Women poems
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Ghosts
© Anne Sexton
Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.
The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator
© Anne Sexton
The end of the affair is always death.
She's my workshop. Slippery eye,
out of the tribe of myself my breath
finds you gone. I horrify
Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women
© Anne Sexton
(from a song)Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
45 Mercy Street
© Anne Sexton
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
Cinderella
© Anne Sexton
You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.
To A Friend Concerning Several Ladies
© William Carlos Williams
And in the marshes
the crickets run
on the sunny dike's top and
make burrows there, the water
reflects the reeds and the reeds
move on their stalks and rattle drily.
from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"
© William Carlos Williams
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
The Hunters in the Snow
© William Carlos Williams
The over-all picture is winter
icy mountains
in the background the return
The Princess (part 2)
© Alfred Tennyson
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
The Mistletoe (A Christmas Tale)
© Mary Darby Robinson
This Farmer, as the tale is told--
Was somewhat cross, and somewhat old!
His, was the wintry hour of life,
While summer smiled before his wife;
A contrast, rather form'd to cloy
The zest of matrimonial joy!
The Fortune-Teller, a Gypsy Tale
© Mary Darby Robinson
STEPHEN had long in secret sigh'd;
And STEPHEN never was deny'd:
Now, LUBIN was a modest swain,
And therefore, treated with disdain:
For, it is said, in Love and War ,--
The boldest, most successful are!
The Heddybee Spectre
© George Borrow
I clomb in haste my dappled steed,
And gallop'd far o'er mount and mead;
And when the day drew nigh its close,
I laid me down to take repose.
A Cloud In Trousers - part IV
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
In the streets
men will prick the blubber of four-story craws,
thrust out their little eyes,
worn in forty years of wear and tear to snigger
at my champing
again! on the hard crust of yesterday's caress.
Sonnet XLII: I Hunt For A Sign Of You
© Pablo Neruda
I hunt for a sign of you in all the others,
In the rapid undulant river of women,
Braids, shyly sinking eyes,
Light step that slices, sailing through the foam.
Wandering Singers
© Sarojini Naidu
WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
Anactoria
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
MY LIFE is bitter with thy love; thine eyes
Blind me, thy tresses burn me, thy sharp sighs
Lines on Hearing it Declared that No Women Were So Handsome as the English
© Mary Darby Robinson
ITALIA boasts the melting fair,
The pointed step, the haughty air,
Th' empassion'd tone, the languid eye,
The song of thrilling harmony;
Insidious LOVE conceal'd in smiles
That charmsand as it charms beguiles.
