma just got done milking
And was putting the cows back in the field
When eight drunk reindeer in a milk truck
Crashed thru the fence and didn't yield
They just kept on going thru the barn yard
Straight thru the creek and down the hill
Grandma looked like a bug on a windshield
With pieces of her wig on that milk truck's grill
Now poor grandma never seen it coming
Cause she was looking the other way
We even found that poor womans glasses
Stuck on a scarecrow near the hay
Well, now my grandma had not been drinking
Like that song had claimed she was
But somehow they try to make it funny
Seems like those city folk always does
Well, that's about as much as I can tell you
Because the lawsuit is still pending
Those reindeer got some north pole lawyer
And we heard he's pretty good at defending
So beware of reindeer driving milktrucks
For they mean to cause your grandma harm
And don't forget try to remind your grandmas
To look both ways when she leaves the barn
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
when I was young
I learned mathematics
I applied how to multiply and divide
but
I find now
I just philosophize
trying to grasp the psychology of a womans mind
but
i find now
im with puzzled eyes
trying to grasp the psychology of a womans mind
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
If I were ruler of all nations... As one of Gods creations
There would be policies created from this societies frustrations
I wouldn't waste your time... In fact doing so would be a crime
It wouldn't be about politics with all it's dirt & grime
It would be about the people
It would ensure our rights are equal
Spread to all from high above, preached atop the highest steeple
And I wouldn't be afraid to say...
That expiring some freedoms may be the only way
And that would mean taking certain peoples "rights" away
Some freedoms are given away too easily
They should require much harder accessibility
Which will aid in the filtration of humanity
One right I would retrieve because it's abuse is so hard to believe
I'd make it official that not all persons would have the right to conceive
Not unless certain criteria are met, I'd have certain rules that would be set
I'd put a hold on this right until one disproves their ignorant
And since ignorance is bred I wouldn't allow our future to continue to be mislead Stuck in communities that will never get ahead
If I were faced with this position, I have no doubt in my disposition
Life skills would be taught in school, a required graduation precondition
I'd advocate the importance of community Gone would be the privilege of immunity And with it would go all feelings of disunity
To ensure all are exposed to equal possibility
Early education would include lessons on life & moral responsibility
To ensure guidance to all despite personal accessibility
I'd replace things like algebra and womans lit with classes on life knowledge
It's more important that the youth learn financal stability and manners, those who want to learn the square root of X can take that major in college
Priority should be that each leaves high school with the tools to survive
Each would leave with equal opportunity to prosper and to thrive
Oh if I ruled the world!!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 8:44 AM UTC
the moving shadows of
the men gathering
flicker in my vision
cause me to ponder the moment
in a way i had not seen before
cause me to fracture the vision
to decode the meanings in
each mans motion
each mans meaning
her long black hair entangles my head
as dose her deep long looking
her neat clean eyes frighten me
with their possibilitys
with their depth
with their hot beauty
it is not my place to find
a place in this womans life
i am but a distraction to her
somthing to occupy the moment
to phish for lost keys
in sections of some dreadlock music
she erased poems to fit onto the kindle
she removes her shirt
to rinse out the sweat
in the tidal pool
a young woman nearby stops
and stares
smiles when they meet eyes
and i am surfing my beach bike alone
walking it
home?
where am I
where am i going?
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:03 PM UTC
Moths float out from behind
an opened, warped door.
I push my face into your clothes,
hung heavy like pearls
in an antique shop.
Stale and familiar,
the scent follows me
like a lost little bee.
It buzzes even after I leave.
Hopscotch down the hallway
to find dead crickets
in the bathtub.
Scuffed wallpaper camouflages
a cobweb. Metallic vines
curve around bursts of petals.
I’m certain you chose this pattern,
but I don't know.
Memories are few.
I fill in the holes with honey
and arrowheads.
Indian feathers and
an old brooch.
Piles of pie.
Did you love to bake pie?
Games of bridge
on that old, scratched table top
with a musty deck of Bicycle cards.
Each deck a photo album
of your face.
