8 Dynamic Women’s Day Poems That Celebrate The Strengths & Challenges Of Being A Woman

Happy Women’s day poems

Every day is women’s day. But the 8th of March is a bit special, for each year, it is recognised as International Women’s Day, which aims to celebrate their achievements across the world. Adopted by the women’s rights movement in 1967 and by the United Nations a decade later, the global day continues to be one to reflect and continue to work towards achieving a better world for women. For the occasion, we rounded up some of the best works of women authors and poets in the form of poems for Women's Day, ones you can share with those who strengthen and support you in your life, along with Women’s Day quotes.

Table of Contents

    Women's Day Poems

    Without further ado, scroll to take a look at some of the best and most powerful Women's Day poems that you will find. Read on. 

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    An Aspect of Love, Alive in the Ice and Fire by Gwendolyn Brooks

    In a package of minutes there is this We.
    How beautiful.
    Merry foreigners in our morning,
    we laugh, we touch each other,
    are responsible props and posts.
    A physical light is in the room.
    Because the world is at the window
    we cannot wonder very long

    You rise. Although
    genial, you are in yourself again.
    I observe
    your direct and respectable stride.
    You are direct and self-accepting as a lion
    in Afrikan velvet. You are level, lean,
    Remote.

    There is a moment in Camaraderie
    when interruption is not to be understood.
    I cannot bear an interruption.
    This is the shining joy;
    the time of not-to-end.

    On the street we smile.
    We go
    in different directions
    down the imperturbable street.

    There’s more we have in store. Scroll to take a look at one of the best poems for Women's Day.

    Also Read: Women's Day Wishes & Messages

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    Brancusi’s Golden Bird by Mina Roy

    The toy
    become the aesthetic archetype

    As if
    some patient peasant God
    had rubbed and rubbed
    the Alpha and Omega
    of Form
    into a lump of metal

    A naked orientation
    unwinged unplumed
    the ultimate rhythm
    has lopped the extremities
    of crest and claw
    from
    the nucleus of flight

    The absolute act
    of art
    Conformed
    to continent sculpture
    —bare as the brow of Osiris—
    this breast of revelation

    an incandescent curve
    licked by chromatic flames
    in labyrinths of reflections

    This gong
    of polished hyperaesthesia
    shrills with brass
    as the aggressive light
    Strikes
    its significance

    The immaculate
    Conception
    of the inaudible bird
    Occurs
    in gorgeous reticence.

    Right ahead, a dynamic International Women's Day poem that is also one of the most powerful works in literature.

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    Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

    You may write me down in history
    With your bitter, twisted lies,
    You may trod me in the very dirt
    But still, like dust, I'll rise.

    Does my sassiness upset you?
    Why are you beset with gloom?
    ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
    Pumping in my living room.

    Just like moons and like suns,
    With the certainty of tides,
    Just like hopes springing high,
    Still I'll rise.

    Did you want to see me broken?
    Bowed head and lowered eyes?
    Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
    Weakened by my soulful cries?

    Does my haughtiness offend you?
    Don't you take it awful hard
    ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
    Diggin’ in my own backyard.

    You may shoot me with your words,
    You may cut me with your eyes,
    You may kill me with your hatefulness,
    But still, like air, I’ll rise.

    Does my sexiness upset you?
    Does it come as a surprise
    That I dance like I've got diamonds
    At the meeting of my thighs?

    Out of the huts of history’s shame
    I rise
    Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
    I rise
    I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
    Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

    Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
    I rise
    Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
    I rise
    Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
    I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
    I rise
    I rise
    I rise.

    Continue to scroll to take a look at another one from the list of Women's Day poems.

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    Two Women by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    I know two women, and one is chaste
    And cold as the snows on a winter waste.
    Stainless ever in act and thought
    (As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not.)
    But she has malice toward her kind,
    A cruel tongue and a jealous mind.
    Void of pity and full of greed,
    She judges the world by her narrow creed:
    A brewer of quarrels, a breeder of hate,
    Yet she holds the key to "Society's" Gate.
    The other woman, with heart of flame,
    Went mad for a love that marred her name:
    And out of the grave of her murdered faith
    She rose like a soul that has passed through death.
    Her aims are noble, her pity so broad,
    It covers the world like the mercy of God.
    A soother of discord, a healer of woes,
    Peace follows her footsteps wherever she goes
    The worthier life of the two no doubt,
    And yet "Society" locks her out.

