Women poems

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Frozen In

© Annie Finch

Venice, December

Ours are the only mouths

North

© Seamus Justin Heaney

I returned to a long strand,
the hammered curve of a bay,
and found only the secular
powers of the Atlantic thundering.

A Song on the End of the World

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world,
There will be no other end of the world.

Maudlin; Or, The Magdalen’s Tears

© Michael Rosen

If faith is a tree that sorrow grows

and women, repentant or not, are swamps,

kept busy

© Joanne Burns

from our deep cool verandah we spy on the world passing by. we both wear glasses in order to pick out the details. even as children we noticed all. people would say dont like those twins they look at you funny. we were reassured. our powers had been confirmed. but that was a long while ago. now we are 60. we have lived in this ground floor flat on the main road for 20 years. it is a very suitable dwelling, and we have a satisfactory relationship with the landlord. we think he is pleased we notice his transparency. we have been here since we left our husbands who got in the way of our observations.

after our evening meal we talk quietly of what we have seen. we believe in sharing our observations in case one of us has missed something. for our eyesight isnt as sharp as it was ten years ago. though we do clean our glasses each hour and keep our hair tied firmly back in small grey buns so nothing can distract our focus. we are small women. many people do not notice us, while we are noticing them. we keep to ourselves. mother used to say to us never get too friendly with strangers they can harm you. even if they smile and offer you an hour of their lives dont tell them nothing. mother knew a lot. she always kept the bible and a cloth to clean her hands on the kitchen table within reach.

Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle II: To a Lady on the Characters of Women

© Alexander Pope

Nothing so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.

At the Executed Murderer’s Grave

© James Wright

6
Staring politely, they will not mark my face
From any murderer’s, buried in this place.
Why should they? We are nothing but a man.

The Workforce

© James Tate

Do you have adequate oxen for the job?

No, my oxen are inadequate.

An Hymn Of Heavenly Beauty

© Edmund Spenser

Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought,

Through contemplation of those goodly sights,

Ravens Hiding in a Shoe

© Robert Bly

There is something men and women living in houses
Don’t understand. The old alchemists standing
Near their stoves hinted at it a thousand times.

Chinese Whispers

© John Ashbery

And in a little while we broke under the strain:

suppurations ad nauseam, the wanting to be taller,

Paradise Regain'd: Book II (1671)

© Patrick Kavanagh

MEan while the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'd

At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen

Sacred And Profane Love

Profane Love speaks
``I am the Goddess mortals call Profane,
Yet worship me as though I were divine;
Over their lives, unrecognised, I reign,
For all their thoughts are mine.

Yom Kippur 1984

I drew solitude over me, on the long shore.
—Robinson Jeffers, “Prelude”
For whoever does not afflict his soul through this day, shall be
cut off from his people.

Lone Gentleman

© Pablo Neruda

The gay young men and the love-sick girls,
and the abandoned widows suffering in sleepless delirium,
and the young pregnant wives of thirty hours,
and the raucous cats that cruise my garden in the shadows,