Your raisined face.
I remember holding it in my hands.
“This aint a walk for old womans.”
And out the door I go.
Empty handed and independent.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
Reflections of my self, my being, my person, my soul,
Forever replayed, reshown, redone, reinacted
For the fact is
The strength that settles in my palms is ignited by the ignorance of man.
Oh man oh man how corrupt and vile does your mind be
Calculating and engineering plans and strategies
That will never leave your mind,
Free
To be or not to be
A mockerey
Of your confused biology, which hysterically
Questions your existence.
A gift so great,
Yet bronzed with your persistence to query the beauty I have given you,
Which is life!
Behind every man is a woman who loves and sacrifices their own needs and Necessities for happiness,
Clarity and justice.
A dancing cherubim dancing elegantly like a warm summer ray from your childhood Window.
Revitilises,
Re-energises,
Re-grows,
The root of your soul
As if the buds of may.
Honey toned, chocolate foamed
Milky light,
All pleasures for your delight.
Spread on to one body of immaculate perfection
Formed from Aphrodite's tears.
But the woman,
The woman possesses such omnipotent spiritual clasp on nature
That if she was to know,
Overstand
Or
Even accept a miniscule quantity of this knowledge
Then-man-would-be-woman.
To trap and encase a man like a rodent
Is to burn a ring of fire around his finger that leads life to his heart,
Where it beats impatiently to the tune of the womans song.
Skin soft, eyes lost
Sight of who I am,
Many different descriptions -although similar- still not the same,
But am I really to blame?
For the insecurities that you have belittled on me.
For my hair is long,
Then short,
Then short,
Then none.
My skin dark,
Then light,
Then light,
But not right
A constant fight,
A battle to aim for the right kind of existence but even still
I Exist!
And realise whatever you insist, still
I Exist,
Which is that gift that i hold in my being here,
Looking there
At my elegant stare,,
Which i dare
To offend the image, which you have sought to be womanly.
No longer do I fear my image
As it is a powerful icon of modern day life
To withstand the turbulent stresses and grind of strife
To help a man.
To have.
A happy.
WIFE!
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
Magazines, newspapers, letters strewn across
every table.
Flowerpots, paperweights, nick-knacks atop
every remaining empty surface.
"Tacky" was the word that first came to mind.
Ledges, counters, and all but one chair are drowned in the mess.
The last chair is the womans. She used to keep a few other chairs vacant in case of company, but
as she continued to grow slower she couldn't make the effort
and an extra chair was never needed anyway.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 8:27 PM UTC
.
I love her many faces,
they swim in my dreams eternal,
tantalising, playing, and held within,
breaking the shell to find the kernel.
The source of beauty beholden there,
brings succour to an aching heart,
chanting, singing, a pretty lullaby,
straight as an arrow, swift as a dart.
A veil of Wisdom hangs loose,
showing me the way with herbs,
aromatic, evocative, a hazy swoon,
a tranquil lake, a thrown stone disturbs.
I adore her seductive curves,
they dance in my time and space,
rhythmic, ****** and shown external,
a Wiccans kiss and a Womans grace.
© Pagan Paul (08/08/16)
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:24 AM UTC
you called me another womans name
who is she?
she has the same name as the girl who was contacting you
all this time
you cheated on me, I know it
so please get out of my head
please get out of my life
i never want to see your face ever again
or hear your voice, the sound that shattered my heart
so please
I beg of you
get out
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
If we forgo pursuing truth
Then we allow ourselves to die
I’ve done so long ago
When complacent with her lie
With the word of a woman
Who carries death in her sight
Unfit to reject her own skill
For she brings with it slight delight
Both soldier and weapon
Difference had died with her
The daughter of hopes rejoice
Now walks as a hopeful killer
Burdened are the knowing
For fitting words had rung
And she knew of what escaped
Beneath her velvet tongue
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
A Mothers Voice
The first that you hear kisses your tears and soothes your fears
A Lovers Voice
Who's whispers of *** entice and perplex your body's reflex
An Awesome Voice
That shouts out loud stands up and is proud not lost in the crowd
A Powerful Voice
One that rallies and fights without losing sight asserting its rights
A Survivors Voice
Riddled with pain no longer in chains her monsters slain
A Warriors Voice
Strong and controlled without being told breaks free of the mold
This is My Voice
All the above
Warm like a glove
And full of love
(C) Pixievic
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:00 AM UTC
A man's ego is a thick wall
Covering his vulnerable soul,
Protects him from shivering
From the outside cold.