    Below, more Women's day poems for you to make a selection from.

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    They shut me up in Prose by Emily Dickinson

    They shut me up in Prose –
    As when a little Girl
    They put me in the Closet –
    Because they liked me “still”   –

    Still! Could themself have peeped –
    And seen my Brain – go round –
    They might as wise have lodged a Bird
    For Treason – in the Pound –

    Himself has but to will
    And easy as a Star
    Look down opon Captivity –
    And laugh – No more have I –

    Right ahead, another one of the short inspirational poems for Women's Day.

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    For Keeps by Joy Harjo

    Sun makes the day new.
    Tiny green plants emerge from earth.
    Birds are singing the sky into place.
    There is nowhere else I want to be but here.
    I lean into the rhythm of your heart to see where it will take us.
    We gallop into a warm, southern wind.
    I link my legs to yours and we ride together,
    Toward the ancient encampment of our relatives.
    Where have you been? they ask.
    And what has taken you so long?
    That night after eating, singing, and dancing
    We lay together under the stars.
    We know ourselves to be part of mystery.
    It is unspeakable.
    It is everlasting.
    It is for keeps.

    And here’s taking a look at another one of the most talked-about options from Women's Day poems.

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    Sestinas For My Sisters by Amanda Gorman

    The stones come to dance; parachuting up, four
    black rocks gasp slowly for air like fish in a daze.
    My feet dart ripples in the water, cool and neat
    as knives. Wind aching to peel down my pant-
    ies. It sings my skirt off my skin, ripped in fishbone-two.
    It wants inside me, the Black Girl Reading by the River.

    And I may just be the Black Girl Reading by the River,
    but there’s something too-familiar in what the wind runs tor-
    ward. The thought churns blood-wild, iron softened into dew.
    I tell the wind I’ve seen worse things than dress billowing: a gaze
    that killed me. A boy that took, dressed as a man who pant-
    ed on my face till it burst. Till. Till. Till. My red tissue was eat-
    en white. His lips rolled thick like Italian sausages.
    Thanks to him my tongue always sags with cotton. Words quiver
    in my mouth marred by moths. Many men I’ve met can’t
    name themselves. Don’t know you can’t bloom what is broken or
    ajar or worse. Look at the stones popping up and out like the craze
    of a foal’s kneecaps. Does the river roll for the town it lamplit blue?

    The sun, a golden retriever, chases the stick God threw
    over the horizon (unlike the wind he didn’t catcall in the street),
    the egg-white beast running till the yolk of a thousand Sundays
    fills my throat. I think of choking. His erection was like a frozen liver,
    hard but of so much flesh. Here my body tips at right-angles to pour
    him out downstream. After the breaking I was dust-bodied, a pant-
    her cremated. Six-year-old me thought myself participant
    to my own Jenga. At least the wind had the manners to chew
    me gumless when he salivated me whole. Took his time for
    the quenching. Do boys think of rivers, of gasping rocks, of heat?
    Lust stark as awaited rain? Black Girl as a thin crumbling, like a sliver
    of rust? I prayed wordless for my pupils to pool into hazel.

    Now I pray for them to be alive. Then I can sew a dais
    brimming with all the mes who died before me, a twilit pant-
    heon big-boned with the swords of Survivors at the River.
    A hill fisted so tight no wind can peel inside; only the many few
    who gasped in blackness, pulling oxygen from the mud-sweet.
    For once we’d rip loudly from laughter, and nothing more.

    Skinned stones jiving in the river wink: Sister, me too,
    us too, been blazed the brightest black from this rampant beat-
    ing of waves. We always dance when our bodies break against the shore.

    Below, another one of our favourites that you can share from the list of happy Women's Day poems.

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    Song Of A Dream by Sarojini Naidu

    ONCE in the dream of a night I stood
    Lone in the light of a magical wood,
    Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
    And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
    And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
    And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
    In that magical wood in the land of sleep.
    Lone in the light of that magical grove,
    I felt the stars of the spirits of Love
    Gather and gleam round my delicate youth,
    And I heard the song of the spirits of Truth;
    To quench my longing I bent me low
    By the streams of the spirits of Peace that flow
    In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

    And with that, we come to the end of poems for Women's Day. Found your favourite?

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