It is his coach, and his captain
As well as his life's good coach,
Protecting the his exteriors
From his fragility he never boasts.
As soft as the clouds wandering
Through the dust of the city life,
Same as the careful veins
Embedded in a womans' soft heart.
Snugged in his vicious tongue
With every word in his gauntlet
Warming his soul away
From any dark and cold blankets.
Like diamonds you try to dismantle
And see him break at once,
As he snaps to put the pieces back
But the cracks can't be undone.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
I used to feel like a little kid
going to the playground on Thursdays
because Thursdays were the days
where I got to see you for four days straight
and mondays were sad because i left your nest
and i went back “home”
On Tuesdays I missed you
I didn’t get to see you,
even though every other Wednesday I did
but then not for another weekend
not until Thursday
It was complicated, and I couldn’t change that
I was eight, and I couldn’t change anything.
I was four when you sat me down
four years old and you said you didn’t love mom anymore
and mom said she didn’t love you
and you said you were going somewhere else
and I didn’t know where
you wound up living in a womans basement
and now that i’m older I know her ex husband
It was complicated, and I couldn’t change that
I was four, and I couldn’t change anything.
I hurt myself for the first time
not because of you
no i don’t want to blame you
but it also wasn’t just me
I hurt myself more
and you didn’t really think
when you told me I was doing it for attention
because then my vision was white and my head was heavy
I thought of those words
I still think of those words
It was complicated, and I couldn’t change that
I was fifteen, and I couldn’t change anything.
I heard you cry
because I was dying
the only time
I’ve ever seen you
have any emotion
it changed my life
but didn’t change you
Im twenty years old and I live with you
I’m twenty years old and I don’t see you for days
I’m twenty years old and you have no idea who I am
I’m twenty years old and you seem like you’re dead
I’m twenty years old and twenty year olds still need a Father.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
I heard icebergs only show a tenth on the surface, and that, is one hell of a surface, makes titanic hearts like mine sink too easily.
I’m sure if i searched your eyes I’d find my daydreams, I’m sure between your lips will be a good place to hide my nightmares and kissing you will be the safest thing I have ever done.
Between your leopard print skin and zebra stripped life, lies everything perfect about imperfections.
I understand that a womans thoughts are hard to read, I heard once that they are written in braille. If love is truly blind, then reading your mind should come easy.
If you would let me, I want to be the answer to the questions you were too afraid to ask. I want my heartbeat to be your favourite bedtime story and you would fall asleep on my chest every night.
And if you won’t, then at least let me be a home to your gorgeous, an ocean to your iceberg, I’ve lived long enough to learn that there’s enough space in a friendzone for two.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
A hollow smile
Waiting for a stranger to arrive
A door opens
And welcomes the dark night
A woman screams
Whispers pregnant with secrets
Searching for a ear
To lay down and give birth
To the horror of the night
Hidden and scarred
from the knives and stones
A wall of glass shattered
And the pieces feel so alone
Crumbling under the shoes of the night
Buried where they fell down
Running away from the mirrors
And the unleashed hell hounds
A face looks for the stranger
He's just outside that door
A déjà-vu in the air
This Light has faded before
Womans screams turns mute
As a flash of thunder roars above
A storms approaching this madness
A carnival of pain and hurt
Night grows even darker
Stars bid farewell to the sky
And you can see a glimpse of smile
In the strangers eye
The world is covered in blackness
Separated and segregated in Demise
A dog barks at a distance
As he chases away the wise
Nothing but a memory left to die
As the blades of hell
Kisses the women goodbye
A farewell to tomorrow
And the dreams that'll resonate
In the sky
Another act in the carnival
To kneel before and oblige
-doors left open
As the darkness invaded a home
Blood stained prints
Accross the wall and into the hall
A silence of thorough quietness
Picture frames Wont talk
A struggle in the corridor
Marked by the broken frames and a vase
And a corpse sleeps in the corner
Darkness has engulfed its face
And the strangers footprints leads to the night
That befalls this bloodstained sunrise
And when the darkness fades away
Cursing under its breath about the approaching day
All that is left are dreams that lie shattered across the floor;broken
And a ****** hand print on the front door that was left open
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
My birthday is today
Seventeen years since another Sunday at 9 AM
On top of a mountain called Ozark
In a land that reminded me of Harry Potter
Called Pettigrew like Peter
It's forests elicited sprites and daddy long legs
Made of me a changeling then spit me back out
I learned what real ice tea was at the age of three
It was my birthday
Doing Pirouettes on my aunts Patio
Again, under Arkansas stars
With faery lights leading my way
I ascended to the brush behind the house
Got lost in the greens and browns of paradise's supply
Returned with flesh painted the colour of love
In an apartment overlooking crab apple trees
Fresh Canadian foliage fostering a well concealed creek
On a 90 degree angle over a dark chocolate cake
My ninth birthday
I drank pickle juice because Vinny said it was limonade
I wore dresses that year
And coveted baskets filled to brim with blossoms
Baked the crab apples into a pie
But preferred mama's banana cream
I wore bandages on my arms
and grass stains on my knees
My tears washed away like Crayola markers
And my biggest inner questions had to do
With what was for breakfast
And the lifespan of a temporary tattoos
14 came with a big black bow
Done up gaudily in greys with a sad little smile
Three years marked with pink splotches and lines
A subject to hormones and arsenic tones
My birthday
A celebration of decay
And mama still sang, and baked, and kissed my face
And didn't wake when I placed cotton ***** in her ears
Because I was a happy girl
Today is my birthday
And mama exclaims
"No more babies! All four of you are so grown!"
But the mirror still illustrates an odd little show
With a baby face
A girls chest
And a womans hips
An ordinary freak all stitched up
Awkward and too much of everything
But not enough all the same
And inside I know
Is a sea of paradoxical Samanthas
Some stubborn and loud
Some shy and reserved
All with changes to make
Books to read
And places to go
And only few that are quite wanting yet
To be 17
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
the wood floor a sea
of contradictions
wake there with a disassembled
sense of last night
the fragments of a womans kiss
lay there pink lipstick clinging to its vestiges
shards of a rain swept street
and the quiet of a november thunderstorm
pools of darkness uninterrupted by the wind
pieces of a man laughing without humor
this wood floor holds the key
but to discover truth in the
littered expanse of bottles
benith the layers of dust lain down
by the years
the wood floor becomes a trap
a puzzle prison
the mind grapples with
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
The Loss was beyond MY understanding AT THE TIME.. How could she have been taken away so Quickly?? She had only been gone One hour, when The Call came in.. A Raspy voice,,Speaking Slowly, Asked,,"Missing Something??" My Heart raced within me, My Mind trying to gather it's senses. The *Voice said "If You want Her back,,,You *Must follow these instructions". "BUT First",,the *Voice Firmly announced ,, "You Must answer the following questions.. Do You Really LOVE Her, Miss being able to talk to her everyday, Miss kissing Her Lovely lips, Miss the Touch of Her hand, Miss the Sound of Her voice in those *Precious *Private moments ??"___The *Voice then was quiet for a few seconds,,,,,,As I had had answered Each of his questions in the Affirmative!! I Forced myself Not to say anything else,, but just answer his quieries...____The Pause seemed as if minutes!!_____THEN,,the *Voice Announced in a STERN WAY,,,,"WHAT if I took Her away Forever?" My Heart was now Pounding as I tried to Calmly Say,,,,"I Would Miss Her Terribly!!",,THEN I Quickly asked "What do I need to do,, to Get Her *Back??"______Another very Long Pause as my Mind was racing in *Prayers... The Pause seemed Dark and Ominous! *FROM NOWHERE!! I felt this sudden Pain Hitting the back of my Head!! Nextly, AS if from out of a Cloud,,a Womans Voice,,,"SIR,,SIR!".. Thru Blurring Tears,, A Nurses uniform appeared before me,,"SIR" she continued,,,"The Heart transplant was a success".. *Death had been Calling for My Love,,,BUT *GOD's Hand had "RECAPTURED HER"
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
My kitchens clean
now I feel complete
I bet tonight
My dreams will be sweet
Grandma always said
"A woman's job is never done"
She was wise, indeed
At times it is pain
To ever feel all is complete, chores by the ton
Yet, it is always strengthens the heart to meet others needs
Feeling love from everyone
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Knowing how to paint is key, so they say,
When to brush and stroke, or erase it away.
But some painters out there just cannot paint,
They keep adding and adding; makes me faint!
Without knowledge or a care for the rest,
These women slather on makeup with zest!
Some demonic possession is at work;
Like some creature in the dark on the lurk,
Waiting for a victim who they can jump,
To ****** and caress and um, ****
But enough of these victims, these lost men,
It is these creatures of “virtue,” these women!
Who capture the eye of peers with disdain,
Who then suffer in agony and pain!
Let us look at this process at it’s core;
But not to the point where it is a bore!
How the blank canvas of a womans face,
Is slowly and precisely won through race,
Of multiple brushes dabbing at paint,
Trying to turn a sinner to a saint!
The fine brush used to paint plump lips bright red,
And pale powders of primer of the dead.
To seize the image of porcelain death,
To mimic the perfection of Queen Beth.
The slight graze of the check with some faint pink,
And the strong tracing of the blackest ink!
On the lids and the lash of the blind eye,
Who fails to see that their face is a lie.
But for me that is surely not the case,
For in the mirror that is not my face!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:55 PM UTC
You were born beautiful,
From your head to your toes,
Your hair to your nose,
And your complexion to your supposed "flaws",
You don't need to bleach your skin,
Just to fit in ,
Flaunt what you own ,
Let the doubts about your body be gone ,
Beauty is in your nature ,
You just have to build it , nurture it .
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC
englishman....one's wife's rather stupid,as thick as one could be,thinks wales is part of england,and some are in the sea.jock....ma womans thick as shite,rite aff her ****** noodle,she took ma rottie fer a walk,an came back wi a poodle.paddy....oi'l be ye all,witt out a doubt,moi missus is da tickest,das ever bin about,she went out for a hen night,somwher near caerphilly,she had ten condoms in her bag,and has'nt got a *****
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 12:04 PM UTC
i perch
like a mindful, tiny bird's spirit,
on the very cusp of the milkyway.
a mere wisp,
of an evocative thought,
a dreams first seed,
a speck of fairydust,
in the iris,
of tentative belief.
i have,
yet
to travel the spirals
of the windmill mind,
yet
to be fortified by conjecture,
ratified by trial of fire.
my inchoation began,
at the galaxies birth,
yes
i am a by-product of
the big bang.
and
yes i too,
have seen
how and why,
god made the heavens,
such an alluring shimmer
of blue,
and why
all things,
great and small.
need the spark,
the desire to accede,
to the wont,
to ascend to
something
higher and more profound.
i am,
external,
internal,
eternal,
grace,
i am
in the tears of
sad sorrow,
i am
in the magic of
unadultered joy
in
the laugh of a child,
the flight of a bee,
the glimpse of tommorrow
the purr of a cat,
the bark of a dog,
the roar of a lion,
the ribbet of a frog,
in an old womans glance,
the first kiss of new lovers,
in a babes first smile,
in the fragrance of flowers
left in memorium,
in each and every
spark
of flighted fireworks.
i am
to be found
for i am
hope
and
i abide eternally,
in all.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC